Words, Words, Words

It was one of those days.

One of those days where you just don’t want to go outside; you’d rather live under the safety of your blankets, deep in your bedroom. You’re feeling low, extremely low and all you want to do is cry.

The closed blinds, letting only slits of sunlight through, gave my room a nocturnal vibe as I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the blanket over my head. I had been lying in bed for hours now, attempting to fall back asleep. I woke up with a bad headache and too many tears stained onto my face from the night before.

I decide, finally, to peek out from under my blanket to glance at my alarm clock. It reads, ‘7:43 A.M.’ I had waken up extremely early today and it was apparent I wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon. With an irritated sigh, I sit up in my queen sized bed and look around my room.

My maroon walls stare back at me, the framed posters on them seeming less like décor and more like an audience every day. They judge me with their still-faces on, pointing their fingers and making fun of me when I turn my back. My conscious eyes look down at my hands just as my stomach lets out an enormous grumble.

I choose to ignore it, my arms shooting up to my head to fix my messy ponytail, trying to keep my mind off the feeling of hunger. But right as I finishing securing the rubber band, the cramps kick in, making me groan out in pain. I fall back into my pillows and slam my hands into my stomach. The pain subsides for just a moment before coming back even sharper.

I bite my lip, my eyes closed as I try to think of ways to make the pain go away. Advil stopped working years ago, nibbling on something only taunts my stomach, hurting it more and forcing myself to puke without anything inside me is starting to hurt my throat, the stomach mucus stinging on its way up my esophagus.

I figure it’s time to do what I have to do, the most stomach-curdling part of my whole mess; binging. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. My body sways a little as it tries to use the small amount of energy it has. I feel light as I walk to the bathroom and wash my face, brush my teeth and fix my hair.

When I return from the bathroom, I grab a random jacket from the floor, throwing it on me. I grab my purse, slip on the flats I have laying beside my bag and walk into the hallway. I pass the guest room, the office room, the gym room, the extra room and the library before pausing at my parents’ room.

My dad’s home today, probably laying down asleep next to my mother in their king sized bed as if he hasn’t been missed. Every time he comes home, he acts as if he’s been gone for only a few hours though it’s been a few days. He walks through the front door, dropping his briefcase and making his way into the living room. He embraces my mother in a tight hug then lets go of her and kisses my forehead, playing the good father role rather well.

Then the next day, he’s gone, usually without a goodbye, and we wait a few days before the routine starts up again.

I stare at the white double doors with a frown before deciding not to wake up my parents and tip toe down the white marble staircase, glancing at each picture as I pass by them. I exit the house and walk through the foggy, early morning air to my car and drive to Tesco.

As I turn the car engine off, I take note of the lack of cars in the parking lot. 8:15 is a bit of an unreasonable time to go grocery shopping; it’s the time people usually start their days, getting ready and eating breakfast. But I push past these thoughts as I grab a shopping cart and walk into the store.

I make a beeline for the chip aisle, grabbing two family packs of Cheeto puffs. I contemplate whether or not I should go for the barbequed lays but decide against it and make my way over to the gummy snack aisle. My hands shoot out, grabbing boxes of Gushers, Fruit Rolls Ups, Scooby Doo gummy snacks and more.

From across the aisle, a mother with her son stares at me. I must look absolutely psychotic grabbing large amounts of kid snacks but I shrug their gazes off my shoulders and make my way to the bakery displays. I grab two cartons of frosted cookies, two cartons of chocolate chip cookies and one carton of bite-sized brownies before deciding this is enough.

As I set all the junk on the rotating belt, the lady behind the register stares at me as she scans whatever I’ve already put down. When I finish, I roll the cart to the bagging boy who’s staring at me as well. They glance at each other before the lady adds up my total and says, her British accent a bit different that the others around Sheffield, “72 pounds and 42 pence.”

I grab my purse and look around before finding my wallet and pulling it out. I open it up and hand the woman the shiny platinum Visa card.

These are the only times I catch myself thanking my father’s extremely sketchy job. The pay is incredible, not only earning us enough money to buy a big estate and nice cars, but there’s always money leftover after paying the bills – more than enough.

The woman swipes my card, asks me to sign my name on the screen then helps bag boy with my food. They set six grocery bags in my cart as I sign. The lady prints out my receipt then hands it to me. She smiles at me as I shove the long, thin paper into my bag and says, “Have a nice day.”

