Betrayal
Adam glared at the scale under his feet. Then he picked it up and hurled it against the wall. Anything that would tell him his weight was astronomically high deserved to be smashed into nothing.
“You can go to hell,” he spat, pushing past Alisan in the hallway.
“Okay,” she shrugged, Dreamsicle in her hand. “You coming, too?”
“Shut up.”
“Ooh…Touchy… I think you need some of this,” she offered, holding out the ice cream.
“Ali. The last thing I need in my lard ass is more calories.”
“No, the last thing you need is to get all irrational about your weight. Everybody fluctuates. It’s okay,” she said, irritatingly calm.
“It’s okay for you,” he accused, his eyes dark. “You weigh, like, three pounds. I weight 300.”
“Oh, Adam. You can’t weigh that much! I don’t think my scale goes that high. And it definitely won’t now that you threw it against the damn wall,” she laughed, distracted for a split second as her phone buzzed.
“Are you gonna be okay if I take this?” she asked, eyeing Adam seriously. “You’re not gonna, like, self-destruct or anything, are you?”
“No,” Adam shook his head, knowing even before Alisan turned away that he planned to betray her.
--
It was quick and mostly painless.
Adam masked the sound with the bathroom fan and the sink. Afterward, his eyes watered and his throat burned, but he felt better. He couldn’t control any other damn thing in his life. His parents’ failed marriage. His string of crappy jobs.
But at least he could have control over this one thing.
--
“What’s wrong with you?” Alisan asked when Adam showed up on her doorstep, scowling, a random streak of blue through his newly jet black hair.
But he purposely brightened as soon as she noticed anything amiss.
“Nothing. I’m good.”
Or, he should have been good. Except that now, his fight for something, anything he could claim as his had gotten out of control. There was the puking, which had degenerated into just not eating much of anything and exercising until he nearly passed out.
Then, he picked up smoking again to kill his appetite, even though it obviously wasn’t good for his voice.
All this time. All this exercise and throwing up and smoking. And when you came right down to it? Adam wasn’t any happier.
It had been weeks, and he hadn’t lost nearly enough weight. He still felt huge and disgusting and unworthy of anything positive.
“Whenever you’re done obsessing about stupid shit, come into the bathroom and help me figure out what the hell to do with my hair tonight,” Alisan tossed over her shoulder.
Adam thought he was being all sneaky and shit, but she knew. It took a deceiver to know one. She knew he was struggling. But she also knew he would swallow his own tongue before he would admit as much to her.
When he followed her, wordlessly, into her restroom, leaning against the wall, Alisan let him. When he continued to look moody and sullen but only behind her back, she sighed.
“Are you gonna tell me what the hell it is, or are we gonna dance around it all night?” she demanded.
“Got any booze around here?” he asked, answering her question with one of his own. A slow smile spread across his face.
Alisan narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m trying to get straight.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Yeah, but I’m not,” he said, hoping she got the irony.
“Then you can get the hell out,” she said, not even blinking. She wasn’t mad, just matter-of-fact.
“Fine,” he bit off the word like it was something bitter. “Do your own damn hair.”
When the door slammed behind him, Alisan closed her eyes, grateful Adam hadn’t recognized her own half-truth.
She had liquor. Of course she had liquor.
She just couldn’t stand seeing Adam lose himself in front of her eyes.