The End, Again

            The hunger was a game, a game that Rebecca played every day, and nobody knew about it. She felt the hollowing, grasping feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she welcomed it. When somebody irritated her, she could summon a more focused fury if she concentrated on that gnawing emptiness. It made everything sharp and clear, and filled her with a powerful control.

            But today, the hunger was a disadvantage. She felt the champagne run down the back of her throat and straight into her stomach, the combination of alcohol and sugar making her dizzy. She blinked and wanted to set the glass down, but couldn’t. Today of all days, Rebecca needed it.

            Anything about the situation could have pissed her off, but so far it was the centerpieces. A bunch of white lilies sat in the middle of the table, carefully tied together with turquoise and silver ribbons. This bouquet was sitting in an angular vase filled with rocks. Rebecca ran her finger around the lip of her glass as she glared at it. She took another sip.

            She was sitting in the warehouse-sized reception room of the town’s only church. What must have been hundreds of people were milling around, refusing to stay in their assigned seats. The turquoise and silver theme extended to the entire room in the form of streamers and balloons, decorations that could have been found on sale at the local Diddam’s. There was a raised dais to Rebecca’s right, where the bride and groom were seated. The bride smiled expectantly down at her plate, her right hand holding her fork and poking it at the chicken breast in front of her. Her left hand was grasping the groom’s, whose mouth was in constant motion. The streak of grey that split his otherwise jet black hair seemed to be in agreement with the color scheme, the tapping of his fingers an off-beat nod to the music. Rebecca watched as the sides of his mouth twitched up into an uncomfortable smile every time he made eye contact with someone. He wasn’t looking at the woman to his right.

            Rebecca tore her eyes away from the sight of them. She felt her stomach churn and put out her hand to steady herself against the table. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, in and out. When she opened them, she was greeted by the sight of her untouched entrée. The scent of the roasted chicken wafted up to her, the hint of garlic making her stomach growl. Rebecca felt the characteristic twitch in her hand, and raised her glass to her lips. Taking a big gulp, she stood up from her seat and made her way across the room.

            “Jeremy!” she said, her voice coming out in strained cheerfulness. It was her second warning to slow down on the champagne. Her friend caught the sound of his name and turned towards her. Handsome Jeremy, with the face of a Roman statue and the piercing green eyes of the blackest cat. Rebecca would have gone for him in a heartbeat if she didn’t know that he had come here with his boyfriend.

            “Hey gorgeous,” he said. His left hand gracefully reached out and caught her by the waist. To all appearances, they were friends who were meeting in a casual embrace. Rebecca hoped that nobody could see the way she leaned into him. “What are you up to?”

            She shrugged. “This and that.” Rebecca downed the rest of her drink and set the glass at his table. “Can you believe all of this?” She made a wide circular gesture to indicate the room.

            “Becca,” Jeremy said, his voice dripping with pity.

            “No, I’m serious. All these tacky fucking decorations. And those centerpieces. Who thought those were a good idea?”

            “Sweetie, we’re not doing this.”

            She swayed a little where she stood. He was forced to bear the whole of her weight as he held her up. “Doing what?” She focused her big, blue eyes on her friend. She suddenly felt the guarded irritation emanating off of him. It made her nervous.

            “Trashing the wedding reception just because you’re sad.” Jeremy’s voice was low. “I get it, but it’s beneath you. Besides, I don’t like filling the role of your token gay.”

            Rebecca ran her fingers through his hair in what she thought was a normal way, although his facial expression indicated otherwise. She stopped. “I don’t see the problem with saying things if they’re true,” she mumbled.

            “Yes, you do,” he said. “Please, please, for my sake, try to pull yourself together. No more champagne. Have you eaten anything?”

            “Of course,” she said, but she blushed. She had always struggled with obvious lies.

            “So if I go over to your seat right now, your plate will be empty?”

            She tried to give him an incredulous look. “Empty is a lot to ask.”

            Jeremy sighed. “I’m sorry you think that,” he said. “Look, go back to your place and try to get a couple of bites in. I think my sister is about to give the toast.” He was right. The pale ginger was making her way to the dais where a microphone stand was set up. Rebecca saw the champagne glass and fork in her hand and wanted to vomit. She heard the telltale clink a few moments later.

            “Everybody? A moment, please,” the woman said and smiled a toothy smile. “I’d just like to say a few words about the lovely newlyweds.”

