Someone to Love

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “What did your parents do? I bet they freaked.”

  “Dad was the worst. He’s so concerned about his campaign. Forget me. I’m pretty much on lockdown. They want to send me away to an eating disorder program. They’re probably setting up therapy appointments right now. It’s so bad.”

  “So you don’t have any say in what happens?”

  “Since when have I ever? Even if I wanted to die right now, I’d have to ask permission. They don’t care about my thoughts. They make the decisions.”

  “Don’t talk like that—I care. And don’t make those jokes either. They really aren’t funny.” I use my sarcasm as a shield, but Antonia sees right through my act.

  “I know,” I say. “I love you.”

  “You need to be rescued. Literally. From your family. I can’t even imagine how trapped you’re feeling. You need to get out of there.”

  “I wish I could just leave. I wish I could go anywhere.”

  “It’s not like escaping is hard. You just need to climb out a window the way everyone else has been doing since the seventh grade.”

  I’m hesitant, but her idea feels right. Why should I let my parents control every waking second of my life? Freedom is the right move. I can at least get out and go somewhere for one evening. What more could it hurt, right? Besides, I have only this last night of freedom before my family has me locked up somewhere. I tell Antonia that I’ll go.

  “It better be somewhere fun,” I say.

  I need to forget all this mess. I need to have a good time.

  “You know it.”

  Antonia promises to text me when she’s ready to pick me up.

  Just when the hour finally comes to sneak out the window, I get a text from Sam. I sit on the edge of the bed and answer him while Antonia waits for me just down the street.

  SAM: Bad news :-(

  SAM: Nina doesn’t want to go out anymore

  LIV: What? Why?

  LIV: That sucks. I’m sorry.

  SAM: She says she doesn’t want to get serious.

  SAM: Should I quit the debate team? It’s gonna be awkward.

  SAM: What do you think?

  I think about Sam’s situation. I’m in no state to be giving anyone advice, but I don’t want to see him give up something he loves doing for someone else. I don’t want him to end up like me with Zach. I should have never wasted my time with him.

  LIV: Don’t quit.

  LIV: It’s your life.

  SAM: :-)

  SAM: What are you doing? Want to hang out?

  I’d give anything not to be locked up here right now, but I can’t explain what’s going on. If Mom and Dad make good on their threats and force me to go somewhere for treatment, I’ll eventually have to tell him something. But, right now, Sam needs me to be a good friend—a better friend than I’ve been most of this year. I should focus on him.

  LIV: Sick unfortunately :-(

  LIV: Might be out of commission for a few days.

  SAM: What’s wrong? The breakup?

  SAM: He’s not worth suffering over.

  LIV: It’s just the flu or something.

  LIV: Don’t worry. Talk soon xoox

  I’m so embarrassed he even knows about the latest disaster that was my breakup with Zach. I didn’t give him all the details. Only Antonia knows.

  Sam would have wanted to beat him up or tell him off, and that would’ve caused even more drama. I was hoping to keep my breakup with Zach as low-key as possible, but I guess Cristina couldn’t help herself.

  Why did he have to just text me? I hate lying to him. But I can’t include him in this. I need Sam to think I’m just that girl on a boat sailing with him around the world. I can’t ruin our dream. Sorry, Sam, I say to myself. You don’t need to see this. You won’t. Not unless you’re going where I’m going tonight. I suddenly go rigid with the thought.

  I have to risk it. I can’t stay in this house one more second.

  t h i r t y - e i g h t

  “Reality denied comes back to haunt.”

  —Philip K. Dick

  Antonia and I are standing outside Club Paradise, checking each other’s faces and outfits. We’ve put on heavier makeup, trying to make ourselves look older even though most of the clubbers seem to be around college age. Every time the door swings open, I can hear the blaring sounds of the electronic synths pumping throughout the club.

  We’re waiting outside with the crowd, wedged between a bachelorette party and a pair of sleazy guys wearing polo shirts who keep looking over at us.

  “What’s the name of this lipstick?” I ask.

  “Violet Femme,” Antonia says. “It looks good. Just don’t act all bubbly. Be cool and follow me. We have to wait for Joey to give me the nod.”

  “Joey?”

  “The bouncer.”

  We hang outside near the door. Antonia lights up a cigarette, which makes it look like we’re just smoking. Joey, her 350-pound Samoan wrestler friend, is a fan of her mother’s music so he’ll do anything for us, she says. All she has to do is bring him a signed 12-inch vinyl of Mamacita Rica. He wears a scowl like he’s going to literally pick us up and toss us two streets over. I’m feeling so underage I’m starting to squirm like I’m wearing a training bra all over again. No way anyone’s going to think I’m twenty-one.

  “How come we’ve never done this before?” I say.

  Antonia grins. “Because you’re usually Miss I’m-too-good-for-everything, always staying home studying, doing something responsible with your family.”

  “I guess I can’t deny that.”

  “Try having a mother who’s a pop star in her native country. When she’s gone, you think I’m going to stay home? Hell no. There’s a big world out there and I’m going to go have some fun in it.”

