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I love Ryan. He protects me. He takes care of me. Luke could never take care of me. He saw all the signs his fiancée was falling apart, but he ignored them. He's weak. If I started slipping, he'd be too scared to help. He could never take care of me the way Ryan does. So what if I'll never fall in love with Ryan or laugh with Ryan or have an interesting conversation with Ryan? I can joke with my friends, or talk with my friends. I can drink and hike and advent
ure with my friends.
But I don't have any friends.
It's not Ryan's fault. It's my fault. I sit in this apartment all day and I read or watch movies. I have a car. I have keys. But there are all sorts of temptations outside the house—grocery stores and bars and ice cream parlors—and I can't always handle them, especially not without Ryan there to keep me in line.
So what if I don't have any friends? I don't need friends. And I certainly don't need the feeling I get in my body when Luke touches me. Those are luxuries I don't deserve. Those are luxuries I am not strong enough to handle.
But I want it all so much. I want to be in the world again. I want to be with people again. I want to be with Luke. I want all the things I'll get from being with him—the laughter, the conversations, the feeling in my body when he touches me.
It's not really possible, is it? I need Ryan or I'll fall apart. And, up until pretty recently, he was in love with someone else, someone who needed him. Someone who still needs him.
I stare out my windows. It's a brilliant day outside. Blue sky, bright sun, puffy, white clouds. It's so beautiful, I want to throw up, but I can't stay in the condo a minute longer, or I'll be in the kitchen, finding every single drop of junk in the cabinets.
I change into my swim suit and cover-up. I need the freezing cold water of the Pacific surrounding me, numbing me, allowing me to feel anything except this.
I take the elevator downstairs, trying to avoid my reflection in the mirrored ceiling. But, still, I see it, and I am not sure I recognize myself. It's the same physically, but there's something so different about me.
The concrete path is blindingly white. It's warm against my feet, even through my flimsy flip-flops. It's so bright I squint. Why didn't I bring my sunglasses? I close my eyes for a minute and soak in the warmth of the sun.
And when I open my eyes, I see Luke, on the grass, under the shade of that same tree. He's sweaty and flushed. No shirt, blue running shorts. He looks at me as if I am some minor irritation, a bug flying in his face. Then, he looks back to the grass in front of him as if I am even less than a bug. At least he'd try to shoo a bug.
“I'm sorry,” I say. “I don't want to disturb you.”
“I don't own the place.”
I turn toward the marina. “Don't,” he says. “I like your company.”
“Even when I say awful things?”
“Your company, not the stupid things you say.”
I sit next to him on the grass, the cool blades scraping my bare legs.
“I'm sorry,” I say again. “I don't think it was your fault.”
“It was. I knew better. I could have done more to save her,” he says. He moves a little closer. “I wasn't fair to you. I didn't think of how hard it must have been, to fall apart with no one to help but Ryan.”
I nod.
“You must have relied on him so much. Of course you listen to him. He was the only person who helped you when things were hard. He was the only person who kept you from destroying yourself. He really has taken care of you, hasn't he?”
“Yes.” I blink back tears. I barely survived with Ryan, but without him…
“Does it still hurt?” he asks.
“It's different now,” I say. “I can handle my urges better. That voice in my head, the one that tells me what an ugly, fat failure I am, isn't as loud. It's not as good at getting me to binge and purge. But I still can't deal with stress. I still have this hole inside me that wants to be filled with food, then emptied again. If I go off my recovery diet, even a little, I get this horrible feeling of dread, like nothing will ever be okay again, not until I've gotten rid of the extra calories.”
“That sounds miserable.”
“It is, but I can handle it.”
“On your own?”
“I'm not on my own. I have Ryan.”
“You can't stay with him. You'll never be happy,” he says.
