Page 132 of Habits

Tears of disappointment and resignation.

When I look at my father, I see the tears in his eyes, too.

“So I’m sorry I skipped a few meals and spent hours in the gym trying to blend in, trying to have them like me. I’m sorry I had a few drinks more than I should have because I was frustrated and angry and disappointed. I’m sorry you have to be here because the guilt from all the lying and secrets became too much. And this…” I wave in the direction of my body. “Doesn’t match in your perfect life.”

Dad gets out of the chair and sits on my bed. He reaches for my hand, but I pull it back.

“You’re perfect, Jeanette. The way you are now and the way you were before. You’re perfect and brilliant, and if they can’t see that, it’s their loss.”

I swallow hard. “Then why did you cheat on us?”

“Jeanette.” My name is a sigh falling off his lips.

“I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t forget and the lies … they’re killing me.” I shake my head. “I’m afraid to go to the hospital anymore because if I see her … I’m not sure what I’d do, but it wouldn't be pretty.”

He nods his head in understanding. “Then we’ll move.”

“What?”

“We’ll move. Start from the beginning, but you have to stop this … this self-destructive behavior. It has to stop. You have to start eating again, we can see the doctors, the best specialists, start the therapy …”

“Okay,” I agree. “Okay, we’ll start again.”

Andrew

“What the fuck happened?” I ask as soon as Max hangs up.

My fingers are curled around the steering wheel, holding so tight they’ve turned white, and I’m surprised I haven’t pulled the damn thing out. I don’t move my eyes from the road, my foot pressed on the gas as we fly through the streets as fast as possible.

I don’t care that snow is falling and the roads are slick. Or that if the cops found us, they’d probably ban me from driving forever, but they’d have to catch me first.

Nothing matters, except getting to Jeanette.

She has to be alright.

She better be.

Alive.

There is no other option.

Max runs his hand through his hair, pulling at the strands.

“Did she …” I swallow hard, unable to form words. My eyes fall shut just for a moment before they’re back on the road. Just a moment of desperation and panic I allow myself. “Did she stop eating again?”

Abruptly, Max turns in his seat, his eyes probing the side of my face. He’s still as pale as a ghost, but his eyes are narrowed. Worry, suspicion and anger shine brightly from his dark eyes. The eyes of a person ready to snap any minute.

“How do you know about that?”

“She told me.”

The tension between us skyrockets.

“You’re lying.”

I shake my head. “She told me, just after … just after she broke up with me.”

The silence that follows is deafening. So deafening you could hear a pin drop. My hands grow sweaty in nervousness, and I have to grip the wheel tighter if I don’t want to lose control over the car.

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