Seventeen and Invincible

“I’m done,” I mumbled at a quarter to one. “Can I leave early?” Rhiannon rolled her cat-green eyes at me.

“You come in late and you want to leave early?” she raised her eyebrows and snapped her gum. I rolled my eyes and turned away, taking a seat behind the circulation desk. “Look, I don’t want to be here any amount more than you do.”

“I want to be here,” I stated sharply. “This is my favorite job. I just have a million and one things to do and the fifteen minutes would be greatly appreciated.”

“Fine, go. I’ll clock you out at two fifteen. Just be on time next time.” I nodded, standing up to retrieve my things and leave.

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I had walked five blocks—halfway to my dance studio—in five minutes and I was sweating to death. The sun was excruciating today and my legs ached. I seriously thought that I might collapse on the burning cement.

The last time I ate had to have been Wednesday at breakfast time when I grabbed a protein shake. I can’t remember eating or drinking anything other than water or coffee after that point. I was almost certain I could feel the ketones in my blood, turning it into literal acid, breaking my body down piece by piece. They would start with my fat and then move onto muscle. The only reason I was sure my muscle wasn’t being broken down yet was the fact that my legs were still nicely toned from dance and I could still power walk a mile in seven minutes.

The food from the diner, as I passed it, made my stomach acids scorch and burn my stomach lining. The acidic taste of bile inched its way up my esophagus as hunger became so strong that it turned into nausea. The gastric, hydrochloric acids in my digestive tract and the lactic acid everywhere else were setting me on fire. Every part of my body ached so intensely that I didn’t think I’d make the last block to the studio. I was convinced that as soon as I stepped into the poorly-air-conditioned building, I would collapse on the carpeted area in the front. I hoped to at least make it to the somewhat-cool tile.

I pushed the heavy door open and walked slowly to the bench, dropping my bag of shoes and massaging my shoulder. “Long walk?” Miranda asked quietly. I shook my head, following her lead and retrieving my pointe shoes from the duffel and slipping painfully into them. The ribbons tied tightly around the thin elastic and encased my feet in a torture chamber. I downed a half a bottle of water and slowly walked across the floor. “She’s going to yell at you.”

“Why?” I mumbled almost incoherently. “Why is she going to yell at me this time?”

“You’ve lost more weight. I know it’s ballet,” she laughed, “and all clichés aside, you need the weight to support yourself on toe.” I rolled my eyes.

“Well, I’ve been doing this since I’m ten. I can do it. And besides, she isn’t here today. This is just me here to practice and improve.” I painfully got on tiptoe and walked to the ballet bar, starting with échappés and moving onto grand pliés. I started across the floor, after kicks—battements, with glissades and arabesques.

It was a good hour before I completed my “practice.” I had gone back to the ballet bar about five times, doing various stretches each time, bending myself in a million and one different ways to punish myself for nothing at all.

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By the time I was done tutoring and attending my key club meeting my eyes were heavy with the idea of sleep. Claire would sleep almost the whole time, according to Ariel. She was a quiet, well behaved baby, or so Ariel said.

An hour in, she started crying and refused to stop. She continued to cry on and off for three hours and forty five minutes until Evan and Ariel got home. They came home to find me asleep on the floor in the nursery next to the bassinet. I woke up to Evan tapping me repeatedly and telling me that I fell asleep on the floor. No shit Sherlock.

“She cried on and off for most of the time you guys were gone. Sorry I fell asleep. I shouldn’t have. It was irresponsible.” I stood quickly.

“It’s fine,” Ariel said quickly, but not maliciously. I think she was genuinely okay with the fact that I fell asleep while babysitting. “Thank you so much though. I know this is probably the last thing you ever wanted to do,” she smiled sympathetically.

“Second to last—the last would have been to actually be a teen parent—no offense.” She nodded in understanding and I stood to gather my things to leave.

“I’ll drive you,” Evan said quietly. “It’s the least I can do. Besides it’s late and Garrett might kill me if I let you walk home alone this late at night.” I accepted and followed him to the car, neglecting to mention that Garrett would have gladly killed him anyway; neglecting to mention that I wasn’t so sure that Garrett and I were actually on speaking terms right now. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he turned onto the main road.

“No you’re not. You’re happier now than you ever were with me, and that’s okay. I’m happy for you. Really, I am.” He turned the volume on the radio up and remained silent until we got to my house. Ironically, or not, the song that was on the radio was “My Happy Ending,” by Avril Lavigne.

“Thanks,” he said as I climbed out of the car. I nodded, slammed the door and walked into my house, up the stairs and into my room. I face planted into my bed and buried my head in my pillow. I couldn’t keep living my life like this, but who said I wanted to live it at all?