We are rehearsing before the bus comes and for once, everything is going great. Even I manage to pull myself together to perfect my dance. But Ms. Abby keeps saying my stomach is sticking out. I suck my stomach in, adding another component to the difficulty of the dance.
Mom is pretty annoyed at Ms. Abby, and I can tell she was holding herself back from raging on Abby. She doesn't want to embarrass me even more. Especially when I manage to recover just fine to the outside world, so maybe she thinks I can handle it?
The group dance still sucks. We don't have the stamina. Oh, well. Guess we'll just have to pray. I take my Fluoxetine beforehand, but I am so tired. I manage to convince my Mom to let me have some caffeine, but it barely helps.
When we go on the bus, Ms. Abby asks us, "Is everybody good?"
"Yes!" we all shout. I have found my place next to Brady this time.
"Now what are we gonna say?" Ms. Abby coaxes.
"Move this bus! Move this bus!" we chant over and over again. I break off midway, a headache starting to form.
The bus doesn't move. It is very anticlimactic and comically depressing. But it moves eventually. Brady and I stay quiet as we do some schoolwork. Eventually, once we finish school, the subtle rocking of the bus lulls me to sleep while we drive four hours to Wilmington, Ohio.
~~~~~
It isn't a peaceful nap. No, it is torturous. It is like the music video for Mad Hatter by Melanie Martinez. Except the china dolls dressed in animal suits that make them look like Rushton dolls, aren't helping me accept any schizophrenia condition. Or anything in general. They are beating me.
I am curled up, knees tucked into my chest, wearing a monochrome pale blue hospital gown, my hair down and matted, tangles gracing what is normally straight blonde hair. The room is pitch black while I feel unbreakable china hit me over and over, making me yelp out in pain.
"Please! Please!" I scream, seeing if anybody will help me, but I have no one who will help me.
"Shut up you slut!" one of the china dolls yells at me, a leather belt coming in sharp contact with my cheek, making a welt appear on my face.
The voice that emerges from the china doll isn't my voice. The voice isn't some garbled hacker robot. It's Ms. Abby's.
I scream.
~~~~~
I sit up quickly, giving a sharp inhale. This isn't a panic attack. But it is some type of reaction. Brady takes immediate notice of my strange reaction.
"Lilly, are you ok?" Brady whispers to me, not wanting to draw any extra attention. What a saint.
I grip his arm in instinct and look straight into his eyes in fear, immediately relaxing once I saw him and not a doll, my eyes closing, giving a slow exhale, releasing his arm, breathily replying, "Yeah, yeah, just a bad dream. Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."
I grab my water bottle, chugging it with speed as if I am drowning myself. I wish. Brady stops me, a concerned look spreading on his face.
"Do you need me to get your Mom?" Brady asks, his feet positioning to get up from his seat.
"No!" I whisper quickly, almost too quickly, making sure not to alarm the other people on the bus, glancing around quickly before returning my eye contact to him. "I mean, I'm good, thanks."
He seems okay with that answer. I play with the hair tie around my wrist anxiously, rocking back and forth gently, calming myself down from my nightmare as I listen to Crybaby by Melanie Martinez. I am a crybaby. Toughen up.
We arrive at the hotel at ten. I am sharing a room with Hannah. It's awesome. In Red Bank, we slept on the bus and that was fun, but in a hotel, you get to watch movies and chit-chat.
There are two queen beds in one room and a couch pull-out in a separate room. The kids get the pull-out. We don't unpack our suitcases. We just grab our hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, and pajamas and then repack it tomorrow.
"Rock, paper, scissors!" we shout in unison, earning a shush from our mothers in the other room as our hands contort into shapes. We giggle as my hand balls up into a fist and hers turns into scissors. Rock beats scissors.
"Yes!" I whisper, picking High School Musical 2 out of the three movies that we carry around with us from place to place in our dance suitcases. They haven't seen the light of day unless they are in a hotel.
Hannah sighs as she grabs her stuff and goes into the bathroom to change. The moms have already changed and are drinking wine and talking.
"Well, it has to be 5 o'clock somewhere," I think to myself. I chuckle quietly to myself as I stare at the rotating ceiling fan, mesmerized by the spinning.
Pressley suddenly walks into the bedroom in some pink striped pajamas. I gather my things and stumble into the bathroom.
As I take off my shirt I pause and look at the mirror. I play with my stomach. It is so big, yet so tiny at the same time. My ribs are barely showing. The thoughts are yelling at me Throw up, Lilliana! Throw. Up. You. Whore.
I have to take a deep breath. The toilet is right there. I try my best to ignore the thoughts screaming at my face.
The toothbrush hits my gag reflex by accident. I gag. A little bit of puke comes up. I manage to swallow it. It wouldn't have counted, Lilliana. It would've been an accident. I silently cry as I put on my purple pajamas and brush my hair. I just want to ball up in a corner but I am already taking too much time. I calm down enough by trying to remember the lyrics to Training Wheels by Melanie Martinez. I walk back to the room.
"Hey, are you ok?" Hannah asks, dragging a hand gently across my red and blotchy face, her face laced with worry.
I nod, my voice quiet as I lie, "Yeah. I just miss Fayetteville and my family. Let's just watch the movie."
She nods as we lean back in the bed, Hannah putting an arm around me, trying to make me feel safer. It's helping. The movie is quiet because it's like midnight, but it provides a nice distraction. Even though it isn't as good as the first movie, High School Musical 2 is still a good movie. Somewhere near the end, I drift off to sleep.
~~~~~
YOU ARE READING
Une Fleure Fanée
Fanfiction***MATURE WARNING*** "The hunger is good. You had too many calories already. You're already fat." "They'll love you even more when you're skinny. You'll be their perfect little angel when you're nice and pretty." "Lilly, I heard you puking up the c...