  We’re finally up near the front of the line. Joey checks all the IDs of the girls in the bachelorette party one at a time. It seems to take forever. As the girls stumble into the club, Antonia walks up to Joey and gives him a big hug. He nods at me.

  “We still cool, Joey?” Antonia squeezes him.

  “You bring that album tomorrow. Signed. You hear?”

  Antonia smiles. “Yes, sir.”

  He gestures at Antonia for us to enter. I squeak out a thank-you as I walk by, barely believing how easy it was for Antonia to get us into the club.

  The club is filled with people talking and dancing. Neon lights flash up and down the walls, illuminating Antonia’s face with bursts of purple and blue. “Are we going to be able to drink?” I ask, wanting to forget everything by drowning myself in alcohol. Zach. Cristina. My parents. My life. “Will the bartenders card us too?”

  “I’m not sure...” Antonia says, glancing around the room. She spots the pair of guys from next to us in line coming our way. “Okay, hold on. Those guys are coming over. Just be quiet and shy, okay? We need drinks. This is the only way we’re going to get them. I don’t want you blowing our cover.”

  She turns to the two guys stopping by the table.

  “Want a drink?” the taller one says. He’s wearing a purple polo shirt and heavy cologne. It’s definitely not a good look for him. I let Antonia do the talking.

  “Something strong,” Antonia says. “It’s been a long week.”

  The other guy leans on the table. “Has it?”

  “Of course. Why do you think we’re here? Time to wind down or turn up.”

  “All right.” The guy laughs and straightens his collar. “We’ll get you something.”

  Antonia smiles at them as they walk away.

  “What was that?” I say.

  “The game,” Antonia says, quickly reapplying her lipstick.

  “The game?”

  “Don’t worry about it, I can get us drinks all night.”

  When the guys are
on their way back, Antonia leans in. “Ignore them,” she says.

  “Ignore them?”

  Antonia nods slowly. “Otherwise we’ll be stuck talking to them all night.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I ask. “I don’t want to be a complete user.”

  The taller guy set the drinks on the table. There are only two chairs, so he doesn’t sit down. I try to talk to him, but the music is too loud to carry a proper conversation. I let him babble on about something related to finance while Antonia makes small talk with the other guy. They both seem to lose interest after they realize we’re not here to hook up, and they make an excuse to wander off. The same routine happens with two other sets of guys.

  By this time, I’m slurping my third drink and can hardly see straight.

  “Honey,” Antonia says. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine,” I slur. “We should dance.”

  Antonia puts her hand on my shoulder. “Did you have dinner?”

  I shake my head.

  “When was the last time you ate?” she asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I say.

  “You said you were starting to eat again. We’ve talked about this.”

  I can tell she sees that look in my eyes that means I haven’t been honest.

  “Liv, you need to watch yourself. Last one, okay?”

  I sip my drink. “I’m all right,” I say. I know I’m trying to outrun all my worries and pain. But so what? I’m ahead of the game tonight. It feels good for once not to feel anything. It feels even better not to care. I get so sick of caring.

  While Antonia makes small talk with the guys standing by our table, I decide to text Sam. It’s a bad idea—I know—but I can’t help myself.

  LIV: Do you ever feel empty?

  LIV: Sometimes I just want to feel nothing.

  SAM: I take it you’re not feeling any better.

  LIV: Are you going to come or not?

  LIV: I’m doing something really stupid right now.

  LIV: I thought you could share in my waywardness

  I sip my drink, listening to Antonia chat with some other girl sitting at the table next to us and waiting for Sam to respond. He finally does after a few minutes.

  SAM: Where are you?

  LIV: Club Paradise.

  SAM: How did you get in?

  LIV: Antonia

  SAM: How am I going to get in?

  LIV: That’s for you to figure out :-)

  SAM: Coming... :-(

  By the time Sam shows up, I can barely focus. I have no idea how he got into the bar and I’ve lost count of drinks and managed to eat half of a packet of crackers. The crumbs are all over the counter.

  “Hey, baby!” I throw my arms around him and plant a big kiss.

  “Sam?” Antonia says. “How’d you find us, hot stuff?”

  I’m not fast about prying myself loose.

  “You are so drunk,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite this bad.”

  “Only a little,” I say, stupidly grinning at him.

  “It wasn’t easy getting in here,” he says to Antonia, looking over his shoulder. “I had to sneak in through the back and bribe some dude twenty bucks. I promised him I wasn’t here to drink.”

  “That’s love right there.” Antonia laughs. She has another drink in her hand. How can she drink so much? I can barely keep up with her.

  I’ve lost count and try to push him my drink. “Here, loverboy. I can’t handle any more. It’s making me. I dunno. Sick?”

  “You don’t look well,” he says to me.

  Antonia slaps him on the shoulder. “You know how to make a girl feel better.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Tell me I’m beautiful right now.”

  “What?” Sam says. “You’re not serious.”

  “Tell me right now,” I demand. Everything about me is dramatic right now. I feel like I’m an actress all of a sudden. They’re artists, aren’t they? I think so. “Tell me you love everything about me.”

  I can’t believe the words that are falling out of my mouth right now, but I can’t help myself. I need someone to love me.

