Page 85 of Poems He Wrote

As the third hour of non-stop crying to old Julia Roberts movies passes, my soul feels a little bit lighter, but my stomach does not. Every fiber in my being wants to eat, but not simply eat a portion of food and be done with it, no. I want to devour everything I see. Every cookie, every drop of juice, every unopened bag of chips, every slice of bread. The emotions always wake up the worst in me.

My fight with binging started when I was not even a teen, and it just keeps getting worse with age. The problems seem to get bigger, and my urges grow accordingly. I grab my phone off the counter and send a quick text to Corey.

Are u sleeping? What did u do to calm ur cravings?

The counting thing?I am starting to binge and I’m already sick just thinking about it, and I am panicking, hard.

Corey’s response comes in a matter of seconds.

Hey, I just woke up. It’s 5pm, sweet lord, I’m pushing it. I have a tattoo appointment at 6. Almost slept through it. It’s 5 to see, 4 to touch, 3 to hear, 2 to smell, 1 to taste. Come to the studio if you need me.

Okay. I can do this. Five to see. My green coffee mug, a hardcover ofKill Switch, a pair of old pink flip-flops, a bundle of silver bracelets, and a hair brush.

Okay, Ronan.Breathe. You can do this. I can touch my glass vase, a fluffy pillowcase, a bouquet of dried roses, and a shiny cover of a veterinary magazine.

I am doing okay. One in, one out. What do I hear? A bird’s song, from the park. A drill, from the house next door. Children laughing under my window.

I smell coffee grounds as I lift the tiny jar on my kitchen island, and lemons.Noah. He smells like lemons. Tears burn in the back of my eyes.

What can I taste, besides heaps and heaps of snacks I’ve inhaled over the last few hours? I can still tastehim. My stomach growls at me and I feel sick. I am going to puke. I trip over goddamn my flip-flops as I’m running desperately to the bathroom. Sliding over the floor I grab the toilet seat and lift it up. I keep vomiting, with barely enough time to get a breath in between violent surges of bile. And then, when nothing’s left, I keep retching and retching…and retching, until acid burns in my throat raw, and pain takes over my whole body.

I settle on the cold tiles next to the toilet, pressing my forehead down. The coldness soothes my aching head. Sleep finds me quickly on the bathroom floor, and I don’t even try to fight it.

My phone rings out in the living room, waking me up. Outside world is covered in darkness and my place isn’t looking any brighter. I stumble towards my shining screen. It’s Corey. And it’s almost eleven in the evening.

“Hey. Sorry it took me a while to answer, I was asleep.”

“He is here,” Corey responds.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Your guy. Noah. He obviously came looking for you.”

“Oh…” My throat constricts, tears already sliding over my eyelashes, as if just hearing his name sets the detonator off. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, I am looking at him on the screen. He looks like a snack,” Corey chuckles. “Do you want me to answer?”

“No. Please don’t. I don’t know how to face him. I don’t know…” My sobs echo through the apartment.

“Okay, baby. Do you want me to come over?”

“Please,” I whisper, and then end the call.

I can’t shake the shame and the guilt I feel. What exactly do I feel guilty for, I’ve yet to discover.

***

Life flies by in a blur, I don’t pick up my mother’s calls for quite some time. Days melt into each other, and slowly turn into months. I find myself sitting in my car, parked across the street from Noah’s music store in Poppy Valley, in the middle of a cold December afternoon. A simple Google search brought me here. What if I just walked in, after months and months of him looking for me? Would he be happy to see me? Would he smile at me? Would he hold me?

I put my knitted cap on, and slowly open the car door, and as if on cue, Noah walks out of the store. I quickly go back in and slam my door shut. I can’t take my eyes off of him. He looks gorgeous. His long hair flipping through the wind and snow, but the light he had that night seems to be gone.

Another wave of guilt hits me. Did I do this to him? Fuck…did I? The tears keep soaking my shawl.I am so sorry, Noah. Sobs shake through me, as I slowly drive away, looking at him in my rear view mirror.

I’m so sorry.

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Blood Sport - Sleep Token

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