Steamin' at the Seams

"You've got a date to a dance?"

I roll over at the sound of the familiar voice, pulling the blankets down from my face. I stare up at Leah. "How'd you find out?"

"Will," She says simply, sitting down on the bed next to my feet.

"Ah," I croak. I close my eyes again. "What time is it?"

"A little after three," She answers.

"Will's upstairs?"

"Yeah." She doesn't say anything for a few minutes, then she asks "So who is it?"

"Some kid named Connor. I don't really know him well," I say.

"He asked you then?"

"Yes."

"Do you like him?"

"I don't like anyone," I say.

"Then why did you say yes?"

"I didn't mean to."

"Sure." She sounds so accusing.

"If you're going to be a bitch, you can leave," I say acidly.

Well, I try to say it acidly, but it comes out sort of weak. Damn.

"Fine, if you don't want me around…" Leah says, standing up and walking towards the stairs.

"It's not that. I just don't want you beating me up over a mistake," I say quietly.

"I should let you get some sleep. You threw up today," She says, one foot on the bottom step. "In case you were wondering, he's not doing so hot either." She sprints up the stairs before I can ask who she means.

It's about eight at night. I've been sleeping all afternoon. Sleeping fitfully. I've been having terrible dreams.

They're all about Jacob. I'll see him kissing other girls, or he'll be yelling at me about saying yes to going to the dance with Connor, or he'll just be laughing at my pain. They're all horrible.

Suddenly wanting a shower, I crawl out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom. I strip down and stare at myself in the mirror.

I look gaunt. Too skinny. I can see my ribs. I don't look healthy.

I haven't been trying to neglect myself. I just haven't had any appetite. That's probably not good. I'll get to it later though. I just don't care right now.

I guess it's a good thing that people don't know exactly what I'm going through. Most people would probably just say 'Get over it. Move on.' But they don't know what it's like. They've never felt like someone shot them repeatedly, cut a hole in their abdomen, and poured salt and acid inside.

I get into the shower and turn the water on full blast, as hot as it can be. Standing in the scalding water, I realize how freezing cold I am. I shiver as the water heats my skin. It's so hot it feels almost cold, but it feels good.

Something must be wrong with me. I must be a masochist. I never thought of myself that way before, but it has to be true. Why else would I be moping over Jacob like this?

Those other apathetic people are right. I should bet getting over him. But I just can't. And I don't know why.

It's just a crush. I should have gotten over him weeks ago. So he likes another girl. So what?

But even just these thoughts are sending knives of pain digging through my skin.

I'm not moving on. I'm in a bad place. I don't think I'll ever get over him.

I know that sounds so preteeny, but it's true. This doesn't feel like just a regular crush. It hurts too much. I know this is going to leave scars. Big, ugly, raised scars. If it ever even heals. Which it doesn't feel like it will.

Feeling cleaner than before, but still unclean at the same time, I shut off the water and step out of the shower. With a big, fluffy towel wrapped tightly around my body under my arms, I open the door, steam pouring out into my bedroom.

I look around the room anxiously. For some reason, I expected someone to be in here. The emptiness of the room weighs on me, and I fall to my knees, tears pouring down my face.

I don't know how long I laid on the floor, but the tears finally stop coming, and I slowly get up, scrubbing my fist across my eyes like a small child.

I feel empty. Like I cried out all of my emotions. It's a hollow feeling. The pain is still there, only it's muted. Like someone fed morphine into my system, just enough to make it so that I don't hurt anymore, but not enough that I don't feel the wound.

I slowly dress in my pajamas, currently sweats and a thermal shirt. I have a sports bra on underneath, seeing as how Will has a bad habit of dragging me places at night without letting me get dressed first.

After hanging up my damp towel, I slowly make my way upstairs. Mom and Dad are nowhere to be found, but Will is sitting in the kitchen.

"Where's Leah?" I ask, walking to the fridge and opening it up, shivering in the blast of cold air.

"She went home. Has to run tonight," Will replies. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm just hungry," I say, realizing that I am starving. I pull out a pizza box, leftover from dinner last night, and grab a plate from the cabinet next to the fridge. I put three pieces of pizza – sausage and extra cheese – on it, then stick it in the microwave. I put in the code for reheating pizza, press 3, and hit START.

"Really?" Will asks, surprised.

"Yeah, I'm starving," I say, bouncing anxiously as the pizza revolves in the little box in front of me.

"Well don't eat really fast, it'll give you a stomach ache. Hey, didn't you throw up today? Should you be eating pizza?"

"I only threw up because I said yes to going to the dance with Connor," I say, crossing the kitchen to get a glass, then pouring it to the brim with Coke.

"Why did you say yes to him?"

"I didn't do it on purpose. It was an accident," I say, taking a sip of the soda.

"Are you gonna fake being sick to get out of it?"

"That's the plan," I say, grinning my first real grin in a long time. "You know me well."

"I have to, you're my twin," Will says, grinning as well.

"So, where are Mom and Dad?"

"They had a business dinner in Port Angeles. I promised to take good care of you, and to call if you throw up again or get delusional," Will says, smirking.

I stick my tongue out at him, then squeal as the microwave beeps.

I bounce over to the microwave and pull out my plate, breathing in the steam and sighing happily.

Will stares at me. "Did body-snatchers move into the basement?"

I shake my head, carrying the plate to the table. "Nope. I cried."

Will shrugs. "OK. Tell me if you're going to spiral again, and I'll catch you at the bottom."

"Thanks," I say, blowing on a piece of pizza before taking a bite.

Someone knocks forcefully on the back door, and Will gets up to answer it. He opens the door, and in walks my drug. Jacob Black.