Page 183 of Built to Fall
“Shit,” I curse. “Does she know?”
“I don’t know!” she quickly replies, her voice riddled with guilt. “We’re trying to call Eden because they’re driving to the show together, but she’s not answering.”
“We’ll find her,” I promise her. “You stay with Savannah and try not to worry about it. We’re about ten minutes out.”
Right as I say it, Braxton’s BMW revs as he pushes down harder on the gas.
“Grant,” Lina gasps, sounding more upset than I’ve ever heard before. “Should we have known? Do you think it’s really as bad as these articles are making it sound?”
The first thing I think is, ‘I’m rubbing off on her too much if her first instinct is to ask what she did wrong.’
“Hey,” I try to grab her attention the best I can, but it’s hard when I can’t see her, or get her to look at me. “I get why you’d feel that way, but trust me, pretty girl, that’s not a rabbit hole you want to fall down.”
“I just—I don’t know what to do right now. I’m a horrible friend. I left for a year, and this happens. And on top of that, she never even felt like she could come to any of us about it.”
Everyone who knows Lina can admit that she’s not the best at handling emotions—others’ or her own—but no one would say that it makes her a bad friend.
“Lina,” Braxton calls as he switches lanes, and I hold the phone closer to him. “There is nothing you could have done to make her tell you. Admitting it to you would mean that she wants help, and when someone’s in the headspace she’s in, the last thing they want is help.”
“Just sit down for a minute and relax. Worry about the fashion show, and we’ll find Meredith, alright? A few hours aren’t going to change the situation all that much,” I add.
“Okay.” I can tell she’s trying to even out her breathing, and even though she wasn’t outright crying, this still feels like a breakdown of sorts.
Things like this happen, and they slowly chip away at the wall that Lina has built between herself and her feelings. That’s not easy for her to grapple with, especially when it feels like that wall is starting to collapse in on her.
“I’ll call you when I find her.” I keep my voice steady even though my stomach is in knots.
The last thing I hear is a quiet“Okay”before the line goes dead.
I drop my phone in the cup holder, looking at Braxton. His eyes are fixated on the road, but I can see the pure agony behind them. “You knew, didn’t you?”
His silence is answer enough.
“You didn’t tell anyone.”
Braxton exhales sharply, shaking his head. “What was I supposed to say, Grant? ‘Hey guys, Meredith is starving herself, but there’s nothing we can really do about it because she’s too distorted to see a problem.’You think that would have changed anything?”
I don’t respond because I know I’m projecting. I’m wishing he would have spoken up about it because it’s killing me on the inside that I didn’t notice the signs. That I wasn’t able to help.
The rest of the car ride feels like a blur. I’m not sure if it’s the adrenaline or the overwhelming worry that’s bearing down on me, but the rest of the way to the venue feels like it takes half the time that it should.
When we pull up and Braxton hands his car off to the valet, we rush inside. I know exactly what I’m looking for when we walk through the door and into the grand hall.
I scan the room, looking for the noticeable head of red hair, until I spot Eden among the crowd. “There.” I point toward the back of the room where the bar is.
Braxton lets out an exasperated sigh when he sees her.
Meredith leans with her elbow against the bar, her posture rigid in one of the dresses Savannah designed.
It might sound dumb to say, but for the first time, I notice how painfully skinny she is. Maybe I never noticed it before because she’s always been smaller than average—dwarfed by every other person in the room.
Now though, knowing what I know, it’s impossible to look past the way her shoulder blades and spine jut out from where the dress shows off her back.
We both stop short when her head tips back to down a shot.
“She knows,” is all Braxton says before he charges forward.
I can read the subtext. A girl with an eating disorder wouldn’t waste calories on alcohol unless she was trying to numb herself.
