This is a spin-off of several works I have completed or are currently underway.
This series of short stories will follow a few of my characters through the rehabilitation process until they have their moment of clarity.
Some issues dealt with in thi...
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"I didn't hate it," I said to Ryan, the two of us sitting down for coffee. "It was definitely alternative, though."
"Good news is that insurance will cover it," Ryan said. "Bad news is that they'll only do so for 28 days."
But I had to sign the 30-day agreement. "So mom and dad will have to foot the bill for the extra?"
He nodded.
"No way I'm-"
"Mom has already budgeted the finances," Ryan said. "She's onboard."
Of course she is. "They already have to pay for dad's medical bills. I'm not going to ask them to pay for mine."
"You aren't asking them," Ryan countered. "They're offering."
"I can't do that to them."
Ryan reached into his back pocket, placing his credit card down on the table. "Then I will."
"Hell no."
He shrugged. "We didn't take a family vacation this year, because of Jace being so young, therefore we have the funds to spare."
"You're not paying for my treatment," I deadpanned.
"I'd like to hear your alternative then."
I didn't have one.
As a Senior in college, I didn't have a Savings account that was built up enough to pay for inpatient treatment at an eating disorder clinic.
"Caden has also offered to pay," Ryan added. "With his advance from his book contract."
I shook my head, letting out a sigh. "I can't let him do that. I can't let any of you guys do this."
"Too bad it's not your decision where my money goes."
"It is if I don't go to the clinic."
Ryan nodded. "True. But then you'd have to explain that one to Lizzie."
Using his kid to guilt trip me, that was an all-time low. "Not cool."
"You know what else isn't cool?" he challenged. "Having to explain death to my 3-year old again, only this time about her beloved uncle."
"You promised," I reminded him. "No more talk about death if I toured the rehab place."
Ryan held up his hands in mock surrender. "You're right, my bad."
But it was too late. He'd already said it, put it out there for me to continually think about.
Bulimia would eventually kill me, I'd come to accept that.
But I didn't want to start a conversation about eating disorders with a child. I didn't want her to know the concept of weight, to know how calories worked or how fucked up the mind can be.
