Page 92 of Healing Eleanor

My coach has just been seen leaving the girls’ bathroom, and I came out right behind him.

What did I just do?

I round the corner to the dressing rooms to gather my bag and see Lily and her mother talking. Both perk up when they hear my footsteps.

A quiet shadow passes over Lily’s face. “Hey, Nik said you weren’t feeling well and that you were going home?” she asks tentatively.

I dip my head. “Yeah… hopefully it’s not a stomach bug.” I try to laugh, though it rings hollow.

Her smile is sympathetic, and she steps in for a hug. “I’m sorry. Feel better, okay?”

I return the hug, startled by how fiercely I don’t want to let go. “Thank you. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” she says, pulling away. “I better get back.” She waves to her mother and me.

Self-loathing washes over me as she walks away. Why can’t I just be like her?

Even now, I can feel Nik’s eyes on me, the weight of them pressing on my skin, steady and knowing. It makes my stomach drop and my throat lock up, but it also makes me acutely aware of every misstep, every lie, every piece of myself I’m trying to hide.

“Ready, sweetie?” Evelyn asks, her warm smile making me wish my own mother were like her.

“Yeah… sorry, let me just grab my bag,” I mumble.

“No need to apologize. I’ll wait right here,” she says kindly.

The drive home is quiet, almost peaceful. Evelyn doesn’t hover. She makes gentle small talk, letting me just… be. If it was my own mother in this situation, she would have been livid. Beyond livid. In fact, I’m sure she would’ve demanded I stay and finish rehearsals, regardless of what Nik said.

Nik. My stomach flutters at the mere thought of him. He holds so much power over me right now. He can easily tell Kasper what he witnessed, and I can’t predict what he would do.

He told Lily I was just sick, so maybe there was a chance he’d keep it to himself.

But that look on his face—the one that will haunt me—refuses to leave my mind. Disappointed, yes, but there’s something else, something I can’t name. A profound sadness, and somehow I know I placed it there.

“Which one is yours?” Evelyn asks, pulling me from my thoughts about Nik.

I point to the right. “There. The brick building with the green door.”

Evelyn nods, steering the car next to the curb. “Feel better. Try some ginger and chamomile tea, that usually helps me when I’m feeling sick,” she says, sincerely.

She has a heart of gold. It didn’t matter to her that she barely knows me; it seems like she truly cares about my well-being. I can’t help but wonder what my life would’ve been like if I had a mother like her. Would I be the way I am now?

“Thank you for the ride… and for the advice,” I say, stepping out of the car.

She nods once, smiling warmly. “My pleasure.”

The moment I’m inside my apartment, away from the outside world, I drop my bag and crumble to the floor. I slump against the front door and sob into my hands. The events of the day washes over me in relentless waves. I let myself feel the pain. Ashamed, worthless, and utterly defeated.

The cruelest part? Realizing I’ve lost control over the one thing I thought I could command. The way I eat, the way I live—it’s no longer mine. Today proves that. I’ve willingly surrendered to the desires I once told myself kept me perfect, kept me in control. But is it truly control when I lay my life down to the very things that destroy me?

At my core, I understand that nourishing my body is natural—a simple part of life. Yet another side of me screams that girls like me can’t have what they want if they indulge in life’s better things. All I want is control. To remain the flawless image of myself. Because let’s face it… I look better when I’m dying on the inside.

I gather what little of myself remains and start settling in for the night. It’s only one in the afternoon, but all I want is to lie in bed and waste away. I catch my reflection in the bathroom and barely recognize the girl staring back. My cheeks are hollow, my collarbones more prominent than I remember.

In the corner, the scale I once used daily sits untouched. It used to keep me in line, but now it’s about to reveal the damage I’ve done to myself.

I step on, bracing for the number. I keep my eyes shut as I try to summon some resemblance of strength. When I open them, 110.2 lbs stares back. I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I just look. Shock should hit me, but it doesn’t. This past summer, I made it my mission to lose weight. This is proof.

I don’t linger on the number as I step off. Dwelling will send me into a spiral I’m not sure I’ll escape. I wash my face, letting the cool water steady me, and pull my hair from its bun—once perfect, now a sloppy mess.