Page 131 of Habits

“Anything unusual, really. Did she seem stressed to you? Under a lot of pressure?” He stops for a few seconds, his voice growing softer, tentative. “Depressed?”

“Depressed? Is that what you think is wrong with her?” There is a slight pause. “Jeanette is not depressed!”

“What happened tonight?” the first voice asks. The doctor.

“We went to a party. She probably had a few drinks. When she came down … I guess she got into a fight with one of her friends. She found out we were having a … thing. We didn’t tell her. She got upset.”

“That’s all?”

Another slight pause.

“Is your sister eating properly?”

“I guess. What does that have to do with anything?” The exasperation is clear in his voice.

“Did you know your sister weighs less than one hundred pounds?”

“What?”

“She has an eating disorder, Max. Poor nourishment, add alcohol and emotional …”

I don’t hear the rest because I fall back into the darkness.

* * *

My eyes flutter open, but fall closed from the brightness of the lights illuminating the room.

The hospital.

I guess it wasn’t just a dream.

“Do you like punishing me that much?”

Opening my eyes, I find the judging gaze of my father seated in the chair next to my bed. He looks tired, disheveled. His hair is a mess, and the bags under his eyes are dark.

“It’s not all about you.” Not able to look at him, I let my eyes close again.

“Then what is it about?”

I shrug, but the movement is barely visible.

Tired. I feel so tired.

“Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell anybody about your struggle?”

His words make my blood boil. Snapping my eyes open, I narrow them at him. “When? How? How do you tell somebody you can’t make friends? And then when you do find them, it’s because they want something from you and not to actually be friends with you. How do you tell somebody that those same friends everybody is so ecstatic about, bad-mouth you behind your back? Calling you clueless and fat, laughing at you.”

“Jeanette …” His eyes grow soft, but I brush it off. I don’t need his soft words and compassion now. I don’t need anybody. Don’t want anybody.

If you’re all alone, nobody can hurt you.

Nobody can break you.

“How do you break their illusion? Tell me!” I scream at him, the tears I tried so hard to hold back finally falling down. “How? How do you deal when you find your father, yourhero, the person you worshipped above everybody else is cheating on his family? How do you deal with the guilt of having to hide the secret so you don’t break apart your family? How do you deal when you see your brother kissing your so-called friend behind your back, not knowing how she hurt you so many times and on so many levels you eventually stopped counting? When you find out that the guy you thought liked you for beingyouactually did it to get back in the previously mentioned girl’s good graces? Just tell me—how?”

My words are loud and angry, filled with so much repressed hurt and vulnerability. With the back of my hand, I brush away the tears streaming down my face, the tears I didn’t even know were there.

Tears of anger.

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