            Rebecca found that she was still standing at Jeremy’s table. She stalked to the back of the room, the words of the toast booming over her. When she got to the doors, she hesitated and then stopped. Everyone would notice if she chose to exit now. She didn’t want to be that person. She diverted her course to the left and turned to lean against the wall.

            It was only then that she realized the groom was watching her. When their eyes met, his lips tried to twitch up into a smile, but he forced them back down. Then a brief expression of anguish peaked through. Then he looked away.

            Rebecca ran her right hand down her hip, feeling the bones just underneath the skin. The black velvet of her dress grazed her fingertips. She wondered what thoughts had been going through his mind as he watched her leave. A mixture of pain and satisfaction ripped through her. She closed her eyes again.

            When she opened them, it was the bride that Rebecca focused on. The curls of her blonde hair rested artfully at the sides of her face. Her white dress hugged the curves of her body, her breasts pushed up into strapless perfection. Her expression was hopeful, and trusting. It should be. It was her wedding day. How could she know there was a stranger standing at the back of the room, wishing against everything that they could trade places. And for a moment, Rebecca could feel the lace underneath her fingers. She could smell the hairspray as her hair was ironed into place. It was a heady fantasy, and Rebecca could feel the tears prick at the back of her eyes as she looked over, as she looked to her left and saw him, was wrapped up in the knowledge that they would be together for the rest of their lives. Her bottom lip trembled, in the fantasy and in real life. She forced herself to push it away. She tapped her head against the wall behind her.

            Jeremy’s sister finished her toast and the crowd raised their glasses, all smiles and congratulations. Rebecca realized that she had left her glass at Jeremy’s table, and, for some reason, this made her feel more out of place than anything else. She watched as the groom gulped down the entirety of his champagne and held his glass out for more. She wanted to be the alcohol in his bloodstream, a source of comfort and destruction. Instead, she settled for being the anorexic at his wedding who had, inexcusably, lost her way.

~

            He pulled her to him as soon as they got into the apartment. He kissed her mouth, her neck, nipped at her collarbone. She closed her eyes and folded her arms around him. Her body felt freed when he lifted the shirt from her shoulders, when he grabbed her hand and led her into his bedroom, when she felt his skin against hers and sat up so she was hovering over him. And then he ran his thumbs along her rib cage and she watched as the light went out of his eyes. His mouth set into a line and his hands fell to his sides.

            “What is it?” Rebecca said, although she knew.

            “I can’t,” Tom said. “I can’t keep doing this. Not when you’re like this.”

            “Like what?” she said, and swallowed down the fear that crept up her throat.

            “Just . . . please just get up,” he said, and she got up and sat to one side. She ran her fingers along his arm in an attempt to comfort or connect with him, but he twitched it away.

            “I don’t understand,” she said.

            His chest started expanding and contracting more rapidly, and she watched as his misty brown eyes looked to the left, looked up at the ceiling. “You haven’t eaten anything yet today, have you?” he said.

            Her stomach dropped, and then growled. “I’m . . . I had a banana this morning,” she said, too hastily.

            His eyes met hers. “Please, please don’t lie to me,” he said.

            “I’m not—well, I guess I sort of am. But I’ll get something as soon as we’re done, I promise.”

            He blinked. “Well, we’re done.”

            She felt the weight of those three words on the palms of her hands. “I don’t understand why you suddenly care now,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You didn’t seem so disgusted by me the first time we slept together.”

            “I’m not . . . disgusted . . . by you. I—it just makes me sad.”

            She raised an eyebrow. “What does?”

            He took a deep breath, and then sighed. “Watching you kill yourself.”

            “I’m not.”

            He reached out his right hand and ran his thumb along her hollow cheekbone. “That’s not what it looks like.”

            She jumped out of bed and walked into his living room. Forcing her shirt over her tiny frame, she turned to see him follow behind her and lean against the doorframe. “I don’t know how to convince you I’m not hurting myself. Not on purpose.”

            “Eat something,” he said. She watched the light play across his pale skin where he stood. “Please, I love you. I don’t want you to do this anymore. You’re perfect, you don’t need to be thin. Please, just eat something.”

            She wanted to explain it all. That it wasn’t about being thin, not really. That the brief, omniscient feeling she had whenever her stomach growled was worth anything. That knowing exactly what she put in her body, and what it was made of, gave her a sense of control that she had never had before. That she knew it was a problem, that it was dangerous, but that she had never been able to stop.

