The Lonely (7 page)

So
I do.

I
get away with not improving or changing.

The
worst is that I see it. I ride on their understanding and the pathetic way they
see me. I'm technically doing well. For people like me, breathing and eating
and showering, is doing well. I hate doing well. I just want to be normal. I
want to be his.

I
push it back angrily and drive my feet harder.

A
flash of something takes me out of my raging run. The treadmill slows right
down and stops. I'm gasping and heaving for air. I bend forward immediately.

"Wh-wh-what
are you doing?" I ask in between panting and coughing.

Sebastian
is in my face, "You trying to die?" He's angry.

"I
was fine." I'm humiliated just seeing him.

I
ran out on him.

His
hazel eyes are greener than normal. Against his olive skin they stand out, as
does the worry and concern plastered to his face.

I
stand up straight and climb off the treadmill. He grabs my arm. I pull harshly.
I stop myself mid pull and shake my head, "Sor-sorry."

He
puts his hand in the air fast, "No. I'm sorry. But you looked like you
were about to pass out."

I
put my hands on my hips and pace, "I was." I laugh and cough. My
throat is ragged. I force myself to look at him, "I'm sorry."

He
shakes his head, "No. Don't be. I shouldn’t have grabbed at you." He
still gets it. Even after running out o him, he gets it.

I
laugh, "I mean about the penthouse." I clear my throat and notice
it's not happy with me. It hurts like it's bleeding.

He
nods, looking crushed. "Ah yes, the lovely dinner I had being made for you
that you ran out on. Yes, I suppose you owe me an apology for that. The chef
was at my place for five hours prepping. It was delicious. You missed out.
Maybe next time?"

I
pace back and forth, "I don’t have an excuse. I'm just…well…I'm
sorry." I could cry any second. I'm so embarrassed. I hate myself so much.
I would do anything to make it okay, make me be normal.

He
pulls hand sanitizer from his jogging pants pocket and holds it up. I burst
into laughter. He smiles, "You've got me addicted."

He
pours some on my hands and then his. I rub them and walk for the wipe cloths. I
tug a few out of the dispenser and go clean my machine.

He
grabs my water bottle. I can't drink from it now, but it was nice of him to
grab it.

He
sees me eyeballing his hands on my water bottle. He holds it out, "Drink
some." His eyes challenge me.

I
look at him, "I can't." I can't fight the frown on my face.

He
stands in front of me and shakes his head, "Do it."

I
stop and look at the bottle.

He
speaks loudly, "I've cleaned my hands. I never touched anything before I touched
it. Just have some water."

If
only he knew what he was asking me. I shake my head and try to walk past him.
He grabs my arm again. I don't pull away. He drags me into his embrace. He
holds me tight to his chest. His shirt is damp with the sweat from his own
workout.

I
could die feeling the cold, damp fabric against my face.

"Drink
it, Emalyn. Please." His voice has become a whisper.

I
whisper back, "How did you know I wouldn’t have any?" He takes my
hand in his and pulls me outside.

The
fresh air is nice. It's not one hundred percent fresh with the humidity but
it's better than the recycled air in the gym.

I
pull at his hand, "How did you know?"

His
eyes say things he doesn’t want to.

I
jerk my hand free, "Which website did you check out?" I hate being
diagnosed. He isn’t the first person to do it.

He
sighs, "I called my uncle. He recommended a friend. I told him that you
saw that chef and that penthouse and you spazzed. Any normal girl would have
died and gone to heaven for a guy to put that kind of effort in."

Normal.

He
sees how not normal I am.

My
jaw trembles. I point, "I never asked you to be my friend. I never asked
for your help." I stomp away. I would run but my legs are almost crippled
from the run. It's a bad feeling. I ran so hard I can't run away when I need
to.

I
can hear his footsteps behind me. My heart races. I look back, "Just leave
me alone."

He
shakes his head and does the thing I asked him to do. He turns away and walks
off. It disappoints me, which makes me mad at myself.

I
hate being a predictable girl.

I
slow down as I reach my dorm. He's standing on the steps with his arms crossed,
breathing heavily. He's run around the other side of the building to beat me
here.

"Didn’t
your uncle's friend explain about the paranoia, people like me get?" I
ask, trying desperately to be funny. I joke, praying he will give up on the
water thing. The worst part about being me, is realizing how irrational I am. I
only ever see it afterward. I know in an hour I'll be upset with myself.

Sebastian
nods slowly, "He did. He also said that the only way to help was to force
you out of your comfort zone, one tiny baby step at a time. He walks down the
steps and holds my water bottle out. "Drink some."

I
panic, "You've taken it with you. You could have done something to
it." I almost stutter. I see the irrational behavior but am incapable of
stopping it.

He
shakes his head, "I sprinted around the building to beat you here. You
know that it's impossible for me to even have longer than a second to unscrew
it. I would have missed you if I had. Drink some."

I
snatch the bottle as my anger flares, "You're making a big deal about
nothing." I snap at him.

"The
penthouse wasn't nothing. Baby steps, Em."

The
New Leaf. If not for him, for me, I sigh, unscrewing the cap and I licking my
lips. His eyes are hopeful. I can't stop the trembling hand or the twitching
lips, as I lift it to my mouth. The warmth of the plastic makes me sick. I
almost gag but I tilt it back. He watches every tremble. Every motion and
emotion.

