Page 55 of Pieces of Us

‘Hey, baby girl, I gotta go. Will text you my details, yeah?’ I nod, blowing him a kiss before he disconnects.

‘Fucking NFL superstar Jagger is coming to town, and he asked me to be his wingman. I’m fucking shook. I need to hit the gym if I’m standing near that guy. Catch you later?’ Rome stands, leaning over to give me a kiss.

‘Yup.’

I laugh as he fist-pumps down the hallway. Dad follows closely behind, trudging off with Lily, which leaves me alone once again to obsess over Lincoln and my future.

Chapter 23

The Weigh Down

Amity

The problem with my previous diagnosis is that it can spiral out of control without me realising.

It’s triggered by anxiety and stress, and boy am I a fucking bundle of nerves over a concoction of things. I don’t know how to cope with where Linc and I stand, or having Billie’s ongoing presence in my life, or thinking about past events that ripped us apart.

I can’t get my hands on Ozempic or any pills, but there are other ways to hide my addictive tendencies. I gorge in front of Dad, but exercise until my limbs are filled with nothing but lactic acid to the point that I have to myself to the bath just to float. If I am out with a friend, a cheeky visit to the bathroom to empty my stomach is my go-to solution.

Sickening thoughts infiltrated my mind, like pushing myself to skip a meal, but no matter what avenue I take, nothing quiets my mind.

I don’t believe I need to lose weight. I know that much. But this is how I cope when things are difficult to face or I can’t see a clear solution.

I knew I’d hit close to rock bottom when I intentionally didn’t tell my therapist about reverting back to my old ways.

‘Honey, did you have breakfast?’ Dad calls from the bottom floor.

Too weak to get up and walk downstairs, I respond. ‘Yeah,’ I lie, feeling my gut churn and rumble from emptiness.

Sweating out my frustrations at the sauna seems to do the trick.

When I arrive home, I felt optimistic about Dad’s birthday and the trip. The shower steam further loosens my muscles, and it is the perfect state for a lazy night in.

The buzz of the blender whirs, mixing my banana oat protein shake. Choosing something healthy to eat is one of the techniques I often employ to get through my obsessive thoughts.

Humming, I see the ingredients grind between the blades. I’m in so much of a trance, I don’t even hear my name being called.

A soft touch on my waist scares the living shit out of me, and I half jump and karate chop someone, my hand coming in contact with their ribs.

‘Fuck!’ An excruciating cry sounds before I see Dad bending over, his crutch the only thing preventing him from falling.

‘Shit!’ I frantically try to lift him so he can lean on me, but he’s too heavy. ‘Shit. Fuck.’

Two extra hands take over. Two extra large hands. Two extra large masculine hands that have been over my body countless times. Before I know it, Lincoln is shouldering Dad’s weight, helping him to a stool.

With his back turned to me, I can’t resist taking a peek of his fine ass, snug in grey sweats. Argh, another unfair piece of clothing that brings women to their knees and mouths open. Don’t get me wrong, I love a man in a suit, but I equally love a man in casual wear, especially when it is accompanied by a tight white shirt.

‘Dad. What the fuck?’ My heart is still racing, but I’m not sure if it’s residual fear from being frightened half to death, or Lincoln being in our home, looking like God favoured him the day he was created.

When Lincoln turns, I see he has a sheepish look on his face.

‘Sorry, princess,’ Dad winces. ‘Linc stopped by to go over one of our projects. You were in the shower. We didn’t want to just blindside you.’

‘So you thought terrifying me would be a good alternative?’ I say deadpan, unscrewing the Nutribullet and pouring it into a tall glass.

‘I can go,’ Lincoln shifts awkwardly on the spot, averting his eyes from mine.

The last time we left things, we were both in tears and uncertain where we stood with each other.

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