            She thought about eating, and Rebecca’s eyes welled up. She looked down and tried to make the tears go away, but one fell down her right cheek.

            “Becca,” Tom said, “stop it. You don’t have to cry about it. Please. It’s just food.”

            Rebecca shook her head and wanted to shout at him. Instead, it came out as a whisper, “No . . . it’s not.”

            “Yes Becca, it is. It shouldn’t be this hard.”

            She rubbed the side of her shoulder and shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

            His hands jerked up to his head and he ran them through his hair as though he wanted to pull it out by the roots. “So what do we do?” he asked.

            The feeling left her arms and the nerves started to crawl up her neck. “What do you mean?”

            “I don’t know, I don’t think . . . I don’t think I can be with you like this.”

            She wanted to fall to the ground, but she didn’t. Instead, she nodded her head as best she could and murmured a faint, “Hmmm.” She opened her mouth and started to gasp for air.

            “Please, Becca, it’s not because I don’t love you. I do. More than I’ve ever loved anybody. I just . . . that’s the reason I can’t watch this.” He reached out his arms, but she walked away as though she didn’t see them. They fell to his sides. “Maybe . . . maybe we should take a break.”

            She put her left hand over her face and crossed the room. When she reached the end of it, Rebecca paced back, her hand still covering her eyes.

            “It’s not forever,” Tom said, “I just want you to get well.”

            Rebecca took a deep breath and nodded. She wanted to say something, something that would change his mind and convince him that she was okay. But he knew she wasn’t, just as he knew. She threw her hands out in a half-hearted shrug. Then she walked to the door and let herself out.

~

            Rebecca looked at Tom now, ostensibly the happy newlywed, and wondered if she could have done anything differently. If she could have tried, if she could have checked herself into treatment. Would that have made a difference? Would that have made this clinging phantom go away? It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter now.

            She could do it for herself, but the very thought of that made her laugh and roll her eyes. She didn’t deserve big things, not even recovery, and she knew it.

            People were slowly milling towards the dance floor. The day had turned to night, and the guests were starting to feel the influence of the free-flowing alcohol. That was one thing you could say about the bride. Her father had enough money to pay for an open bar.

            Rebecca wanted another drink, but as soon as she moved from her spot at the back, the floor started to spin. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked up. The bride and groom were facing each other at the center of the dance floor. Inhibitions lost, Tom started to move uncomfortably in place. He hated dancing, but it seemed like his bride was having a good time.

            Realizing she could leave without being noticed, Rebecca opened one of the double doors and slipped out. The cool night air assaulted her as she stepped into the dark, and she took a second to embrace it. It held her, and let her know where she was. She took a couple steps forward and felt her legs shake underneath her. Rebecca was so focused on putting one foot in front of the next, she didn’t hear the door open behind her.

            “Becca,” a voice said, and she stopped.

            “Go back inside,” she answered. “Get back to your wedding.” She turned around.

            “Please don’t leave,” Tom said, taking a few steps toward her. Up close, she could see the lines that covered his face. The grey that had taken root in his hair was more advanced than she had thought. He looked old, so much older than she ever pictured him. A cold despair started to grip her, and she rubbed her arms to keep it at bay.

            She threw her hands out to the side. “What do you want me to do? It’s better that I just leave now. Better for everyone.”

            “Please,” he said, “I never get to see you anymore.”

            The despair fell away. “And whose fault is that?” she said.

            His left hand felt at the back of his neck. “Mine, I guess.”

            She nodded.

            “I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you, though.”

            “I know,” she said. “But you did leave. You wanted me to get better, but here I still am. So I guess you made the right choice.”
            “Don’t say that.”

            “Why not? It’s true.” She turned and started walking in the direction of her car. “Have a nice life,” she called back.

            A moment passed. “She’s pregnant,” he said. “That’s why we got married so quickly.”

            One last look behind her. She met his eyes and said, “I don’t care.”

            Rebecca didn’t know if Tom went back into his wedding. It didn’t matter. She focused on the clicking sound her heels made as she walked away. The emptiness inside her started to expand. It grew in size until it encompassed the entire parking lot. Still, she walked on and didn’t look back. It didn’t matter now. It couldn’t. Her blood continued to pulse and push her forward until she was, gratefully, swallowed by the night.