Fly With Me

“Hey, Cic…Mom? Cicily? What’s wrong?” Nick walks in a few minutes later, drying off his hair. Elvis trots along, yipping quietly and tapping my knee.

Blinking, I turn to him, my mind blank. “I… um.” I shake my head, glance at Denise who has her face in her hands, and slowly pick up the letter. Taking a deep breath, I begin reading it over.

It’s from mother’s lawyers, it seems, an official letter. Stating that we have to appear at court- the Jonas parents and myself. Bring a lawyer to talk before hand with theirs, or we’ll be given one by the city council… offers some possible punishments… and so on.

“This is insane,” I breathe softly, the idea still incomprehensible.

Confused, Nick takes the letters carefully from my cold, numb fingers and reads the letter- again, and again. “But that’s…” he glances up, confused. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” Denise says finally, looking up with a few tears falling. “I need to go find Paul,” she mumbles and walks off shakily.

After a minute of watching her go, Nick turns to me, his gaze soft and caring and injured. “Can your mother do this? Is she serious?”

“I think she is.” Swallowing, I glance at the letter and shake my head. “But I doubt she’s changed. She just wants to claim me back. It’s just a selfish thing of hers,” I shrug. “You know, when I got grounded and all of that.”

“But this?” Nick waves the paper around. “This is ridiculous. Why didn’t she just try talking to us? To you? I mean, she’s taking this to court against my parents!” He gets upset, louder with each word.

My head falls and I step away. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, because I feel like his words are aimed at me, like it’s my fault. “I don’t want this either. I just thought… I thought it would be okay. I thought I was safe.” Biting my lip, I glance back at the letter he’s crumpled in his fist. “I guess not.”

Shoulders drooped, I wrap my towel closer to myself for warmth and leave the kitchen, feeling indescribably lonely. I take a shower to rinse off, but I can’t remember if I actually wash my hair or not, or anything. Before long, I give up and climb out.

In my bedroom, I put on a dress to try and cheer myself up, my favorite yellow one. But I glance in the mirror and all I can see are my mother’s actions that continually rip me apart, and farther away from those that I care about. Especially Nick. My face burns with shame and I hang my robe over the mirror, unable to face myself any more.

My energy drained, I fall into the covers. My hair is still wet and soaks through, chilling me. But I don’t bother with the covers. Wrapping my arms around myself, I lean on my side and close my eyes tightly. Maybe if I wish hard enough, it will all go away.

“Cicily? Do you want to go back to your mother?” Joan Seaward asks me carefully, watching for my reaction. I watch her for the longest time myself before answering. She’s the Jonas’s lawyer and is going to go against my mother. We talked, me and the two parents that night for hours, past midnight, about this.

Many of Joan’s questions are like those that Denise and Paul asked me. Finally, I shake my head. Just thinking about this exhausts me all the time, and I can’t help it. “No. Never.”

“Could you then, explain in detail, why?” She clicks her pen, ready.

I fiddle with my strand of pearls, looking down at the ivory as I sigh. “She doesn’t love me. She pulled me into the modeling business shortly after my dad left us. He disappeared and I’m positive that… that he left because of her.” I bite my lip. Why didn’t he take me, too? “Anyways… I don’t know. It wasn’t long before my personal career was practically her life.

“I had to wear the right clothes, even if I hated them or even felt uncomfortable in any way wearing them. I had to have the right hair- it’s been fried and used up so badly before, I still suffer from the headaches. I’ve been wearing layers of make-up since I was eight. School was never important, and she often pulled me out for auditions and the like…

“I had to be thin. You know, because I’m so short, it’s rare when I was given the job. So I had to look right for it, and be extremely thin. My mother took it to the extremes. There was some days, too often, where I didn’t eat anything. She had people everywhere, lying and saying I was splurging or something, and I couldn’t eat anywhere safe. My normal meal was a weight-loss bar, a few carrot sticks, maybe some peas, and one bottle of water. If I got dehydrated, she wouldn’t stop until I fainted.”

“I believe you still suffer from something like that?” She asks when I pause.

“I… yeah. When I was last home, I… she pretty much grounded me. I was either resting or exercising for hours on end. My minimum was twenty miles, and that’s when I got lucky. And I was hardly eating. That went on for a short while and I got pretty ill after, but she didn’t stop for anything, so too much food still makes me nauseous.” I chew on my lip, watching her nod and scribble things down.

“So then, how much, now, can you eat? Are you completely back to normal?” She asks.

“No. It’s been about eight months, and I still suffer from fainting spells. I usually do one meal and a snack. My doctors say that my stomach was severely shrunk… malnutrition, and everything. They say it could be at least another year or so, before it goes back to normal. And if I eat too much, it comes back up.” I watch her write again. “Is this going to help?” I ask her, after a minute. “I mean, I’m still legally under age, but… can we, honestly, win this?”