“You, too,” I say half-heartedly before walking back to my car and throwing all my junk in the backseat. I leave the cart in the empty parking space beside me before getting in and driving back home.

With the six bags in my hands, I struggle to get my house key in the slot. Somehow, though, I manage to do just that and open the door to hear the TV on and someone cooking. Thinking it’s just my mother, I close the door behind me and start walking up the stairs when I hear someone call my name.

“Amelia, where are you going, bud?”

I turn around and face my father. He’s in a pair of dark shorts and a navy blue shirt with his college acronym across it. A smile sits on his face as he holds up a spatula in one hand, a plate of pancakes in the other. Forcing a smile, I shrug and say, “Hi, Dad. I was just going upstairs.”

“Oh, you went to the grocery store. That’s a lot of food,” He notes, his spatula motioning to my bags. I look down at try to find an excuse for why exactly I’d be taking pounds of junk food up to my bedroom.

“Uh, yeah,” I stutter, looking at the pictures along the staircase again. I stare up towards the picture of me that Tom took when it clicks. I look back at my father, my smile returning to my face as I explain, “I’m going to a picnic with Tom and his friends.”

Truth of the matter is, Tom hasn’t talked to me since the day after his party. I’m not sure what I said or did to make him angry, but it’s been three days. It’s the longest I’ve gone without seeing him voluntarily and I’m starting to really get anxious for his call or text.

“You’re going out on my day off?” He asks, furrowing his brow. I bite my lip and shrug, looking him in his green eyes; my mother used to tell me stories about how those eyes made her fall in love. They still make her weak to this day; she just doesn’t see them as often, neither of us do.

Finally, my father speaks up, clearing his throat before deciding, “Hey, that’s fine, as long as you promise to eat a few of pancakes with me and your mom.”

“Sure thing, Dad,” I mutter, looking down at my feet, “Let me just get ready really quickly and I’ll be right down.”

I look up just as he smiles and nods, making his way back to the kitchen. I stand where I am for a minute, staring at a family picture of my mother, my father and I when I was around seven years old. But I’m not thinking much of it, I’m just mindlessly staring.

I take a deep breath of air before going back into my bedroom and dropping my stuff. I kick off my shoes and walk into my closet, trying to find something suitable for a picnic, knowing my father will be suspicious if I walk back downstairs in just a new pair of sweatpants and another v-neck.

My eyes can over the options before landing on a light teal dress with white flowers. I pull it off the hanger, noting that it’s strapless and mid-thigh but I figure I’m not really going anywhere, there won’t be any strangers judging my body, and quickly pull it on.

I top it off with a vintage clock necklace and white flats before going to the bathroom and applying my make up quickly, not caring to make it perfect at all; my dad won’t notice it. I quickly curl the ends of my hair before looking at my reflection in the mirror – this is the best I’ve looked in months for no occasion.

I sigh as I walk out into the hallway and down the stairs. I ignore the pictures for once, not wanting to think much of them before I enter the kitchen where my mother and father are seated, whispering to each other in front of plates of breakfast foods.

They both turn to look at me, my father’s expression looking rather angry and my mother’s face, pale and worried. I slowly walk up to my seat at the table and slip into it, “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, dear. You look rather dolled up today. Is there something going on?” She asks, glancing at my father out of the corner of her eye. He rolls his eyes but looks at my direction as I switch up my stare from each of them.

“Uh, not really,” I say nonchalantly, feeling my mother’s eyes bore into me as my father begins piling food onto his plate, “I’m just going to a picnic with Tom and his friends.”

“Oh, that’s nice. It’s the perfect day for a picnic,” She says delightfully, though I can tell her tone of voice is forced, just like the smiles I had been shooting my father’s way just minutes before.

The breakfast carries on, my mother and I filling our plates up – mine a bit more than hers – as my father talks about family trips we’ll never take, adjustments to the house that will never happen and promises that were soon to be broken.

Thirty minutes pass by before I can’t take it anymore. I take out my phone and pretend to get a text from Tom. With a mouthful of pancakes, I stare at the screen of my phone for a little before looking back towards my parents and frowning a little.

