Page 67 of Hot Girl Summer

The advice is just as relevant for myself to keep from freaking the fuck out. I eye my latte, and suddenly it no longer seems appealing. My mind races with flashbacks to the first time Kiki was admitted. Her screams and the thud she made when she threw herself on the floor of the landing, a sound I’ll never forget. Taking a deep breath, I muster some strength, grabbing my purse before exiting the building.

“Try to keep calm. I need to go back to work and pick up my bike, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Have you called anyone at the clinic?”

“We’ve just come from there. I’ll tell you about it when you get here. Sophia, try not to worry. We need you here in one piece.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

When I arrive, the house is quiet. Too quiet.

“Where is she?” I ask, when I enter the lounge in my parent’s house.

Both my mum and dad are sitting on opposite couches. I pull them both into a hug, but stares are vacant and their bodies rigid as they watch a blank TV screen. Seeing the fear on their faces again breaks my heart.

“She’s upstairs in her room,” my dad says, not making eye contact.

Old feelings resurface, and I feel small, like he can’t bear to look at me. Like somehow this is my fault, and Kiki is the only sibling he really cares about. I swat the thought away. My dad loves me and my sister needs me.

“What happened at the clinic?”

“They want to take her in again,” mum says, softly. “She won’t talk to us, but she might talk to you.”

Upstairs, I hover in the doorway of my sister’s bedroom while Kiki sits cross-legged on her bed and scrolls her phone, dry tears making a trail along her flushed cheeks.

“Hey, Kiki Bear.”

There’s no answer or acknowledgment, but I still offer a smile. Over the years, I’ve become a pro at hiding my concern, because I know it doesn’t ease anyone’s anxieties in a difficult situation. I’ve always been calmer than my mum, so, naturally it makes it easier to communicate with my sister. But I have to be tactful. When she was in the worst grips of her illness, Kiki took advantage of my laid-back demeanour, and that’s when she became an expert at hiding things. I know it wasn’t her, not really, but it makes me cautious even now.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Kiki mumbles.

I perch on the edge of the bed. “What did they say at the clinic?”

Kiki carefully places her phone beside her. She’s always been a gentle child—always favoured insects and animals to humans—she likes to look after things. I know that she lashes out through fear and frustration, not because she doesn’t want to cooperate. “They said I’ve dropped too much weight.” She screws her eyes shut, and a tear escapes. “They didn’t say how much, but I’ve fallen below the first centile. I’ve tried so hard, I really have.”

Her breath hitches, and as tears roll down her cheeks thick and fast, I fight to hold back my own. I hand her a box of tissues from the nightstand, and pull her into a side hug. “I feel like such a failure. Mum doesn’t believe me, and Dad doesn’t even care.”

“Never think you’re a failure. You are so strong. You can beat this.”

Kiki sobs louder into my shoulder.

“Look, we know the first eighteen months of recovery is the hardest. You know there’s going to be highs and lows, but you have a family who love you and fully support you...that’s a lot more than what some people have. And I know Dad can be a bit quiet when it comes to dealing with emotions, but he does care, I promise you. He just finds it hard to say it out loud.”

If only I would take my own advice.

Kiki hugs her knees into her chest and folds her tiny arms around them. “I’m so tired. Tired of being told what to do...how to be. I’m tired of all the talking. I just want to breathe.”

“So, let’s breathe.”

I manage to convince Kiki to try Nadi Shodhana—a yogic breath control practice I use to help ease anxiety and promote mind and body relaxation. We sit cross-legged on opposite ends of the bed, with our left hands resting on our left knees.

“Close your eyes, relax your brows, and lift your right hand towards your nose,” I say. “Now, place your index finger and middle finger in the space between your eyebrows. This is your third eye. You can look up at this anytime you start to lose focus.”

I demonstrate as I call out each step, with Kiki following my voice guidance.

“Take a deep breath. In through the nose, and exhale completely out through the mouth. Then use your thumb to close the right nostril, and inhale through the left.

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