Page 186 of Built to Fall
“Did you know her mom's a doctor?” Eden suddenly asks as we pull into the parking lot of our apartment complex. It’s the first thing any of us have said since leaving the venue.
“She never told me that.” Or maybe I just never bothered to ask.
Eden is the type to ask these questions, though. She wants to know things about people. Except now, I can see that it’s eating her alive.
“I guess I figured if something was really wrong, then she would be the one to question it. Who am I to accuse her of something like that when her mother is a highly trained healthcare professional?”
“There wasn’t a way for any of us to know, Eden.” My voice cracks when I add, “She didn’t want us to know.”
Grant doesn’t say anything. He just rests a comforting hand on my shoulder. I know he feels guilty about this situation too, but he doesn’t have a reason to in the way Eden and I do.
We’re herroommates.We’ve gone about our lives, seeing and talking to her every day like normal, having no clue she was going through something like this.
“She and Braxton beat us back,” Eden says, pointing toward Braxton’s parked BMW as we climb out of her car.
“I just want to talk to her,” I whisper, already darting toward the lobby’s entrance.
My head spins in a dangerous whirlpool the whole way up to our apartment. The only thing keeping me from going on an angry rampage is Grant’s comforting hand on the back of my neck.
Still, I probably enter the apartment with a little too much force. The place looks as though it’s been turned upside down. One of the barstools is flipped, and there’s a broken glass near the sink. The second of the six to be broken this year.
Shit.
We’ll worry about it later.
The air feels thick. Like it’s not being used because everyone is holding their breath. Suddenly, this already-tight dress feels even more constricting.
Grant steps in behind me, scanning the space with quiet alarm, while Eden freezes in the doorway, her hand tightening around the strap of her purse.
There’s movement down the hall. A soft thud, a door creaking open.
And then Braxton appears, his expression unreadable. His knuckles are red, like he’s either punched something or held onto it too tightly for too long.
“She’s in her room,” he says, voice rough. “Says she doesn’t want to talk.”
“I don’t care,” I say before I can stop myself. My voice isn’t loud, but it’s final. Because whatever fragile detachment I’ve tried to preserve to keep myself from getting too emotional, it’s gone now.
“She might not want to talk,” I repeat, already walking toward her door, “but I’m not letting her shut us out anymore.”
“Lina—” Everyone seems to warn in unison, but I’m beyond caring.
I push past them and shove Meredith’s bedroom door open. “Mer.” Her name escapes my mouth without my permission in a small gasp.
She’s standing in the center of her bedroom, completely still, with her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. She’s still wearing the dress she had on at the fashion show.
Her eyes snap to mine—the blotches of blue and brown look sadder than normal, like a sky fractured by storm clouds—and the rest of her body looksexhausted,as if she’s about to collapse in on herself. “Lina, can we not?”
“No. We’re not ignoring this. Ican’tignore this.” My heart isaching.“You could have told us.”
“Oh, like you told us all of your issues?” she shoots back, sharp and immediately defensive. “Get real, Lina. No one in this apartment has been honest with one another in alongtime. Your mom died, and your boyfriend cheated on you during her goddamn wake, Kara started doing drugs, Eden started dating Kara’s ex-boyfriend, and I’ve been starving myself!”
It’s not an accusation; it’s an eruption. Meredith has exploded with a truth bomb so explosive that it shocks us both for a long, silent second.
“I didn’t tell anyone about what happened after my mom died because I didn’t want it to affect anything. The reason I came back to Yale was because I was trying to get my life back to normal.”
“And you think me telling everyone I have an eating disorder wouldn’t have affected anything, Lina?” she practically screams. “I was in a treatment center for the entire summer.Iwas trying to get my life back to normal.”
“Clearly it wasn’t working!” I’m not trying to reprimand her or make her feel worse, but it does hurt my feelings that she’s trying to compare our two situations.
