Thanks for everything last night. Glad I can call you my boyfriend officially.
Sophie opens the door and walks into my room. She gives me a look that borders on pity, but there’s some fire there that I haven’t seen before. Shane seems defeated, and he takes a seat in the chair opposite my bed.
A tapping rhythm sounds from the window by my bed. Rain. I’ve learned that midsummer in London can be one big puddle. Always raining, heavily enough to make you wet but light enough that it blows around everywhere, rendering umbrellas useless. Sophie’s holding a rain jacket in her hands.
“You okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
A weird pain settles in my gut, and it’s not hunger this time. I want to make her feel better, and I want to find out what’s wrong. Because, what if I’m the reason? I can’t lose my two best friends in twelve hours.
“I should be asking you that,” she finally says.
“Talk to me.”
“I don’t know how.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means … god, Marty. You’ve fucked up right nice, you know that?”
“Soph,” Shane warns.
“I what? What are you talking about?”
She paces the room, and I hang my legs off the side of the bed.
“I don’t even know which one to start with, mate. Actually, both of them start the same way: I talked to Pierce today.”
“Shit.” My chest seizes with fear. “Did he tell you I told him about what you said about Colin? It was important. I needed to know—”
“Mart. It’s not that. Good on you for calling him out. But he told me what happened with your friend, and that you passed out in his apartment.”
Shane clears his throat. “You passed out? You didn’t tell me that—I shouldn’t be hearing this about my cousin thirdhand.”
“It was a bit melodramatic, I guess.”
“You think? Marty … do you know why you passed out?” Sophie folds her arms and drapes her rain jacket over an arm. She stares straight ahead, out the window. “I need to know if you even get it.”
“I mean, I was so stressed after hearing what Megan did, I guess I just lost it, I don’t know. That happens, I guess.”
“Unless you have a medical condition, that doesn’t happen, outside of, like, films and shit. Tell me what you ate that day, because Pierce said you didn’t even touch your dinner.”
“I had a few bites.”
“And the last time you ate before that?”
“What are you getting at? I’m on a fucking diet, Sophie, I’m overweight.”
“You are fine how you are, but that’s not even the point. That’s not a diet. When’d you eat before that? Did you eat at all yesterday?”
“I had a couple things,” I say. Though I know it was only one banana. And I skipped dinner the night before too. Did I eat on Wednesday? I had a snack, at least. “This isn’t why I passed out.”
“It’s sure as hell a part of it.”
“Fuck,” Shane says, “I watched this happen too, and I didn’t stop it. I was so worried about being too overprotective like everyone apparently thinks I am, so I just watched. This is my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say. “Nothing even happened. You two think I’m anorexic? Do I look anorexic?”
“I’m not here to diagnose you, Marty,” Sophie says. “I’m here to point out that if you try to exist off of a tablespoon of food per day, you will pass out, you will hurt yourself, and you will eventually cause damage you can’t reverse.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You really don’t.” She laughs. She freaking laughs in my face.
“I’ll stop when I’m at my goal weight,” I say.
“What’s your goal weight?” Shane asks in a serious tone. “When you magically feel good about your body?”
Sophie chimes in. “When you start to see your rib cage? Please tell us, so we can point out how this is a slippery slope.”
“It’s working,” I say. “I’ve lost ten pounds this week.”
“You what?” Shane interjects.
“I don’t even know what that means in kilograms,” Sophie says as she shakes her head, “but I bet it’s more than you should safely lose in a week.”
I’m almost out of the overweight BMI. I lose weight every day. I see the numbers going down. This is literally all that matters, and passing out once means nothing. But I don’t say this out loud. I’m too angry, and she wouldn’t get it.