The Truths Behind the Life of Maeve Sun Lively

67

FROM ANNOYED AND SCARED TO throbbing, concerned, and still scared.

She was shivering all over, her bruises more visible under the bathroom light. I helped her into the bathtub, and though she was resisting, she didn't have enough strength to even talk. How did she become like this? What happened?

She had her arms wrapped around her chest ever since I took her in the bathroom. When I lifted up her arm to scrub her underarms, she flinched and covered herself up immediately. But it wasn't fast enough. I saw it. The scarring stitches at her breasts. Breast implants.

My eyes followed to her swollen face. She looked away.

It was so painful to see her like this. I wanted to cry, having not felt like that in so long and both relieved and hurt for it.

I got her into some of my most comfortable clothes after cleaning her up, myself still in my wet tank top and underwear. When I was leading her to my bed, I say leading because she didn't know this house at all and I had to half carry her. But when I was leading her to my bedroom, she managed herself a shake in the head.

I have never made my voice so soft before. "What is it? Do you need to use the bathroom? Is somewhere hurt? Do you need anything? Food? Drink?"

Her lips that used to be flat were now swollen like the rest of her face. What did she do to herself? Who did this to her? I wanted to scream so badly. She opened her mouth and croaked the word out.

"Water."

I put her on my bed and ran as fast as I could down the kitchen to get the water. I almost tripped over the stairs running up. When I saw her in my bed, she looked so tiny and small you could've missed her in the dark. I turned on the lights, but she made a shrieking noise and I quickly turned it back off.

I helped her sit up and carefully held the glass of water to her lips to support her while she drank.

I had so many questions in my head I wanted to ask, but seeing her like that, I thought it best not to ask anything just yet. I placed the blanket over her, she still shivered and I didn't know what to do. I was an actress, my talent was acting, but right then I couldn't act. The best I could do was bite my lips so I wouldn't cry.

I got in the bed next to her, and hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around her. She was so much smaller than I remembered her being. I waited for her to stop me, but she didn't. Rather, she moved a little to fit into my embrace. I rested my chin on top of her head, her face in the nuzzle of my shoulder. Her breathing started to become stabler.

I fell asleep, biting in every urge to cry. I couldn't cry. I needed to be strong for her. But then again, who was left to be strong for me?

—————

I woke up before her.

I examined her face better now. I used to always enjoy watching her sleep, as she probably used to do the same with me. But this was different, because all I could feel was pain watching her.

Her nose had some kind of marks, her eyes were big but small, like the skin of her eyes were swelling while overlapping her actual eyes. Her lips were weirdly thick with similar marks from the rest of her, which all seemed to be from surgery. Her cheekbones looked fuller than before, rather than being way too angular it was now almost perfect. But still, she was not okay. And I thought: Oh Klarise, what did you do? My dear, what happened to your face? Your body? How did I let this happen to you?

I watched her some more, her chest fuller than before yet it barely moved up and down like how her lungs should be inhaling and exhaling. The more I watched her, the more I felt the tears fighting to come out. I got out of bed as quietly as possible, trying to not turn around to see that fragile sleeping figure.