admitted that Evan had a bad reputation around the house but wouldn’t go into further detail. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see whatever rep wasn’t just some bad boy thing based on the way Ren had gripped the steering wheel of his Jeep.
It didn’t help matters either when I felt Theo’s anger like radiation being absorbed into my skin. It wasn’t like I thought his agitation was unprecedented, I just didn’t want him thinking ill of Ren because of one night. There wasn’t even proof that I’d been drugged because nobody had taken me to the hospital, not that I would have wanted them to. The only alcohol I’d drank was from the game I’d played, and anybody could have drunk it, and one and a half beers that Ren himself had given me after I sobered a little. Had I set it down? It was possible, which meant I was at fault too.
“Because what?” I pressed lightly, curious as to what she’d say. It wasn’t like my condition was a secret. It certainly circulated around the people who Sophie hung out with. They wanted the details, the reasons I’d starved myself to the point my body was shutting down. Some of them were bold enough to ask why any young girl would want to look so frail and broken. That one still got to me. I wished she’d replied, “Maybe some of them want to reflect what they feel like on the inside” but I knew Sophie had kept quiet and pretended like I wasn’t sick and struggling. Did she even know that was how I’d felt inside? I doubted it.
While I also wasn’t nearly as physically strong, it was my mental and emotional health I’d be more concerned about with standing in front of the mirrors while stretched over the barre, being trained rigorously and told what to eat and what not to again. My diet was restrictive, the training during practice and off the floor intense, and the critique on the dancers’ bodies demeaning. I couldn’t put myself through that and believe I’d make it out without failing again. Only the next time might be harder to come out of.
I used to love dancing because it felt like flying and freedom and peace. I loved it even more because my mother’s face lit up every time she saw me glide across the floor. I’d been called graceful once upon a time. That was, until everything the trainers said got to my head, until the press told me I’d been too bulky to make it big.
The way I’d watch myself in the mirrors, the frailty of my skin, the amount of times I stumbled during practice because I hadn’t eaten enough for the amount I was burning, especially during recital season, was like a warning sign flashing. Nobody saw it. I ignored it. I was killing myself for everybody else’s approval. Sophie said I was fine, that all the girls had to change their lifestyles in order to be the top of the top and I doubted any of her friends believed her. Did they call her out? No. That wasn’t the way things were and we both knew it.
All that mattered now was that the love I’d grown for the sport my mother and I shared had dwindled as time went on and disappeared altogether when we laid her to rest. My passion had been buried in the coffin alongside her, never to be seen again. I’d forced myself to continue until I was nineteen, told myself she would have wanted me to, guilted myself into thinking it was the best option. It was Theo who told me I could find passion in other things, things that were safer and less triggering when I’d finally agreed to get help. Because of Theo, I’d found art.
I’d been saved.
Sophie’s voice pulled me from the potentially dangerous train of thought. “You know I love you, Adele. It’s just sad to see such talent wasted. But your health means more.”
My health means more because it causes less gossip for you to hide from.
My aunt loved to spread gossip but loathed being the center of it. Once my eating disorder came to light, she was swarmed by people who wanted to hear everything. Paired with the flare of my father’s incarceration? She didn’t know what to do besides lie to everybody, chastise me, and save face for her friends as if the Saint James’ were just that. Saintly.