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“I feel good.” I say, and he laughs.
“Darling, you are fucked up.” He grabs my hand and pulls me closer to him. The warmth of his hand around mine sends a wave of butterflies to my stomach. “Let’s get you to your bus.”
“No.” I say, pulling away a little. “We can’t leave together.”
He presses his lips together, studying me again. His pale pink lips are so full, almost perfectly symmetrical and beautiful.
“Are you going to be good to get back by yourself?”
“I’m fine.”
“Lie or honest?”
“Honest. I will be fine.”
“Okay.” He says with a smile. “Goodnight, Abbey Dark.”
“Goodnight, Wesley Whitmore.” I smile, taking a step away from him.
“Wait.” He says, and I pause, rocking back on my heels. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“So, I can put my number in it.” He laughs.
“Oh.” I hand over my phone. He punches his number in, then calls himself before handing it back to me.
“Night.” He says.
I nod without responding and walk away.
I walk back to my bus, taking my time and smiling all the way. I’m happy to have a new friend. It’s been a while since I have had a friend.
The last friend of mine, Megan, caught me throwing up once and decided to sell the story to some magazine. She took a picture of my head in a toilet without me realizing it. Of course, Sue was able to spin it that I had too much to drink, which created another rumor about me being an alcoholic, at least that was better than the truth.
Strangely, addiction is a better rumor than having an eating disorder. Though I mean, at that point, it was so clear I had one. I was bone thin, and my hair was falling out. Anyone with half a brain could tell I had an eating disorder. It was shortly after that that the whole arrangement with the label and Sue started. That was the last straw for them, the nail in my coffin.
I wish I could ask Megan why she did it. We were close there for a while. She was there for me when my then-boyfriend cheated on me. We went out for drinks almost every night. I wasn’t playing a show, sometimes even after a show. We had fun together. We talked about things. I had already been betrayed a few times, so I didn’t tell her much in the way of my past, my mother, or my eating disorder – but she knew I hated the famesometimes. I vented to her. She vented to me. She told me all about her childhood. About being molested by her cousin as a child, about her father leaving her mother. She told me secrets, and I swore to keep them. And I did. Still.
I could’ve sold her secrets. She wasn’t a big-time rockstar, but she was a model. I could tell them all the things she told me about certain photographers. I could spill all the secrets she told me about the other models from her agency.
But why would I do that? What did I have to gain? Revenge wouldn’t save me any face.
Plus, she was my friend. There was some loyalty still left there. Even if she betrayed me, I couldn’t just betray someone I once called my friend. That is messed up.
I swing open the door to my bus and climb on, stumbling over my feet as I climb the stairs up. The bus driver, who normally hangs out on his bunk and never speaks to me, looks up as I plant myself on the couch. Sue is sitting at the table.
“Over an hour.” She nods approvingly. My vision is a little blurry, and I know I am on the verge of blacking out. “Sandwich, then a Xanax.” She says, getting up.
“I’m not hungry.” I say. My stomach is full of liquor, and I genuinely worry I’ll puke if I put anything else in it.
“And?” She says as she begins to make me a sandwich. “It’s a rule, Abbey.”
She is always saying that. Rule Abbey. Like I haven’t learned anything after the last year of her being around, bossing me around, watching my every move.
You’d think gaining weight would be easier than losing weight, and in many ways, it is, but I burn up a lot of the food I eat on stage. The coke doesn’t help either. I know that, too. It is taking months for me to get up to 120.
I know I shouldn’t put up such a fight after all this time. I should play the game, get up to 120, and gain my freedom back.Then, I would be free to go back to not eating. I would be able to shrink away again, at least a little. I could be hollow and empty whenever I wanted to be.
