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“Sloane, you need to eat.” Celine’s concerned voice filled my consciousness, enough to almost overflow. The plate was full. Still. I had been messing with it for about 15 minutes, but not a single bite had made it into my mouth.
“You need to eat,” Celine repeats. “For one, your body and what you look like doesn't matter as long as you’re healthy. And this is not. Second, you’re already beautiful. You’re fine. I promise.”
“I’m not hungry,” I assure her. A practiced lie that sounded convincing as long as Lia wasn’t in the vicinity. She wasn’t.
Celine laughs bitterly. “You’ve said that too much for me to believe you. I thought you said you were fine. You said you were better.
I bite back a snarky response. “Over 50 percent of Americans put too much food on their plate. And I need to use the bathroom.” I push up from the table.
Celine grabs me by the hand. “No you don’t. You said you were done. Were you lying?”
“I actually need to use the bathroom. Am I not allowed to anymore?”
Celine’s gaze softens. “Fine. But I have to check the bathroom first.” I nod, killing the instinct to reach for the knife hidden in my leggings pocket.
Celine and I walk to the bathroom, her leading the way. She checks every single place something could be hidden, not thinking to check me.
“Alright,” says Celine, stepping out. “You’re good.”
“Thanks,” I reply. I step into the room and shut the door. Would Celine be able to tell if I locked it? I can’t risk it.
I stare in the mirror, forcing myself to look at my body. Not. Thin. Enough. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t eaten breakfast in years. Didn't matter that lunch was always only a few bites. It still wasn't enough.
I slide the knife out of my pocket.
And I cut.
Multiple times.
I bite my tongue to keep from crying out in pain.
“Sloane?” Celine asks from outside the door. “You okay in there?”
I keep biting my tongue because I know I’ll make an unwanted sound if I don’t.
“Sloane?”
“I’m fine!” The words come hand in hand with another slash. And another.
“No you’re not.” Celine opens the door, and the sight causes my girlfriend’s eyes to widen in fear. “Sloane? What the hell are you doing?!” She exclaims. She quickly grabs her phone and dials a number before I can get any words out.
“Sterling, she-she did it again. It’s bad. Judd left to get something and I tried to make her eat and she wouldn’t and went to the bathroom and- oh God, oh God. What do I do? What do I do?!”
I don’t hear Sterling’s reply, but it causes Celine to mumble an “okay” and hang up.
“Why did you do this?!” Celine yells at me. I stumble backwards in fear, almost falling into the shower. Is she mad at me?
“I thought you were doing better!” She continues.
“I was,” I whisper. My vision starts to get blurry around the edges. I weakly grip the edge of the sink, trying to stand upright.
“Why?!” Celine screams, almost shaking the whole house. I take another clumsy step backwards, and my heel catches something, causing me to fall.
I blink in an attempt to make my vision normal again.
Celine seems to come to her senses and clumsily grabs tissues from the counter and presses them against the cuts in a weak attempt of stopping the blood.
“God- Sloane, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I’m so, so sorry. I just want to know why.”
“I don’t know why,” I whisper in return. “I just, I can’t do it anymore. That’s horrible, I know. It just feels like everything that has happened just piled up on top of my shoulders and the weight is just too much. It’s too much.”
Celine grabs and presses more tissues, more forcefully this time. “That’s why I’m here. To help you bear the weight.”
“Bu that’s not fair,” I mumble. “It’s not your problem; it’s mine.”
I feel myself start to tip over.
“Sl-Sloane?”
That’s all Celine gets out before my vision goes completely black.
…
Lights. Too bright. That’s the first thing I notice. I can feel it burning my eyeballs despite my eyes being closed.
“What…happened?” I ask no one, or maybe myself.
“You passed out.” The voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Can you open your eyes, babe?” Celine. The voice is Celine’s.
I open my eyes, then moan. “Lights…bright.”
“Oh, yeah.” Celine crosses the room to turn off the overhead lights. “Better?”
I manage a weak nod that just makes my head hurt worse.
“How are you feeling?” She asks me.
I push myself up from the bed I don’t remember being in. A wave of nausea hits me as I do. “Dizzy. I don’t know.”
“That can be imagined after trying to kill yourself.” She bitterly adds, “again.”
“Sorry,” I mumble.
She sighs. “No, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”
Agent Sterling materializes in the doorway. “Sloane? You’re awake!” She rushes over and gently hugs me. “Jesus, Sloane, you scared us.”
“Sorry,” I repeat.
“Stop apologizing," Celine says firmly.
“Sorry.” I decide to shut up after that.
Sterling hugs me the tiniest bit tighter. “Why did you try again? You told us you were getting better.” She didn’t sound mad, or even disappointed. She just sounds curious.
“You can actually die from a broken heart. Broken heart syndrome is where, after severe emotional trauma, your heart will not function properly.” I see Sterling bite her lip. “It can be fatal, but it’s rare. 1 to 6% mortality rate,” I finish quietly.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I think it can be, if you look hard enough.”
“And that was a vague serial killer answer.” Celine joins me and Sterling’s hug.
I shrug. “Maybe I’m a serial killer.”
The two pull me close, like they’re scared I’ll let go. “I think we’ve dealt with enough serial killers,” Sterling whispers.