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“I don’t just eat them. I…” She looks away. “I throw up after I eat them because I feel guilty… and then I eat some more.”
My eyebrows arch. No wonder she’s acting like she just killed someone. If she was just eating too much, that would be one thing. People usually do during the holidays. It’s a tendency. But eating too much and then throwing up only to eat more? It’s a disorder.
Suzannah lets go of my arm and bows her head. “You’re disgusted with me now, aren’t you?”
I let go of the doorknob and turn to her. “No. You’re sick. That doesn’t mean you’re disgusting. It just means you need help.”
She shakes her head. “But asking help means letting people know. I don’t want anyone to know. They’ll think I’m… weak and disgusting.”
I sigh. Even now, she’s still worried about what other people think. The anxiety from trying to appear perfect in front of everyone is probably what drove her to this state in the first place.
“I know someone,” I tell her. “A doctor who specializes in treating eating disorders. She’s good. And she’s treated celebrities before.”
Suzannah’s eyes grow wide. “She has?”
I nod. “She can be trusted to be discreet.”
Suzannah thinks about it for a moment. Then she nods. “If she has treated celebrities, I wouldn’t mind seeing her.”
So that’s all she’s heard of what I said, huh?
“Do you think she can tell me who her other celebrity patients were? After all, I’ll be her patient, too.”
“No,” I tell her. “You know a doctor can’t disclose information about another patient, which is good, because that means she won’t tell anyone about you.”
Still, Suzannah pouts. “Fine.”
I nod. “I’ll give her a call after the holidays, then.”
Her frown turns upside down as she looks into my eyes. “You still care about me, don’t you?”
“Only because you’re my fiancee’s cousin,” I say.
The corners of her mouth turn back down.
“I hate her.” Suzannah’s voice drips with resentment. “And I hate her because she stole you from me.”
“She didn’t.”
“And because now, she’s stealing my money from me. She’s a thief.”
“She’s not stealing anything. Your grandfather is just giving her what’s hers.”
Suzannah ignores me. “And you know what I hate the most about her? That she’s trying to pretend none of that is happening. She’s still smiling. She’s still trying to be my friend. Just this afternoon, she came to me again, trying to act all sweet and nice.”
So Ellis has tried to talk to her again. And still to no avail, it seems.
“Ellis isn’t acting,” I say. “She really is sweet and nice.”
Suzannah snorts. “No one is that sweet and nice. Besides, nice is boring.”
“How would you know?” I ask her. “You haven’t tried it.”
She frowns. “Ellis makes me sick. I hate her. I want to kill her.”
I pause after that last statement. “What did you say?”
“I said I want to kill her,” Suzannah repeats without hesitating.
“And did you tell her that?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “I think so.”
“To her face or on paper?”
“Paper?” She grimaces. “To her face, of course.”
Indeed, if she wanted to tell anyone anything, she would have just gone ahead and said it. She wouldn’t write a note, much less draw on a piece of paper. She’s too lazy for that.
“You better not mean that, though,” I tell her.
“You mean wanting to kill her?” Suzannah asks. “I do, though. I want to kill her. But don’t worry. I won’t, not even if it would mean we’d end up together.”
“It wouldn’t.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not a killer. Killing is too… messy for me.”
Not to mention that it requires a lot of effort.
“And who do you think is the killer in the family?” I ask her curiously.
She touches her cheek. “Aunt Vivi?”
Vivian? I didn’t think that would be her answer.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she’s a horrible mother. You should hear the things Christine and Calvin say about her. Well, not Christine.”
I’ve heard some of them. “And you think that makes her capable of doing other horrible things, like murder?”
Suzannah shrugs. I guess it is a valid argument, though that doesn’t mean it’s right.
“Anyway, I wouldn’t kill your fiancee,” Suzannah tells me. “Or my own cousin.”
“Good to hear.”
“I still don’t know what you see in her, though,” she says. “Do you love her?”
The question makes me pause. Do I? I know I enjoy being with her, and not just in bed. I know that I don’t want anyone else to have her or anything bad to happen to her. But love? Isn’t that deeper and more selfless, more complicated?
“We’re engaged,” I point out instead.
“Right.” Suzannah nods.
Thank goodness she isn’t bright enough to realize I’ve dodged her important question.
“Well, I hate her,” she repeats as she walks to the bed.
She picks up a piece of chocolate and puts it inside her mouth. She offers me another.
