Your Eyes Shine Like The Stars At Night

I was a puddle.

My melted body lay on the ground of the photography studio, and I heard faint voices all around me as my eyes fluttered open. “Guys! She’s awake now,” Zack yelled.

Footsteps shuffled over quickly, and I opened my eyes all the way, looking heavenward, seeing the faces of my bandmates, as well as the members of All Time Low, Matt, and the photographer, stare down at me, eyes filled with concern. I felt nervous and embarrassed, and gulped.

“How long was I out?” I whispered, almost inaudibly.

Jack was the first to answer. “About three hours. You okay now?” I tried to catch my breath, nodding in response. He knelt down, grabbing my hands and helping me up. I felt lightheaded, and stumbled slightly, but he reacted quickly, settling his hands at my sides, keeping me upright.

“You’re really pale,” he noted, looking into my eyes apprehensively.

I didn’t respond. I was too caught up in the fact that my skeletons were slowly but surely escaping from my closet to think about what he was saying.

>SANDRA’S POV<

Flashback – Four Years Before…

I stepped into the hallway, wondering why the house was so empty. I noticed the bathroom door was ajar, and peered in. Much to my dismay – but not to my surprise – I found my younger brother Lucas assisting our younger sister Scarlett as she destroyed herself. His hands held her hair back as she deliberately forced out her insides into the toilet. Just witnessing this event made my stomach churn. Rolling my eyes and walking away, I went to my room, sat on my bed, and thought about my seventeen year-old sister.

Three months. Three months this had been going on, all behind our parents’ back – it was incredible how much they didn’t notice. Did her abnormally bony knuckles mean nothing? Could they not see her spine poking through her shirt when she bent over? Were they blind, when they didn’t realize her eyes were vacant and dark whenever she forced a smile?

Honestly, the entire thing to me was sickening and abhorrent. Absolutely repulsive. If it was attention she wanted, she got it. My parents gave her attention because they were “proud that she finally got rid of the baby fat” she hated so much. Luke, being the typical over-protective older brother he was, gave her attention because he “loved her so much and just wanted to help her”. I, however, rarely spoke to Scarlett anymore, merely for the fact that I had nothing to say that I hadn’t said before. She knew how I felt about her eating disorder, and I knew how she felt about her eating disorder. Her take on her condition was that she was only doing it temporarily, at least until she felt good about herself.

I, on the other hand, knew better. Before her eating habits spiraled out of control, she was stunningly gorgeous. I was jealous that she got the attention of boys, and I barely ever had dates in high school. But now, every time I looked at her, I would stare into her eyes, searching for a trace of the sister I used to have, looking for some kind of familiarity. I couldn’t find any. I didn’t even know the girl people called my sister. To me, she was hideous. She still had her movie star looks, facial-wise, but her body was nothing more than a few sticks and bumps for knees. Whenever she gave me one of her infamous fake smiles, all I could see was pain and exhaustion.

I’d told her several times that being stick-thin wasn’t flattering on anyone.

But of course she had a plan to take care of that. She had a plan for everything. Baggy clothes, of course. I’d told her that she’d have to start eating and stop purging, but being the pretentious, precocious bitch she was, she knew better than me. Me, the one going to Harvard. She knew better.

And her hair was falling out. The lack of nutrition loosened up her hair follicles – she was shedding like a dog in summer. It was ghastly, in my opinion. Why would someone intentionally do that to themselves?

I’d asked my sister that once, right around when she first started starving herself. Her answer was this: “I’m just not thin enough. Guys won’t like me if I’m fat.” That was it. All she cared about was the world’s perception of her – to her, her health meant nothing. She’d go to any length to get a second glance from a guy – even starve herself. So I’d never asked her why she did it since. I was sick of hearing her bullshit.

>SCARLETT’S POV<

Present Day…

I’d come a long way with my eating disorder since my sister stopped contacting me. I started eating occasionally, and I only forced myself to throw up if I ate too much at a meal. Sure, I wasn’t completely better, but I had it pretty much under control. That is, until I started touring. The stress of looking good and not gaining weight to keep up with everyone else was catching up with me, just like my past. I guess you could call it a step backward, or starting back at square one. Some people might call it a relapse. Whatever you’d prefer to call it, I was having it.

“Scarlett,” Jack said lowly, eyes boring into my forehead in an attempt to get me to look at him instead of my feet, “Is there anything going on that you want to tell me?” We were the only people still in the studio. The rest of the guys had gone to their respective busses, and Jeremy, the photographer, went into his office in the back, after I’d asked them all to have a minute to myself. Jack had said he wouldn’t leave me, and I didn’t make him.

Eyes still on my ratty pink Converse, I shook my head. He sighed deeply, lifting my chin with his index finger, forcing my eyes to look into his. “Really, nothing’s wrong,” I assured him.

>JACK’S POV<
I knew she was lying. Since we’d been on tour, I’d learned when she was lying, when she was truly happy, and when she was sad, but pretending not to be. It may have only been the tenth day of tour, and we may have only known each other for thirteen days total, but I knew her inside out. “You’re lying,” I said bluntly.

“No. I’m not,” she denied.

I exhaled, allowing all my breath to escape before I said anything else. Then I remembered the time at the bowling alley when she refused to eat, and the time I’d taken her out, and she, yet again, only nibbled on the pizza slice. I snapped my head to her awaiting eyes, my eyebrows furrowed. “Have you eaten anything today?”

Her head tilted, eyes darting to the door like she wanted to avoid the question and leave. Her right shoulder twitched: something I’d learned that she did in uncomfortable situations. “I ate cereal after I left you guys to get dressed for the photoshoot,” she mumbled.

“No you didn’t” was what I was going to say, but I instead bit my tongue, placing my arms on her shoulders and gazing into her pretty hazel eyes. “Scarlett, if anything’s going on, and you need help, please, please come find me. Or if you just want to talk. I’ll be here, okay?”

She gulped and nodded, releasing herself from my grip. As she turned her back to me and walked out the door, I could hear her hiccup and sniffle.

I sighed, fearing for her. The girl I liked was crying, and there was nothing I could do about it.