“I have to go, Tom’s waiting for me,” I say as I slide my chair back from the table and stand up. My father frowns but nods anyways as my mother smiles up at me, “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

“Good, good! Then we can spend some quality time together when you get back. You know how we never get that family time,” Dad says, resting his hand on my mother’s. I nod slowly, biting the inside of my cheek to hold back from calling him out on why the family is so broken.

I know if I open my mouth, the angry words will slip so I wave a goodbye and walk up to my bedroom. I grab my grocery bags and exit the house, walking to my car like I had just hours before.

Getting in, I sigh and rest my head against the steering wheel. Where do I go? I can’t go to Tom’s. I can’t be home. But I need privacy; I need to be somewhere subtle and quiet, somewhere isolated.

My hands grip the steering wheel tighter as I try to think of places around Sheffield, places no one goes to at 10 o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday. My mind keeps coming up blank, I’m getting frustrated and to let my anger out, I let my tight hold on the steering wheel go and raise my hands, only to let them land back onto the fake leather as I let out an exasperated scream.

My lie is coming back to get me and I’m taking it. I run my hands through my newly done hair before shoving the keys into the ignition and starting the engine. The car wakes and I put the gear-shift into drive as I speed off the street.

I turn my car right at the stop sign and drive up two blocks before parking near the community playground. Little kids, parents and dog walkers roam around inside but I ignore them as I put the car into park and pull the keys out. The engine dies as I grab my grocery bags and toss them into the backseat.

Climbing over the console between the seats and make my way into the backseat of my car. Looking outside the poorly tinted windows, I notice more people coming and going, passing my car. They don’t look in or even towards the vehicle but I’m getting paranoid with each passing pedestrian.

Without warning, my body slips to the floor of the car in between the passenger and backseat. My bangs fall into my eyes as I struggle to sit up in the small, wedged place but I don’t get up – the spot is perfect.

I grab the grocery bags that sit on top the seat and let the first bag of cheetos fall into my lap. Eagerly, my twitching fingers slip as they try to open the bag, finally ripping the orange painted metallic material open as my hand slides into it and pull out a handful of chips. My stomach yells out anxiously as my hand rises to my mouth, shoving the crisp, orange flaked chips into my mouth.

I can barely chew; I swallow quickly, feeling the harsh, rigid corners of the chips slide down my throat. My stomach does flips and churns awkwardly as it begins to burn the food down into smaller pieces. I grab another handful and munch down on it as my orange fingers find a box of Fruit Rolls Ups and open it quickly, pulling a package out and unwrapping it. I pull the paper off the fruity snack then shove it into my mouth, letting it mix with the salty taste of the cheetos.

My hands grab, grab, grab everything I bought, ripping them open and distastefully shoving them into my mouth without much manner. I finish two boxes of Fruit Roll Ups, one box of Scooby Doo snacks, two boxes of Gushers, one carton of brownies, one carton of frosted cookies, two cartons of chocolate chip cookies and two bags of cheetos in a matter of one hour. The wrappers lay scattered on the floor and the seats as I look at the mess and hold my stomach – I’m still hungry.

How am I still hungry? After eating as much as people do in a matter of three days to a week, I still want something else. And it’s not my taste buds that are crying out for the wonderful taste of something soft and easy to devour, it’s my stomach. I still am genuinely hungry.

I get up from the awkward position I am on the floor and sit on top of the wrappers on the backseat. I wipe my mouth and clap off any excess chip flakes and stick from the snacks. Without cleaning up the mess, I hop back into the driver’s seat and take a hold of the steering wheel without turning the car on.

I need something more. I need a real meal, not just snacks at this point. The pancakes and the junk food wasn’t enough – so I need a real lunch. Grabbing my keys from the passenger seat, I insert them into the ignition again and start the car.

After backing out of my parking space and driving out of the community, I decide I’ll get a burger to go from the diner. My foot gently presses down harder on the accelerator as I make my way down the familiar roads and park when I arrive.

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror before grabbing my bag and getting out, walking towards the diner. I can see people inside, talking and laughing amongst themselves, the noise reaching my ears after I open the door. The bell gives out a little ring, letting everyone I’m here and few heads turn to see who has entered.

I ignore their stares as I walk up to the line behind the counter and wait.

“Amelia?” I hear from beside me. I look down to the table towards my left to see Curtis, Lee and Matt Nicholls all sitting with cups of coffee before them. I force a weak smile their way as Matt pipes up again, “Yeh look real nice today.”

