Page 104 of Habits

Tilting my head back, I look at the white ceiling, trying to imagine I’m somewhere else and not getting my brain checked.

“Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I still struggle to look in the mirror, afraid of what I’ll see once I do, but I think I’m getting better. Every day I make myself look at my reflection a few more seconds than the day before, trying to hold on to the real image and not what my mind wants me to see. I’m also keeping tabs on what and when I eat. Max helped me come up with a weekly menu and helps me keep to it.”

There is a slight pause. I nibble at my lower lip as I think and Doc lets me have a moment. It’s something I’ve noticed about her. She knows when I’m done saying what I have to say and then probes me for more information, but she also has a sixth sense on when I need more time. She actually leaves me in peace to sort it in my mind before saying it out loud.

“I miss Andrew. I didn’t even realize what a big part of my life he’d become until he’s not there. We used to text a lot, nothing extremely important, but those texts made me smile. Now it’s just radio silence.”

She hums non-committedly. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

My brain shouts yes, but my heart isn’t in it.

“I guess.” I shrug. What’s there to say? “I think I needed it more than I wanted it. I need to know I can do this on my own and for myself. I want to get better. When I stopped therapy just before we moved to Greyford, I really thought I had it under control, but I guess I was wrong.”

Dr. Mitchell leans back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap.

“The disease you have is chronic, Jeanette. It’ll always be a part of your life. A constant struggle. You’ll have to fight it day in and day out for the rest of your life, you know that.”

“I do.”

“The way to do it is to let people in. Admit you have a problem and work on it. There is nothing to be ashamed of. You have anorexia. For a while you had it pretty rough, but youaregetting better. Nobody can take that away from you. It’syourvictory and you should be proud of it. But sometimes it’s okay to feel weak. It’s okay to need help from other people to keep you sane. If Andrew is one of those people, why push him away?”

I let her words settle in.

Why push him away? Why really? When I told him about my struggle, he didn’t seem grossed out, not like people in my last school. When it got out that I was hospitalized and treated for anorexia, everybody started to look at me differently. Like I was a freak or something. All those people who didn’t notice formonthsthat something was wrong. All those people who were envious and wanted to know how I’d lost weight just a few months before were then giving me ugly looks and talking behind my back.

Not Andrew.

“Because I’m not the only one who needs to fight her demons. He has to do it, too. If we don’t, we’ll only bring more pain to each other down the road.”

* * *

Andrew

“You skipped the practice again today.”

Leaning against the back of the chair so much that I’m rocking on the back legs, I slowly release cloud after cloud of smoke in the air. I watch them disappear before taking another pull, the sweet smoke entering my lungs and running through my veins relaxing my whole body.

“You have to stop with this shit, Drew!” Derek says angrily. There is some stomping, and the joint is pulled from between my fingers.

“Hey!” I lean forward, ready to grab it back, but Derek is faster. The front legs of the chair hit the floor with such force I almost fall off. “Give it back!”

“No, I’m done watching you self-destruct, Andrew. This shit has to stop.”

I narrow my eyes, watching him put out the blunt. Why do I see two of Derek? Both of them look at me with blue eyes filled with a mix of fury and weariness.

“Nobody asked you to come, so go the fuck away and leave me alone,” I yell at his stoic face, then murmur more quietly, “Everybody else does.”

I turn around, as not to see the look in his eyes. The judgment. The worry. But my big, fat fuck you is ruined because I trip over the chair, almost falling down and knocking my jaw on the edge of the coffee table.

When did that get there?

Shaking my head, I laugh at my own clumsiness as I try to stand up.

Strong hand wraps around my forearm, helping me get back on my feet. “You’re stoned.”

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