  “Something’s not right,” Sam says. “Are you supposed to be here?”

  I scoff at his question. “Right. You think my parents know I’m here?”

  Antonia starts laughing. “She’s on the run...”

  “I am not running.” I laugh and turn to Sam. “But of course I’m supposed to be here.” Suddenly I double over with a rush of stomach pain.

  “What’s wrong?” Sam says. “Hey, Liv. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I moan, starting to see black spots in my peripheral vision. I’ve been drunk, but I’ve never felt this bad before. “I get these all the time. Give it a second.”

  “That’s not good,” says Sam. “You look kind of pale.”

  I point in his face. “What did I tell you? You tell me I’m beautiful or you can go home,” I slur. I realize I’m trying to push him away, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

  “That’s not funny,” Sam says.

  “Go home, Sam.”

  “That’s not even funny.”

  Sam looks hurt, but I can’t stop.

  “Then tell me I’m beautiful.”

  “Tell her she’s beautiful,” says Antonia, nudging him. When my stomach pain soars, I bend over again. Sam tries to touch me, but I knock his hand away.

  “Stop touching me,” I say. “Everyone wants to touch me. Why? Why do you want to do that? You, Zach, Jackson. Just quit already.”

  “I’m trying to help,” Sam says. “You need to go home.”

  “Don’t touch her,” Antonia says, trying to make fun of the situation. Her words are starting to slur a little too. “And she definitely doesn’t need to go home.”

  Some jock in a tiny shirt, all muscles from ears to toe, overhears and steps over. “The lady said to quit touching her. Buzz off.”

  “I wasn’t touching her,” Sam says. He holds up his hands.

  “That’s not what the lady said.” The jock’s neck muscles are wider than Sam. He eyes Sam closer. “Why you in here anyway? You look like you’re twelve years old.”

  Sam looks at me pleadingly. “I’m just trying to take her home.”

  “I can tell. Not gonna happen. Get lost, kid.”

  I get in between them. “Hey, hero,” I say to the jock. “It’s all right. He’s my friend. He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

  The guy takes a look at Sam. “All right. But if I hear anything else from him I’m kicking him out the door.” He turns to Sam. “Don’t piss off the ladies.”

  “My hero,” I say, patting the jock on the back as he walks away. “You hear that, Sam? No funny business or else!” I laugh, but Sam looks more agitated by the minute.

  He’s not even asking us for a drink.

  “I heard,” Sam says.

  Antonia is already talking to another guy, ignoring the both of us. This time when my stomach racks me, I can’t take it. “I gotta go throw up,” I say. “I’m starting to get the spins. Get me to the bathroom.” I can barely walk on my own.

  Sam puts my arm over his shoulder and helps me through the crowd. It’s a one-stall bathroom, so Sam comes in and holds my hair back as I puke up alcohol. I’m too sick to feel embarrassed. This doesn’t feel good like when I purge, emptying out. This feels like my insides are being gripped by an invisible fist and turned inside out.

  “You can’t drink like this,” Sam says. “You’ll get alcohol poisoning. It’s a real thing.”

  “You didn’t even drink with us,” I moan.

  Everything is finally out.

  “You were already drunk,” he says. “Besides, this place isn’t for us. We don’t belong here.”

 
“Sam,” I say, catching my breath. “I’m not that drunk.”

  Sam gives me a wet paper towel to wipe my mouth with. “Yeah. They all say that.”

  “Okay, maybe I am. I was just having some fun. Seriously though, I’m in here because of my stomach. I don’t think it can handle drinking right now.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Sam,” I say. Something’s coming up—not alcohol, but a confession I’ve been trying to avoid for what seems like forever—and I know I won’t be able to keep it down any longer. “I have bulimia. I mostly don’t eat, but when I eat too much, I hate myself so much for eating that I have to throw up. It’s out of control, but I can’t stop.”

  Sam simply looks at me. It’s not a look of hate or judgment or surprise. It’s just like he’s waiting to see what I have to say next.

  “My parents found out. They were keeping me under house arrest. They want to send me away to a treatment facility. I snuck out.”

  “You’re going to be okay,” Sam says. “Let’s get you home. You need to rest. I didn’t know you were this sick.”

  He helps me up, but I can barely stand I’m so weak. I pull down my skirt, not wanting him to catch a glimpse of the scars on my thighs. He can know about my eating disorder, but he can’t know about the cutting. He’d never forgive me for hurting myself.

  My skin’s dry and I’m totally exhausted like I’ll never have energy again. Even my heart feels like it’s slowing down. “Just take me back to the table,” I say. “I don’t want to go home.”

  Sam holds on to my waist. “You can barely stand or walk.”

  “Just get me some water,” I slur.

  Summoning up as much motivation as I can, I walk back to the table with Sam. He sits me down, then goes to find water. Antonia sees me and comes over.

  She’s smiling. “Want another drink?”

  I groan. “Do I look like I can have another drink?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Wait, are you sick?”

  “I’m sick,” I say.

  “I guess I forgot,” she says. “I’ve been drinking a lot.”

  Sam returns with three glasses of water. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves,” he says. “They made fun of me at the bar.”