Naked

The first girlfriend that I ever recall Oliver holding down was a girl named Karly Brewer. The way, when over at the Sykes household, I ever heard someone mention her name, “Karleh” - it sent a shake down my back that ached to my toes for days afterwards.

I’d made somewhat of a place for myself in Tom’s home, himself and his parents granting me a sense of familiarity that made it so that I felt comfortable to get myself a drink without Tom leading the way, or join in with their light hearted tiffs about music, television, politics and society- even if I didn’t always understand. I’d been accepted, open-armed, to the extent that I was treated and felt like family.

And when Karly arrived, my family had mutated one cell too large.

Always having flings, I was used to Oliver having the odd girl over for dinner. Although still somewhat painful, a definite pressure against my ribcage, I still managed to breath throughout it. But, when Karly kept coming back, visit after visit, Sunday roast after Sunday roast, the pressure became an anchor.

And under the surface, my organs slowly drowning and my heart sinking, sinking, I watched as this new addition to my world became permanent.

She was pretty, Karly. Of course she was, all of Oliver’s “girlfriends” were, some obviously a lot more attractive than others. Karly was placed towards the higher end of the spectrum, not quite the most beautiful, yet by far one of the better he’d picked. She had long chocolate brown hair, that had been mousy blond a few years ago, before she’d started dying it. She always wore it down, over her ears and had a full, thick fringe that cut across right over her eyebrows. Her skin was milky, much paler than Toms, but nowhere near as pink, and underneath her green eyes she had a scattering of freckles that travelled over her nose and rested on top of her cheekbones. She had an unusual prettiness about her, that made her even prettier.

But, above all of this, the thing that I noticed the most about her, was how thin she was.

When I say that she was thin, I don’t mean athletically fit or naturally petite or even lanky. The girl was skinny, almost beyond belief. Her wrists were bolted with large baubles that were sheeted by her whiter than white skin, her collar bones were incredible - so defined, so obvious. And the freckles framed cheekbones that were so very sharp, so prominent.

Since I’d begun trying to improve myself, my image, I’d become interested in fashion, saving a good deal of my pocket money to buy all the latest magazines. And I’d obsess over the pages, studying the models, their faces and hair and bodies. They all seemed so perfect, so edgy yet glamorous. I thought with her blunt fringe, and tiny figure, Karly looked like one of these models.

Though at first I’d hated her, I soon found myself admiring her. After all, she had Oliver, and had him good. I wanted to know her. Know her secret. But deep down, I already thought I knew it.

Constantly, for weeks, I compared myself to Karly, making lists of our similarities and differences, trying to stab a dagger through the new flaws that I found in myself, get them quick before they absorbed themselves in to my skin, and then no amount of itching or picking could remove them.

One night, when I’d been in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil to make myself and Tom some hot chocolate, Karly stepped quietly in the kitchen, nodding at me once before shuffling to the cupboard. I watched the plate in her shoulders crawl under her skin as she moved to rest her hands on hips whilst she surveyed the tins upon tins of preserved food.

“I was thinking of making toasted sandwiches for me and Tom,” I said, trying to swallow my nerves. “If you’re hungry, I could, uh, make you one too?”

“Oh,” she’d replied, turning to me with a look of surprise. “I’m not eating, but I think Oli might want one. You want help?”

It felt almost tense, the two of us in this kitchen that wasn’t really our home at all, but we both liked to pretend it was. A few weeks before, when I’d been in the hating stage, I’d have said no, thank you. But now, as I looked at her model-esc stature, I knew that I wouldn’t turn her away. I smiled, and so did she.

“So,” she said brightly now. More confident. “You and Tom…”

I’d been finishing up the hot chocolate whilst she started laying out slices of bread. “What about me and Tom?”

“Well, you seem to be over here as much as I am. Are you and him together?”

The various bracelets, bands and charms she had around one of her drainpipe wrists jingled as she pulled her hair up - the first time I’d ever seen it that way.

I watched her intently as I spoke. “No. Just friends. Your hair looks good like that.”

Her cheeks flushed a little, but she thanked me all the same and handed me a knife so I could slice the cheddar whilst she buttered. “I don’t really like it,” she shook her head. “Makes me look big.”

I wondered how having your hair in a ponytail could ever make you look big, especially Karly.

“I think it’d take more than an up-do to make you look big.” It wasn’t until she stared wide eyed at me that I realised that I’d sounded like a bit of a bitch. I stammered with my words, “Oh - no, I wasn’t meaning that in a bad way. I think you look great. I don’t know how you did it.”

Karly looked at me for a long time, and the longer she did the more uncomfortable I grew, the hotter my face felt. Slowly, Karly started to grin.

“I knew it,” she’d muttered more so to herself. Stepping forward she held my hand in her own and whispered to me. “Lizzie. If I ask you something will you promise - swear - to be totally honest?”

I nodded, not even registering properly the promise I was making.

She leaned in closer, her jangling wrist tinkling again. “You’re an Ana girl, aren’t you?”

One. Two. Three beats later, and I was still stumped. “Ana…what?”

“You know…anorexic,” she hissed the word, not like a taboo, but like she’d been waiting to spit it out for so long that only this tone would reach the effect that she desired. Like she’d been savouring it.

I felt a liquid pool of fire burn in the pit of my stomach, that word igniting something that didn’t quite make me feel sick, but like I’d been found out. I’d known what it was I’d been doing to myself, the terminology. I wasn’t stupid. But I’d never spoken it allowed.

“W-what? I don’t - I don’t know what you’re-”

“It’s okay, Lizzie!” She’d tried to assure me, clutching both my hands now. “I won’t tell anyone. Ana girls…we help each other. I knew it, I was so sure the first time I met you. I just didn’t know how to ask you. Oh, I’m so glad we’re both out!”

All of it, it had been a lot to take in. This had two possible paths, two possible ways in which I could deal with this girl - not just any girl, Oliver’s girlfriend - outing me. I could deny everything, tell her that she was making no sense and that maybe she needed to find help for her problem. Or I could accept her, and get help for my own.

“I…guess it’s good that I know there’s someone else. Like me, I mean.”

Karly jumped up and down a little, just a bounce before she squeezed my hands briefly for the last time and let go. We spoke for a while in the kitchen, Karly told me a little more about this whole “Ana” thing, and I listened, intently. Because whatever I learnt from her seemed like gold to me.

Karly was, after all, in the exact position that I wanted to be in.

We decided that we shouldn’t discuss it too much around the Sykes family - Oli didn’t know about her “battle with the skinny” as she called it, so off hand - but agreed that we’d meet up soon, where Karly could tell me more.

I was scared but enticed. Worried but excited. Karly could destroy me, and yet was the exact person that I needed.