Hemorrhage.

Dinner.

John, Garrett, Kennedy, Jared, Molly and I crammed into a cheap polyester booth, set in the back of an expensive imitation-vintage diner. There was a cheesy love song playing in the background. I should have felt comfortable, sitting with my friends as they joked about the parking lot or talked about how it was going to be nice to go on tour in an actual bus - Jared was most excited for having a place to woo the ladies (his goal for Warped was to have a PB&J sandwich - Penny, Penelope, or Pauline, with a Brittany). I should have felt right at home there, but I didn’t. There was the sickening smell of greasy burgers, turning my stomach continuously, and the pressure of having to eat - especially in front of all of these people - had my palms sweetening.

Garrett and Molly were smashed together at the end of the booth, their bodies turned towards each other as they immersed themselves with hushed conversation. Kennedy kept on glancing at Molly, even if he was trying to be as sly about it as possible. You could tell Molly was trying not to look at him, but her eyes would occasionally drift to that part of the table. I was curious to know what went on between them, but my tongue wouldn’t work properly to ask John. Instead, I focused my attention to the laminated menu in front of me. My fingers skirted along the edge, my mind toying with the idea of opening it and deciding on ordering food.

I flipped the cover open, two pages resting against the cheap plastic table. The dish names were all too cheesy and too tacky - Elvis Enchiladas (it was Arizona) and Patsy Pancakes. It was disgusting, the food they were trying to sell. I opted for a health-free salad - too much oil in the vinaigrette and nutritionally-useless iceberg lettuce. I would pair it with a diet coke, incase I could go to the bathroom ten minutes after we ate. I was sandwiched between Pat (left) and John (right) in the booth, so it would have been a hassle to get out, impossible to be conspicuous.

John shifted in his seat, turning to look down at me. He gave me a toothy smile.

“What’re you getting?”

“Um, just a salad and a diet coke, I think.” I didn’t want to eat anything. I didn’t want John to watch me eat anything.

There was an awkward silence.

“What are you, uh, gonna get?” I didn’t really want to know what he was going to get, what calorie horror meal he was going to pay thirty dollars for.

He rubbed his hands together. “A burger and fries.” You could see the excitement in his face, and I could practically see his arteries clogging, even if the meal wasn’t even ordered yet. Cheese, bun, lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, mustard, pickles, salt, pepper, and a beef patty - it was over a thousand calories. For one meal. Imagining John, scarfing down the half-pound thing in a matter of minutes had me gagging. He would eat it quickly, licking his fingers as he finished and it would have no effect on him. He won’t permanently gain any weight.

It was horrible to say, but I was jealous of John. It was silly - he was a boy and our hormones weren’t even remotely similar. Still, he had it so easy - over six foot, skinny as a pole. He could eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and the consequences would never be visible. His legs would never touch and his belly would never grow, no matter how much beer he drank. I wanted that. I wanted it to be effortless, rather than constantly striving for a perfection I would never achieve.

“That’s good,” I nodded, sending John a small smile. It wasn’t good. At all.

“Yup.” John shifted in the booth. We looked at each other awkwardly. Then, he leant over, connecting his mouth to my temple. “I love you.” He whispered, his lips brushing against the skin.

It was like suddenly all the tension between us was gone. The air was lighter, instantly cooling down to something I might even call comfortable. My muscles eased, my shoulders slumping in relaxation. I leant against John, resting my head on his arm (sometimes his height was convenient) and tilted my head back, watching in fascination as the artificial light hit his cheekbones.

Finally, my jaw and my tongue and my lips formed those words right back at him.

“I love you too.”

It was the truth. I did love him. Maybe it wasn’t the same type of love. Maybe his was more platonic or maybe mine was too many degrees of fucked up madness, but the feeling was still there. I still loved him. There was still a part of my heart reserved especially for him, a part of me that ached whenever he wasn’t around. It would never go away, that feeling. It was too deep. Three months and it was already too deep.

John reached his hand out, extending his fingers towards mine. I linked our hands together without thought. When words weren’t enough, he held my hand. And that was enough - the way our fingers fit together, the feeling of our palms, skin on skin. It would always be enough.

