Faded Pink (gxg)

Three

My bedroom hasn't changed in four years. It's exactly how I left it a few months ago – except my bed is now made. I tread carefully across the wooden floor, the boards creaking under my weight. My bed is tucked into the corner, surrounded by built-in shelves courtesy of my Dad. Books of various sizes, colors, and genres fill the shelves, the overflow finding itself on the floor or atop my dresser. I reach for the nearest book and hug it to my chest.

I inhale deeply, slowly, shutting my eyes. The aroma of caramelized onions fills my nose, and I clutch the book tighter. Then, blindly, I reach for another book and stack it on the other. The weight is too familiar in my hands. I grab another – a heavier one – and add it to my pile. My stomach growls loudly.

"I can't," I whisper to myself.

I open my eyes, searching for another book. A leather-bound Dictionary looks heavy enough. I grab it, stacking it on top of the others. I clench my teeth and hoist the books over my head, raising and lowering them slowly. My biceps immediately burn with the exertion.

I count the reps in my head as I walk toward my door.

Five, six, seven, eat – eight.

I reach the threshold and pivot on the balls of my feet, heading back toward my bed.

Eight, nine, ten, eat.

"Eleven," I hiss through my teeth. My shoulders ache from the weight. I push the pain aside and fall into a rhythm. The floorboards groan as I go back and forth, and back and forth. I silently curse my parents for ripping up the carpet.

"Avery,"

I halt my pacing. Beads of sweat roll down my back as I turn to the voice.

Sawyer leans in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His sad eyes glance at the books that hover over my head. I lower them slowly, counting the final rep in my head. He raises a single eyebrow.

"I was just . . ." My excuse trails off, unable to live its lie. I lower my eyes in shame and set the stack of books on the floor in front of me. My arms tremble with fatigue.

"It's okay," Sawyer finally says. His voice is gentle and full of forgiveness – just like every time he's caught me in my bad habits. "I always wondered why you kept so many weird books around."

I can't bring myself to look him in the eye. This isn't the first time he's commented on my unhealthy behavior. Each time fills me with more and more guilt, guilt from exposing my younger brother to the ugly world of eating disorders. I let the weight of my decisions drag me back to sit on my bed.

"A, it's okay." He says again as he steps into my room. The mattress sinks nearly half a foot as he lowers himself next to me. My body tips towards him, and I slide away, distancing myself again.

We sit in silence for a few moments, neither of us knowing what to do with our hands. I keep my palms pressed flat against one another and between my thighs. Sawyer picks at an invisible thread on his jeans.

"I don't know why you even bother coming back."

I look up at his words, my heart constricting at the pain behind them.

"You can never make it more than a few hours before Mom gets under your skin." He finishes.

I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"Where else am I supposed to go?"

He shrugs. "Grandma is in Florida. She's always pretty lonely."

I roll my eyes. "Grandma is even worse than Mom."

"She's a pretty awful cook," Sawyer smiles. "And her cats are so mean."

"They're only mean because you insist on bothering them." I defend the two orange tabby cats my Grandmother loves more than Sawyer and me. "Cats just do whatever they want whenever they want. No one told them we don't worship them as Gods anymore."

Sawyer snorts.

I knock my elbow into his. "Plus, I can't leave my baby brother to fend for himself, can I?"

His smile slides off his face, and he looks down at his hands. He sighs deeply. "You should be worrying about yourself."

My eyes drop to my lap. Another silent moment passes before I return my gaze.

"Let's eat!" Mom's voice echoes up the stairs.

Sawyer snaps out of whatever trance he is in and stands. The abrupt movement makes me flinch.

"Come on," he says as he walks to the door, stepping over my discarded books. He pauses in the doorway and turns to face me.

"S, you know I can't eat that stuff." I shudder at the thought. "Not yet."

He shrugs. "So then just sit at the table with us."

I look at my hands again.

"Please," he adds.

I sigh heavily through my nose and reluctantly push myself off the bed. The voice in my head grows louder with each step.

Eat, eat, eat.