*TRIGGER WARNING*
shaking hands with the dark parts of my thoughts;
"Are you having fun so far?"
"I guess so.." I mumbled into the phone to my mother. "It's just... really overwhelming. I dunno."
"I can understand how that must feel... Hollywood can make you feel unimportant sometimes. But hon, you're incredibly talented. Just as much as your brother. You'll make it." I tried to keep that pep talk in my head, knowing it would only be watered down by depressed thoughts and guilt.
"Thanks, Mom. I'll let you go now. Love you." I set down the phone on my bed as I contemplated my plans for tonight, jumping up in surprise as Pete poked his head in the door.
"Hey!"
I placed my hand to my chest. "Geez, you scared me!"
"Sorry, I should've knocked. Uh, Joe was thinking we take you to get a drink. There's a nice joint downtown."
I bit my lip and considered his offer. "Sure. Sounds fun."
"Sweet! Let's aim to leave in about..." he squinted his eyes at the clock,"half an hour?"
"Yeah. I'll be ready then." Pete vanished, closing the door behind him with a tiny click. As soon as it sounded, I began to scurry around my bedroom, shoveling through my suitcase for a presentable outfit. It was my first night out with Fall Out Boy, for fucks sake, I wanted to look good. It took me a lot longer than I would have hoped to find an outfit as I dug through my pile of clothes, arranging them together in front of the mirror until I finally decided on a white long sleeve blouse with a black Peter Pan collar and a black skirt.
Because I finally had an excuse to wear something nice, it was my first time wearing it. Staying shut up in your house for days doesn't really offer you many opportunities to dress up. As soon I was satisfied, I began to panic over what I planned to do with my hair. It was a ratty mess, even though I had showered this morning. Perfect.
There was no choice but to twist it up into an updo. It wasn't perfect, but it would work for a few hours. I quickly rubbed on makeup, grimacing at the new zit that had formed on my cheek. I grabbed my sandals and dashed into the living room without further hesitation.
The guys were all ready, waiting for me patiently by the door.
"Sorry I took so long..." I apologized, my cheeks flooding with heat.
"Don't sweat it!" Andy smiled. "Girls take longer to get ready anyway."
"That is true." I laughed, stuffing some cash in my purse before we all loaded the car. Joe manned the steering wheel, Andy took the passenger seat, and I was stuck between Pete and Patrick in the backseat, my shoulders stiff due to the lack of arm room.
"You guys got enough room back there?" Joe yelled over the loud rock music and air conditioner.
"Absolutely!" He flashed a thumbs-up and continued downtown towards an area that mainly consisted of clubs and bars.
The bar we were going to was a couple of stories tall, much larger than any other ones I had seen. Like any other bar, it was dark, dimly light by an array of lanterns draped from the ceiling. The drink bar extended from the entrance to the far opposite wall, bartenders dashing to and fro, delivering drinks to customers. The five of us took our seats in front of the bar, next to a girl with long black hair, dressed in an extremely low-cut strapless dress. In other words, the word cleavage was written all over her. Patrick sat next to her and began talking to her. I sat next to Patrick, with the other three to my right. I wasn't sure who this girl was, but she was much prettier than I.
"Oh, Melanie. This is my girlfriend, Taylor. Taylor, this is-"
"I... know." she quite rudely interrupted, pursing her lips together. I frowned, waving briefly.
"Nice shirt," she muttered, looking me up and down with disgust. I tugged my sleeves down over my wrists and crossed my arms across my chest.
"Thanks?" I blew out a extended puff of air and ordered a drink for myself, tapping my nails on the polished wood surface. I wasn't sure if I was coming across oddly to the girl named Taylor, or if she was just rude. The second option was highly likely, because I easily overheard Taylor asking Patrick to buy her a drink in a cold tone, threatening to yell out his full name in a bar full of paparazzi.
"Fine, god..." Patrick mumbled, digging his wallet out of his pocket. As I sipped on my daiquiri, something came to me. Was this girl the reason Patrick was randomly left the studio, the reason he was always on his phone. Not like it was any of my business. But somehow, it made me feel dead inside to see someone so kind with someone so.... disrespectful.
After I had finished my drink, I headed to the bathroom, which I found empty and silent, except for the steady drip of water from the only sink. I gazed in the mirror and pressed my lips together. I couldn't help but compare myself to Patrick's girlfriend; she was gorgeous, and let's face it- I wasn't. With my oddly shaped nose, my many freckles, and dull brown eyes, I was less than average looking.
It was irrevocably difficult to grasp, how despite the drink I had and the fuzzy sensation in my head I still couldn't escape my own thoughts. Nothing felt worth it, and I felt small and hopeless. Even in the weather that screamed July, my body was still trapped in winter and my mind felt frozen, frozen on one thought, and I would flip it over and over in my head until it formed a snowball of distortion that completely trumped my calm thoughts. The balance had been thrown off.
But why was I so upset? I was sure Taylor made me feel this way, but it seemed too petty and small to cause this disconcertion.
Why so small?
She's not small, she's a fucking fatass.
Fat. Fat fat fat fat.
"Oh, shut up," I grumbled. The two voices always seemed to be contradicting one another. I always heard a male and a female. I thought about naming them before but I didn't want to romanticize this or seem crazy.
Do you miss him?
You need him. It's been a while.
They were talking about my razor. The one I could hardly pick up in my fingers without a sharp jolt shooting through my arm. As if my body recognized it and was welcoming it.
It had been several months. But just because I hadn't relapsed didn't mean I was better and I didn't suffer the pain of having no way to let all the mental torture escape me. The urge was nearly tangible.
So all these months I've been held in this mental prison, and this trip has been the most I've come out of my shell for the longest time, and I was not used to it. Formerly, my conscious mind would sink deep into my body like quick sand. I only paid attention to what was inside. I hardly ate or slept or talked to anyone and at times I'd get so upset that I would dive to the toilet and start retching.
And that reminded me of how tiny I was.
I reached a hand behind my back and ran my fingers over the sharp ridges of my spine. I was practically skin and bones and though I tried to eat most of the time, I was just too distracted to remember and because of the constant vomiting I usually didn't have much of an appetite.
The more I went over everything in my head, the worse I felt, the more I wanted to bring color back to the white lines gracing my skin. I was literally a time bomb, and once I exploded, I would obliterate everything and hurt everyone I loved. But I would destroy myself as well.