John and I were a little caught up in the moment, but he noticed when the waiter came. He straightened up and I moved my head off his shoulder. The waiter introduced himself - his name was Ryan. He started with drinks, writing it all down on his little white writing pad. I could hear the rough scratch of his pencil against his cheap, wrinkly paper. It irritated my ears.

We were all ready to order when he asked, so he started from the opposite side of the table. I gulped as my stomach turned. There was a promise of food - food I couldn’t avoid, food I would actually have to eat, and it was making me incredibly nervous. My thighs were going to expand, my stomach toppling over the waistband of my sweatpants. Fat would dangle from my arms and a double-chin would sprout from the bottom of my face. All of this would happen if I ate food, I was sure.

My breathing quickened as John ordered. If I said those words, I would be forced to eat the plate full of gross placed in front of me.

John squeezed my hand, but when I glanced up to see what he wanted, he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the waiter as he ordered my food.

“And she’ll have a regular salad, no cheese, with Italian dressing.”

John was ordering for me but the waiter kept his eyes on my face. I moved, scooting closer to John, Ryan moved his focus onto Pat. John wrapped an arm around my waist, cuddling me closer into his side. I didn’t know why.

As the waiter walked towards the kitchen, he cast one more glance at the table, his eyes falling on me quickly. John pressed his lips against my face again.

I didn’t understand it.

Was John trying to hide me from the waiter? Was he so embarrassed of me that he had to partially cover me up? Was he ashamed to be out in public with someone so disgusting?

I moved away from him, focusing my attention on my fork so I wouldn’t have to see his face. The silver was shiny, my reflection visible if I moved the back of it just the right way. The restaurant seemed clean, even if it was incredibly lame. That was a plus.

John cast me some type of hurt glance (I was failing in the whole not looking at him game) but I ignored it, instead trying to listen in on the conversation around me. I had no plans of actually joining in, but it wouldn’t hurt to know what people were talking about.

“So, how long has this been going on?” Pat asked, turning towards me, even though he was looking at John.

I looked up, startled.

“What?” John voiced the question before I could.

“How long have you been together? Pat clarified.

The surprise was etched into John’s face. I think it would have been on mine too, but I didn’t want to pick up my fork and make sure.

What kind of question was that? John hadn’t even been broken up with Mia for…well, I don’t know long. But the fight was only a little less than a week ago. Did he really go through girls that quickly? That thought made me uncomfortable.

“We aren’t together.” John’s voice sounded strained. “Dude, you know that.”

Pat shrugged his shoulders. “You never know…” He trained off. “You guys seem really comfortable with each other.”

“She’s my best friend,” John countered with a look. “We’re supposed to be comfortable with each other.”

“So there’s nothing going on?”

John shook his head harshly. “No, there’s not.”

Pat nodded. “Okay, man, I was just checking. No need to go postal.”

John gave him another look, but shut up, leaning back against his seat. John pursued conversation with someone else.

I kept my eyes glued to my own hands. They were shaking. There was some type of pain in my chest, but I didn’t know why. I shouldn’t care. John and I were just friends. Best friends, even. That should be enough.

And maybe that would have been enough, if he would have acknowledged my body somehow. But he didn’t. Not once, and I didn’t know why. Was it really that hard? A simple “you look nice today” or a “nice jeans” really wasn’t asking for too much, was it?

Ryan returned with our drinks, shelling them out accordingly, before passing out straws. With trembling fingers, I ripped the straw package open, inserting it into my cup and taking a cold sip. Having something to drink gave me something to do.

I zoned out on the conversation, eyeing my drink and taking sips from it occasionally. Garrett and Molly were still huddled up in their little group, the rest of the guys talking about band stuff. It never surprised me, how the conversation always tended to gravitate towards The Maine and everything involved in the big production.

I snapped from the daze when the subject of Warped Tour was brought up, and the boys leaving. I at least wanted to know details of what day they were going, who was coming, etc. I felt like I needed to know that much.