I
blank my mind and let the liquid pour into the back of my mouth." My
throat wants to close. My lips want to clamp shut. But I take the control and
force myself to drink the liquid. I lower the bottle and screw the cap on.
"Happy?" My words are cold and dead. I'm angry and I hate that it's
not entirely him I'm mad at.

"Not
even close." His voice is so hard and filled with disgust. I disgust him.
I can see it. He walks away from me. Leaving me standing on the stairs.

In
the shower, I spend a long time trying to talk myself out of the crazy way I am
acting. I like him. I like him a lot. But the crazy side of me has made up her
mind. She hates him. She hates the challenges he creates. She likes the safety
and comfort of the routine. There isn’t any point in arguing with her when
she's lie this. I shut my mind down and try to relax and not think about the
communal showers.

I
rinse off and wrap myself in my robe. I shuffle down the hall, looking behind
me several times. I despise the communal showers. It's the worst part of my
day. I have to drag travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner and put
them through the dishwasher afterward. Not to mention the number of rubber
shower shoes I've gone through or the fact I can't touch the shower curtain
with my bare hand, I always have wipes next to me.

Shell
looks up from her phone when I walk in, "You okay?"

I
shake my head, "I'm tired of being a shell of a human. I would do anything
to be a real girl."

She
grimaces but snorts, "It's not that bad. You're getting better everyday. I
never would have imagined you would make dorm life happen and look at you. And
we went to the bar. And you've eaten in restaurants. And Sebastian seems nice.
Hot and nice."

I
shake my head. "I don’t want to see him anymore."

She
sits up on her bed. "Did he try something?"

I
frown, "No. He's just like everyone else. He'll never see me." I lie
back on the bed and close my eyes. She climbs on the bed with me and wraps
herself around me. She smells like pumpkin-spice. It makes me happy.

"I
see you."

I
nod, "I know."

Her
warmth and softness is comforting. I imagine it's what a mother feels like.

I
let her wrap around me and be there. Be the wall that separates the girl I am
and the girl I want to be. I feel her fingers at my ears. We're sharing ear
buds, like we did when we were little. Mine smells like sani wipes. It makes me
smile and feel grateful.

Bon
Iver starts singing and I forget everything. It's me and her. I don’t need
boys. I need her and ear buds, one for her and one for me. Mine has to be clean
though.

My
phone vibrates. I grab it.

'
Hi.
Are you having a good day?'

I'm
confused.
'Hi. Did Doctor Bradley up your meds? You seem cheerful.'
It's brazen of me, but I don’t care at the moment.

'Funny
girl. What are you doing?'

'Hanging
out. Listening to music with Shell.'

'Call
her Michelle please. What are you listening to?'

I
grin,
'Bon Iver.'

'Bon
Iver is a very talented group. I've been to four of their concerts.'

I
laugh,
'No way.'

'Way!
See how silly it sounds. Please speak like an adult.'

I
laugh. Michelle moans, "What are you doing?"

"He's
being funny."

"Who?"

I
grin, "Uncle Daddy Dude. He's been to like four of Bon Iver's
concerts."

She
laughs, "No way."

I
grin at her, "Way." It does sound silly.

"He's
not as stodgy as we thought I guess huh?" She moans into my pillow and
squirms into the bed to get comfier. I don’t love her face on my pillow like
that. My nose wrinkles involuntarily.

The
thought crosses my mind and I send him a text.
'You're cooler than I thought
you were'

'Ah,
so you see me as human now?'

'Just
barely!'
I smile when I press send.

'How's
the guy from the gym?'

I
frown,
'Not good. Bit of a wanker.'

My
phone rings. I roll away from Michelle, who sounds like she might fall asleep.

"Hi."

His
voice is deep and relaxed, "I thought he was your dreamboat?"

I
laugh, it's playful and resembles a giggle, "Who even says
dreamboat?"

"Well?"

I
shake my head, playing with the edge of the blanket I'm lying on. "No. Not
so dreamboatish."

He
sighs and I'm not entirely sure it isn’t relief, "Why? Did he hurt
you?"

I
press my lips together and nod. It takes me a minute to answer, "I guess
so."

"How?"
His voice is angry. The switch is fast and slightly creepy.

"He
didn’t…like…touch…me. He just made me do things I didn’t want to do."

"Oh
my god, what?" He sounds panicked.

I
moan, "No. He...like made me drink water from a sports bottle he touched
and made me dinner at a penthouse he lured me to."

He
laughs. I've never heard a full laugh from him before. It sounds like he's
pulled his hands away, and his laugh is an echo in the silent room.

He
stops laughing. No amount of Bon Iver will fix the way he's mocking me. He's
still chuckling when he speaks, "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I very
nearly made a phone call I couldn’t take back. You scared me. I thought he'd
done something to you."

"Well
he did. He's trying to fix me. He's trying to push me and I don’t want that.
Not from him. I just wanted him to see me as a normal girl. As a girl at
school. Not a project to fix." I realize I've raised my voice and am
sitting up staring at the cold floor.

He
clears his throat, "Have you considered he sees you as a girl. Not all
girls are whole when you meet them. Sometimes you have to help them get there.
Right now, you are a broken girl. That doesn’t mean that you'll always be
broken. That doesn’t make you less of a girl." He clears his throat again,
"I'll call the doc. She'll want to talk to you."

The
tears in my eyes don’t come out. They stay in there like tiny kaleidoscopes,
trying to make the world the way I need it to be. My words don’t come right
away. I don’t hear the click on his end when I whisper, "I'm not
broken." But he isn’t there. He never really is. He is the master of not
being there.