Reaching You

For once, I was enjoying cooking. Unfortunately, it was too cold outside to use the grill so I guess frying pan fish should be good enough. Helping Skyler out like this made me feel… good, needed, wanted.

Besides, I wanted him to be healthy, happy. It also takes my mind off of my own addiction. Which actually hasn’t been so bad. I’ve only smoked it once a day, a small hit, just enough to keep me awake for the night, then again in the morning. Enough to keep withdrawal away. I knew I’d have to confront it soon enough. But, God, how was I going to function without it? I’ve been dependant on it since sophomore year when I started taking AP classes.

Then again… should I go to rehab? Should I… tell Skyler? Man, this must have been the headache he had when he was wondering whether he’d tell me about his eating disorder.

“Haven?” Skyler called, letting himself in the door. He’d be too timid to do that on his own so I told him to instead. Sometimes I wish he’d do as he pleased more often. But perhaps he’s trying not to make me angry, not that I would anymore. I don’t want to get mad at him, you know? Besides, I don’t think I can. He seems like he’d break if I were to get angry with him. I wondered if he wanted to be around Amanda and Laine right now.

And for that matter, does he still like Laine? Why should I care…? No, no, no, no, I don’t like him. I mean, we don’t know each other that well. But yet he confided in me with his eating disorder and what happened between him and Laine. He pretty much bared his soul to me. With a strange kind of grace, that is. It was strange that he could show that much of himself without asking to know my baggage in return. I don’t think he was looking for attention exactly but maybe comfort.

“Hey, sit at the table,” I told him before scooping the fish out of the pan and onto a plate. And the other onto my plate. I don’t want him to feel like there’s a lot of pressure on him to eat. And I can’t have him eat alone. I have to show him that it’s natural, that everyone else does it, that it’s okay to.

I handed him his plate and placed mine across from him.

“You cook?” He asked, looking at me, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, since Mom left I usually helped cooking up the meals around here. My dad isn’t really a good cook. Last time he cooked, that happened.”

I pointed at the burn mark on the fan above the stove where Dad had left the noodles cooking way too long on he and Mom’s last anniversary. I couldn’t quite understand how you left noodles cooking so long they actually caught on fire.

“Your mom… isn’t here anymore?” Skyler asked as I sat down in front of my plate.

“Well… no. She just found someone other than my dad…,” he told him outright, trying not to make it seem like a big deal. Right now, I just wanted to focus on getting him better and to do that, he didn’t need to be concerned with what was happening with me. At least not until he was eating right. Maybe then I’d tell him about the speed. Skyler looked worried, but he must have sensed that I didn’t want to talk about it for one reason or another.

Skyler hesitantly picked up his fork and cut off a small piece. It took a few minutes of analyzing before he finally put his in his mouth. I was trying to keep him from feeling any pressure by talking to him like he wasn’t doing something that wasn’t completely changing his way of life.

He chewed for another minute before finally swallowing. He pushed his food around for a few minutes before cutting another small piece as he bit his lip.

“Is it any good? I’ve hardly ever cook fish. Dad doesn’t like it.”

“It’s… okay,” he said. That was probably the most I’d get, but I knew that if he was eating normally he’d say it was good. He still thought that he shouldn’t eat food, probably.

“Glad you like it,” I said, giving a small smile. “Anything to drink?”

“Umm… just water please,” he said, biting his lip.

I gladly poured a glass of water for him as he took another timid bite.

“You don’t feel sick, do you?” I asked as I set the cup down next to him. He carefully shook his head as he took a drink.

“Not really, just… I don’t know how much more I should eat. I… don’t want to throw up again. I really want to get better, Haven,” he said, shyly looking up at me.

“Well, I’m here to help you. And don’t force yourself to eat. That’s just as bad as starving yourself.”

“Thank you Haven,” he whispered, a small smile curving his lips.