Maybe Someday

The lack of enthusiasm I put into my recovery was supplemented by my enthusiasm for music. My mother scolded me sometimes, saying my bulimia wouldn't be cured without 'proper will.' Whatever that meant.
 
Healing group was every Sunday at this beat-up former preschool that got no action other than us. I didn't necessarily like it- there were nearly ninety kids that went and I couldn't tell you one of their names. Hell, half of the time I was asleep or just in my own little world. I only went because of Fay, my best friend, who practically forced me into going.
"I can't see you struggle anymore." She would tell me. "This will be good for you."
The hell it was.
 
I wasn't necessarily sick. I didn't have cancer, like Hazel Grace. I didn't have a cutting problem, like Callie. I most certainly was not addicted to meth like Kristina. I was a teenage girl with an eating disorder. I was accepting of it. I let it eat me alive like I was the food I was hungry for. I allowed it.
 
I was silent in the healing group for the five months I had been going. May fourth, however, changed that. I sat on the hard plastic chair, tracing circles on my forearm as I waited for the bloody thing to be over.
"Aster. Why don't you tell us your story?" It was the day I dreaded. The voice I dreaded to hear speak my name during discussion. Peter, the man that ran the group, called on me like it was elementary school. Except I didn't have the uncomfortable desk I could slowly sink behind.
"Uh, sure." I nodded and forced a shy grin. "I'm Aster, uh, I've been bulimic for nearly two years. My best friend forced me into this group. I don’t purge anymore but I still think about doing it." Phew. That's over.
"Do you remember when you first purged?" Oh god.
"Of course. And I hate myself every day because of it." I glared at Peter, daring him to ask me more questions. Peter stared back, stroking his thick, dark beard, and sitting back in his seat.
"Thank you, Aster. Austin, care to share your story?" I follow Peter's eyes, tracking where he's looking. My eyes land on an attractive, clean-cut guy with a nose ring. He nods, and grins smugly with his piercingly white teeth.
"Totally. I'm here 'cause I've been cutting for, oh I don't know, maybe a year and a half? I started 'cause my mom died and my father was an asshole. Too much shit."
"Watch your mouth, please." Peter reminded him.
"Sorry." I glanced at the clock, which read 2:58. Time to go.
"Well that's the end of this week's meeting. I'll see you all next week." Peter tapped the table twice and stood up, gathering his things. The rest of us followed suit, one by one exiting through the tight door. I sat near the back of the room, so I was practically the last to leave.
Sauntering out of the preschool building, a large hand grasped my forearm.
"Hi." I turned around to find Austin's gleaming eyes staring back into mine, as he released his grip.
"Uh, h-h-hi." I stammered.
"I'm Austin."
"I know."
"And you're Aster."
"I know that too." I reply rudely.
"Good."
"Good." I turn and move towards my car. I hear Austin's heavy footsteps behind me. As I pull myself up into the flaming, fire-truck red car, I see Austin reaching on the passenger side.
“Gonna unlock my door, or what?” He drags on his words, sounding out every syllable and letter.
“You’re not getting in my car.”
“Says who?” He teases, grinning at me with his pearly teeth.
“Says me.” I leave his door locked, start my car, and drive home.