Conversations With Ana

15

15

The next day, I resumed talking to Shane and Rose again, much to their surprise.

I sat down next to Rose at the table for breakfast, my sharp shoulder blades pressing against the back of the hard wood chair.

Rose didn't say anything, just ducked her head down, as if she was trying not to upset me.

One side of my lips quirked up in a small smile, finding it funny that she was scared of me.

"Morning, Rose."

Her head snapped up, her eyes slightly wide.

I stared at her, waiting for her to say something.

She set down her fork slowly and took a deep breath.

A true smile lit up her face, as if she was happy that I was back to talking to her.

Which was odd.

No one had cared years ago when I stopped talking to them.

"Hi, Ana! Want some pancakes?"

My eyes slid over to the plate stacked with pancakes and my stomach flip-flopped.

I'd gotten better about eating, but sometimes, sometimes I could still hear those whispers about not being skinny enough and how I shouldn't eat certain things.

A voice answered for me though: "She'd love a pancake, Rose. Thank you."

Rose, Shane, and I all looked up.

Gordon wore a pained, weary smile, as if standing was even hard for him.

I jumped to my feet, nearly tumbling over.

I grabbed his arm and propelled him towards the chair some.

"Here, sit down."

Rose moved over on her seat, making room for me to sit next to her.

I sat next to her and said: "And now I've got a seat. So you can't argue with me."

He looked at me oddly but sat down.

Shane grinned over at me and flirted with me playfully: "Ana, you could've sat on my lap instead of squishing onto that one chair with Rose."

Rose rolled her eyes and retorted: "Sorry, Shane. Ana and I are gay for each other."

I laughed.

I laughed hard because it was ridiculous and funny.

And because they made me happy.

My friends smiled at me, their faces lighting up with joy.

I could even feel Gordon's eyes on me.

Did I really not laugh that much?

I swallowed hard and lowered my eyes down, looking at my hands that laid in my lap.

They looked tiny compared to my thighs that since I had been here, had grown closer together.

My stomach twisted as my eyes zeroed in on my thighs.

While I was sitting, my thighs spread and were touching.

I didn't want them to touch, I wanted them to be far far far away from each other.

I no longer felt like laughing.

I felt like shoving my fingers down my throat.

Part of me wondered why I was this way.

Wasn't being schizo enough?