Believers Never Die Pt. 1

I had my first best friend at rehab. She made things slightly more tolerable. Her name was Emmaline Buchanan. She had the same problem as I did (according to my mother, anyway). She became my temporary Evan. She was even my roommate. She had golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She liked everything I envisioned an angel to look like, and she acted like an angel, especially compared to me. I could make anyone look like Mother Theresa. I guess it was just in my nature.

After all, Mama always said, "Any publicity is good publicity, Maxim."

I raised hell. I refused therapy. I was that one stubborn patient who was consistently barred from any fun activities for not cooperating with the doctors. I didn't need to be there, especially for the reason my mother had admitted me. I didn't think anything was wrong with the way I ate. Mother ate the same way, after wall. However, rather than treating me for anorexia or bulimia, my mother had me treated for compulsive over-eating. Instead of forcing me to eat full meals, they taught my portion control. Mealtime in that place was like a dream come true.

Me and the other girls in the ED ward used to share secrets and tips. I was the youngest, but it didn't matter. We didn't need age to bond; we had food instead. We shared the simultaneous fear and need for food. It brought us together.

While I tried to take the tips and apply them for my own benefit, Emmaline continuously tried to outdo everyone, especially me. She was constantly trying to weigh less, and whenever the doctors forced me to eat more, she would rub it in my face. By the end of my second year at La Coste, I had grown absolutely tired of her. Her attitude was more than slightly annoying. In fact, she almost made me want to rip my own ears off. She absolutely infuriated me. I wanted nothing to do with her and yet, she continued to do everything she could to annoy me.

I was sitting in our room. I was on my bed, reading a Seventeen magazine (which I guarded with my life, considering we weren't allowed to have them in here). I looked at all the girls. They had perfect, shiny hair, perfect make-up, the best clothes, and the tiniest bodies. They looked perfect in every picture. I wished I was one of them. Any of them would do. If I looked like one of them, I wouldn't be here. My mother would love me.

"Hey, loser," Emmaline said to me as she walked by. Suddenly, I felt her snatch the magazine right out of my hands.

"Hey!" I exclaimed. "Give that back." She plopped herself on her bed and flipped through the pages. I just stared.

"Why?" she asked me, eyes glued to the pages.

"Uh, because I was reading it," I told her, slightly, annoyed that she had taken my magazine and also that she was forcing me to state the obvious.

"Well, now I'm reading it," she retorted quite bluntly. "So deal with it."

I could never explain what had become of Emmaline. When we first met, she was adorable. She was sweeter than candy.I could tell her anything, and I could be confident that she wouldn't judge me. Now, I didn't even want to be around her. There was really only one word to describe her since she turned fourteen three months ago. She was nasty. Emmaline had turned into a bitch.

I glared at her from my bed. "What is your problem?" I asked her, trying not to grind my teeth out of frustration.

"It sounds like you're the one with the problem," she chuckled.

"What?"

Emmaline gave me a snide smirk as she placed the magazine in her lap. "You're delusional or something," she sneered with the cruelest grin I had ever seen. She held the magazine up so I could see it and pointed to a picture of a girl with long, flowing brown hair, perfect, pouted lips, and wide brown eyes.

I wished I looked like that.

"You will never look like that," Emmaline told me. "You know why?" I could feel my teeth starting to grind as she spoke. With every word, she sounded harsher and harsher. "Because you're a boy. You're a stupid boy. Boys don't look like this. Boys aren't skinny." She flipped to a picture with a gorgeous, young actor on it. He had muscles everywhere, a chiseled jaw and a smirk that said, "I'm dark and mysterious." Emmaline pointed to him. "That is a boy," she said. I sat up, clenching fistfuls of my bed sheets.

"Are you confused?" she asked me, pouting as though she felt bad for me. "Do you--"

Before she could say another word, I felt my hand fly towards her face. I socked her. I hit her right in the jaw. I saw her fall over into her pillow, clutching her mouth.

"Oh my God!" she shrieked. "What is wrong with you?!"

I stood up, and I stood over her. "Say on more thing to me, bitch, and I will make you regret ever existing."

I was fuming. I stormed out of the room and left her there to think.

When I returned for lights out, we didn't speak. I stayed awake as she slept, waiting for the right moment, until I was for certain that she was asleep. I was going to make sure she didn't screw with me ever again.

I took the sharpie I stole from the library out of my pocket. Right on the front cover, I forged her name in her perfect, bubbly, teenage-girl handwriting, and I slide the magazine under her bed.

By noon the next day, I had a new roommate. Every week for the next year, I would get a new one. Either I couldn't stand them, or they were afraid of me.

I was absolutely bitter and nasty until the day I was discharged. I was more excited than I had been in months. I was going home. I was going to see mother and father. I was going to see my brother. I was going back to Hot Fuss where I would record my next album and get my life back in order. I was healthy now, and everyone would be happy again. I had it all planned out in my mind.

Except that wasn't how it would happen at all.