Whatever It Takes

.AUGUST.16.2000. 1:32 PM

I tugged at my bikini uncomfortably. Milo and I had decided to spend the day together swimming and going out on the jet ski's, as we lived on a small, and thankfully clean lake. I looked in the mirror of the securely locked bathroom, and listened to hear if Milo was in the room or not. When I realized he wasn't, I got to work on what I'd really come up here to do. Get rid of lunch.

About a year ago, Milo and I had moved in together, after we'd gotten engaged. I was thrilled that he'd proposed, but not so thrilled about the moving in together. It was a bit harder now to get the high I so longed for. A bit harder to keep the weight journals secret. A bit harder to hide my eating habits.

Most of the time, I found something to have him do so that he'd be occupied downstairs while I did my business in the bathroom. I was still just as clean about it, keeping a small amount of powdered bleach hidden with my weight journals under a floorboard I had pried loose as soon as we'd bought the house. I always made sure to keep my weight at a steady number, never letting it flucuate to bring attention to myself.

I finished and walked over to the mirror, brushing my teeth after cleaning up the toilet. I sprayed some of the Febreze air refreshener, then walked to the scale. Repeating the same ritual I'd performed many times before. 99.

I smiled, before walking to the mirror, adjusting my black bikini one more time. It clashed with my pale skintone well, bringing out my soft red hair, and green eyes. I wiped beneath my eyes to get rid of any smudges before walking out the bathroom.

Only this time, Milo was sitting on our bed.

- -

I had my ideas that she was sick, but it had never been something I wanted to admit. I never wanted to believe it, so I never questioned her, and never faced it. If I did that, it would be real, and I'd have to deal with the fact that my fiance was sick. Very, very sick.

I think we'd somewhere along the line made a silent agreement that we would never discuss it. Especially when we moved in. It was more obvious then, and she'd always try to wait, not go to the bathroom immediately after we'd sit down for dinner. Never make me have to admit it to myself. Never make her admit it to herself.

But, today, something was different. She was losing weight, so fast. Getting smaller. Paler. So much more frail than any normal woman. So much skinnier than any woman of 5'8 should be. So, when she went upstairs after lunch, I went against everything I'd been telling myself to do for the past two years. I went against our silent pact. I went against my own desires, and I followed her.

I watched the door close behind her. Heard her heaves and coughs. Heard her flush the toilet, brush her teeth. Heard the familiar sound of the scale being stepped on. Felt the small wet trail on my own face.

I looked down at my hands, tightly woven together, my knuckles turning white. I wasn't sure how to approach her about this, once that door opened. How would it go? What would happen? Was this going to change us for the rest of our lives? Even after this next conversation, would anything change? Would I have the heart to send my fiance to a rehab center? Could I do this?

As soon as that door opened, I knew this was going to change everything. And I knew I could've never prepared myself for this.

Could never have prepared myself for the damage. The hurt this would bring.

The rude awakening to reality that this would bring.

- - -

I stopped in my tracks once I walked out of the bathroom. A sharp little gasp escaped my lips, and I put a hand on the door frame to steady myself.

Milo.

"Carly..sweetheart. Do you want to tell me what you were doing in there?" I heard him ask, barely whispering as he stared down at his hands.

I tried to smile, but it was more strangled and forced than anything else. Then something in me flared. Anger. Frustration. Hurt. Embarassment. I was suddenly absolutely furious. At Milo. At my eating-disorder. At myself. How long had he known?

"What the fuck do you think. Don't sugar coat it. It's not like you don't know exactly what's going on right now." I spat, storming over to the dresser, and grabbing some sweatpants, yanking them on.

I refused to look at him, but I could feel his stare burning into my back as I fumed, glaring out the window.

"Yeah, well. I kind of want you to explain it to me." He said through gritted teeth.

"It's nothing, Milo. Don't worry about it." I turned around, put a fake smile on and walked over, resting my hand on his shoulder. I rubbed my hands in circles moving to his chest.

"Carly, stop." He shrugged me off.

I glared and stormed out of the room. "Fuck you then."

I heard his foot falls on the carpeting behind me. I walked down the open hallway overlooking the foyer of the house.

"How long have you known." I said, not even offering it as a question.

"I've suspected for maybe two years?"

I scoffed, and spun around, already half way down the stairs. "Two fucking years? Why didn't you ever do something about it then?" I said, almost desperately, but I didn't let the whine get into my voice. I was too frustrated. Too angry.

I felt helpless. My secret. My rock. The control I knew I held in my life wasn't there anymore. Where do I go from here?

"I didn't want to face it." He said, looking at the floor.

I glared and turned around, flying down the rest of the steps. He followed.

"We nee to talk about this, Carly." He said firmly.

"No. We don't. You need to get out. I need some time to myself." I spat, turning away from him.

"You need to let me in, sweetheart. This isn't going to work without you letting me in.I know it hurts, but I need to see it all, Carly. Even the broken parts. Especially the broken parts. No more secrets."

"Get out." I turned away. It was too late for that.

"You're being childish about this, Carly."

"I said get out."

So he left.

And I cried.