“Thanks.”

“Not tha’ yeh always look bad,” He adds on quickly, rambling like he usually does, “Yeh jus’ look extra good today.”

“Thanks,” I repeat, smiling. I turn back towards the counter to see that the line hasn’t budged.

“How’s Tom? Haven’ been seein’ him much,” Lee’s deep voice comes up. I turn towards them, a frown playing on my pink lips as I sigh. With my shoulders slumped and my brow furrowed, I explain that I haven’t seen him around either.

“He hasn’t called, texted or visited. I don’t know what’s up.”

“I’m sure it’s nothin’, he’s probably jus’ gotten into one of his photography moods where he doesn’ do anythin’ but take and edit pictures,” Curtis reassures me. It’s true; Tom does have his times where all he can think about is his work. He doesn’t eat, drink or sleep and lets his existence slip from the outside world. But it usually only lasts for a day, frustration taking over inspiration when he can’t get the right shot. He’d toss the camera onto his bed and swear that he would never pick it up again. Two days later, the same camera would be caught around his neck.

The line before me disappears and I point up one finger as if to tell the boys to hold on as I walk towards the counter. I look up at the menu before looking back down to the pepperoni faced teenager behind the register and say, “One veggie burger with an order of large curly fries.”

He adds up my total and says with a bored tone, “Tha’ will be nine pounds and thirty two pence.”

I take out my wallet and swiftly hand him the Visa card. He swipes it quickly then hands it back. After the register prints out my receipt, he gives it to me and asks, “For here or teh go?”

“To go.”

“Name?”

“Amelia.”

“Yeh order will be righ’ up.”

“Thank you,” I say softly before retreating back to the boys. They are laughing about something but slowly stop when I stand at the start of their table, “Hey.”

“’Ello, Lia. Come, sit,” Curtis says, sliding down closer to Matt. I take up his spot before whipping my phone out of my bag and checking for any missed calls or texts in a failed attempt to be nonchalant. When I notice that no one has been trying to contact me, I set the phone down onto the table carefully.

“Why don’ yeh text Tom yehself?” Matt offers up the idea, his hands spinning the empty white coffee cup as he stares me down. I shrug and keep my eyes locked on the dark screen of the cell.

Matt’s hand reaches out for my cell phone as he unlocks it and scrolls down my phonebook. For a second, I think he’s going to text Tom himself, pretending to be me, but instead he furrows his brow and says, faking offense, “Aye, I’m not in yeh phonebook!”

Curtis, Lee and I laugh as he adds in his number. He hands me back the phone and I look to see that he set his name to ‘Matt Nicholls the Cool Kid.’ I giggle at this, shaking my head then slipping my phone back into my bag.

“Amelia,” A worker’s voice calls. I look over to see him holding my bag of food. I glance back at the boys before standing up and grabbing my things.

“Yeh got yeh food teh go?” Lee asks. I nod as I brush some of my soft curls forward.

“I’ll talk to you guys later,” I say, smiling.

“Yeh better, I’ll be expecting at least a text from yeh,” Matt says, giving me a stern look. I roll my eyes, my smile widening as I say goodbye and walk up to counter. I grab my food, saying thank you before walking out to my car.

I drive back to my community, going back home before realizing I still had food to eat. I glanced up at the big estate before me before sighing and grabbing my food. I put it in the back before climbing over the console without hesitation. This time, though, I don’t bother shoving myself between the seats.

I take out the styrofoam container and open it, a wave of heat rising from the food. A smile creeps onto my lips as I pick up the burger and take one big bite out of it. Chewing ridiculously quickly, I grab some fries and allow them to enter the dark hole known as my mouth. It takes ten bites and seven handfuls of fries before I’m finished and sitting in the middle of a mess of wrappers with an empty diner box on my lap.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand then knock the box off my lap and slide back to the driver’s seat. I grab my bag, opening the car door and getting out as quickly as I can without stumbling. I shut the door behind me and walk to the front door. Before opening the door, I wipe my mouth again with my fingers.

I put the key into the lock, twisting it then shoving the big, white door open with my hip. I step inside, half assuming to me mauled by my father with an invitation to do something family esque with my mother, but he doesn’t come.