“So,” Garrett turned towards the boys. “Merch bitch.”

I blinked at him. I had no idea what he was saying, but apparently everyone else did, because they started laughing.

“Whose turn is it this year?”

The guys all looked around at each other, each shrugging their shoulders in sync. “Who are we going to ask?”

Garrett looked around, before speaking up. “I volunteer Molly,” he said.

Molly looked a little shocked, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Wait, what? No, no, no.”

Kennedy looked torn. John looked like he didn’t care. Pat and Jared were each nodding their heads.

“Why not?” Garrett asked. “You’re smart, you know us, we can trust you, and you’ll have fun.” He said, pointing out the pros of the conversation.

“It’s hot, smelly, I won’t get to shower daily, I need to set up my dorm room, and um, yeah.” Molly retorted, pointing out the cons. She was leaving something out.

I shifted. I felt a little left out.

Where was I in this conversation?

It was such a burning jealousy, because I knew that I would say no if they asked, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t want them to ask. I knew that I wanted to be involved in this. I wanted someone to think of me.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Molly gave Garrett a look. “Can we discuss this later?” She asked him, her eyes ablaze with what looked like anger.

I’d be angry too, if I were caught on the spot like that.

She was saved, however, by the waiter, a tray full of plates at his side. He smiled at everyone, obviously noticing the tension around the table. John scooted closer to me, has hand reaching for mine, but I moved it away. He looked at me, his eyes wide.

“What?” He asked, his voice lowering.

I just shook my head. I didn’t want to deal with him. I didn’t want to touch him. There was this overwhelming anger, surging through my body, because he didn’t want me to go to Warped with him, did he? He didn’t want me around?

He was just going to leave me, because I was fat? Because I was too hideous? I understand that I’m not like the rest of the girls, with their stick-out collarbones and their amazing hair, but I thought I was something important to him. I thought I was his best friend.

John turned, looking hurt again, but turned to his food. Ryan set my salad down in front of me, his eyes lingering a little longer than I thought necessary. I stared at the food for a few minutes as he left, my fingers slowly picking up my fork.

It was a war.

Salad vs. Emelie.

I really wanted to win. I wouldn’t.

I speared a leaf of lettuce, letting is rest in my mouth. I chewed it harshly. I thought that maybe if I exerted enough energy chewing it, I wouldn’t gain any actual weight.

But that wasn’t how it was going to be.

Dinner passed, John looking at me every few minutes, his eyes still with a shine of hurt to them. I was hurt too. Why didn’t he understand that?

I finished about a quarter of my salad, but spread the leaves around, so it actually looked like I’d eaten more. No one said anything about the portion on my plate, because no one had actually eaten their whole meal, even John. He had a few remaining fries on his plate. The meal portions were huge.

We each shuffled out accordingly, someone paying for the bill. Molly and Garrett, Jared and Pat, Kennedy and John. They all walked in twos, except for me, trailing behind them. I kept my hands shoved in my pockets, my head tilted down. Suddenly, I wanted to go home.

Suddenly, I just wanted to go to sleep. There was this feeling of being unwanted that washed over me, and I hated it. I tried to convince myself that I really was wanted, that John really did need me in his life, but the whole Warped Tour thing had me thinking otherwise.

John stopped, but I didn’t notice this until he fell into step besides me.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, our pace slowing down. They all headed towards the van, but we headed towards my car. I wondered if he was going to want to ride with me. I kind of hoped not.

“Nothing.” I told him shortly. It was such a lie. Because there was a lot wrong, I just didn’t know what yet. I had a lot of emotions running through me. I was really angry, all of the sudden.

“You’re lying to me.” He said.

“I am not.” Yes, I was.

“If you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong, that’s fine.” He said, slowing down as we reached the car door. “You’ll tell me eventually.”

I was about to look up at him, to tell him that he was wrong, but he was taking a step forward, his hands reaching out towards my face. He rested them on my cheeks, and I was just about to ask him what exactly he was doing when he placed his lips against mine, two seconds max.

“Bye. I love you.”

I wasn’t angry any more.