I’m relieved as I walk up the stairs and into my bedroom. I drop my bag on the floor with a sigh as I glance at the clock – it’s 11:26 A.M. I stare at the bright red numbers as I mindlessly let my mind wander, thinking of all the things I would usually be doing at 11:26 in the morning when I was actually talking to Tom and not so deep with this problem.

A loud vibration comes from my purse. I look back at it before grabbing it and pulling my phone out. My heart skips a beat as I unlock it, hoping that it’s a text from Tom – but instead the words ‘Low Battery’ pop up, the icon of a battery flashing in the corner. The frown I didn’t notice I had before deepens.

I sigh as I walk into the bathroom, keeping a firm grasp on my phone without thinking anything of it. I flip on the lights and fan, shutting the door behind me. I lock it quickly before glancing at myself in the mirror. I have a bit more color in my face than I normally did and with the make up and outfit, Matt was right, I do look exceptionally well today.

I look down at my hands as I let go of my phone and let it clank against the counter. I take a big breath of air before walking over to the toilet and falling to my knees. I stare into the bowl for a minute, looking at the light blue water.

My shaking hand rises from my lap as I keep my eyes locked on the clear liquid. My pointer finger slides against my tongue, passing my back molars smoothly. I gag, my breathing becoming heavy and the tear instantly stinging my eyes. I shove my finger farther in as the tears slip and when I feel that familiar sensation take over, both hands grab the sides of the white marble and the orange, red and brown from my food before fill my toilet now. I cringe as I stare at the mess for a moment.

I’m about to go at it again, like I normally do, when my phone begins buzzing from the counter. I look up at it, bewildered, before realizing it’s probably just reminding me that I need to charge it. But then it vibrates again and after another moment, again.

I fumble to get up but end up grabbing it as I fall into the counter. My arm hits the sharp edge, forming the beginning of a bruise instantly, but I ignore it and look to Caller ID, hoping now that Tom finally decided to call. But instead of reading ‘Tom is My Best Friend,’ the thick black letters read, ‘Unknown Number.’

I’m still breathing pretty hard but some part of me thinks it just may be Tom using his friend’s phone. I answer it despite my deep wheezes, saying hoarsely into the mouth piece, “Hello?”

“Amelia?”

The familiar British accent makes my heart pound ten times faster than it already is. I feel my mouth open a bit as I stare at the cabinet in front of me. It can’t be.

“Oliver?”

“Uh, yeah,” He says slowly, rather awkwardly. I furrowed my brow as I tried to think of reasons why he could be calling – they come to me quickly, but I choose to ignore them – and how he could have gotten my number. I decide he’d to wait for him to explain himself, but silence takes over.

“Did you want something, Oliver?”

“Yes, yes I did,” He says quickly, clearing his throat, “I actually wanted teh invite yeh over so we could talk.”

I take a long pause as I think of what he wants to think of and what he might say about it. My mind tells me negative things, things like he wants to clear the air and say it was all a mistake – which I can’t deny it wasn’t. “Talk about what exactly?”

“The night behind Stocksbridge,” He replies with. I don’t say anything again for a long moment. I don’t know why I’m adding up so much anticipation, but a part of me can’t comprehend what’s going on. I’m being invited over by Oliver instead of Tom so we could talk about a mistake that happened between us; a mistake that hasn’t fully been off my mind for the past three days but still is somehow the least of my worries. “With the tree and such?”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. I know I can’t ignore this; it’s an issue that needs to be discussed and I might as well just confront it now so I can focus on everything else that’s going on around me. I sigh softly before saying, “Okay, I’ll come over. What time should I bet at your house then?”

“As soon as possible, I guess.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

“Awesome,” He says, sounding as if he’s relieved. I think about what I had just gotten myself into – something I was constantly doing when Oliver was involved. Tom could very well be home and I’m not sure if I want to be the one to confront that situation just yet. Suddenly, very softly, Oliver asks, “How are yeh doin’, Amelia?”

I remember answering, sounding as if I was sick. He knows exactly what’s wrong with me and I can hear the accusations behind his sweet tone of voice. This makes my stomach churn; I’ve never taken sympathy well.

“I’m fine, Oliver. I have to go. See you soon,” I say quickly. I pull the phone away from my ear as I glance back at the toilet. I suddenly feel guilty for what I’m doing, so guilty, tears spring to my eyes. I bite my lip to hold back a whimper as I hang up and flush the toilet quickly.

I have to stop.