This Little Game We Like To Play

“Angel, honey.” My mom calls to me.

“Yeah?” I ask from the computer room.

“We’re going out. Watch the kids.” I smile to myself. Quinn is going to watch the kids, and I’m going to get shit faced.

“Okay, bye.” I hear the front door click shut and I run upstairs to get Quinn so I can get start drinking as soon as possible. The parents haven’t gone out in a while. So I want to make the best of the situation.

I’m about to knock on her door when I hear a cough from behind the bathroom door. I listen again to the sound of someone throwing up. I hear the same thing daily and I just ignore it. I’m a shitty person. Quinn eats, then she throws up. It’s been going on for a month a half, the month before that she didn’t eat.

It disturbs me that she does this to herself. It disturbs me more to know that it’s probably my insults and comments that pushed her to this. It makes me feel worthless. My heart sinks when I hear her heave again. “Quinn.” I knock on the door softly. Someone has to stop her, she’s disgustingly thin. No answer. I turned the door knob and push the door open. Quinn stands motionlessly in front of the mirror only in her bra and a pair of jeans that where probably five sizes too big on her. The ribs were starting to show under her skin.

“Angel” she says while turning to me.

“Yeah?” I ask trying to regain my composure. Quinn looked sickeningly thin. She must have been doing this longer than I thought.

“Promise not to tell anyone.” her eyes looked sunken in and dark circles formed under them. She looks like a corpse.

“I can’t promise you that.” I say backing out of the bathroom. She needs help. She’s killing herself.

“I don’t want to be fat anymore.” Quinn breaks down. She drops to her knees as tears start to fall down her face. “I want to be beautiful.” I want nothing more than to tell her she looks beautiful but she doesn’t. She looks sick.

“You are beautiful.” I lie hoping if I told her she’d stop doing this to herself. I don’t know what else to do other than hug her and tell her what she wants to hear. I place a hand on her back and feel the bones of her spine. It gives me a sick feeling in my gut. This is my fault. I felt the urge to cry myself. I am destroying her.

“Why is Quinny crying?” Dylan’s small voice filled the bathroom.

“Go down stairs.” I tell my brother holding Quinn closer to my body.

“Why is her crying?” he asked again.

“Dylan, go down stairs.” I tell him with more force. I listen to his little feet walk down the hallway. “I’m sorry.” I whisper to Quinn fighting the tears that wanted fall. “This is my fault.” a sob shakes her body which only confirms the accusation I made against myself.

I never would have though about telling Quinn just how much I care about her if I haven’t seen her like this. Carefully, I help Quinn up off the floor. I pick up her t-shirt and watch it engulf her body. The large girl’s shirt hung of her shoulders and she could have fit two more of herself in the shirt with her.

I can’t tell her that what I’ve know since I was fourteen. I can’t tell her that I love her, especailly when she’s sick like this. I’d be too afraid of her reaction anyway. I know she’d think it was another one of my cruel jokes and I’d be rejected. I don’t deal with rejection well. The least I can do is help her get better, maybe then I’ll have the balls to tell her how I feel and she’ll take me seriously.

I’m going to fix this. I’m going to fix Quinn, I have to. I led Quinn to her room and pushed her down on her bed. “Quinn, you have to stop this.” I watch her blue eyes look down at the wooden floor. “Quinn, look at me.” she picked her head up and her eyes caught mine. I ruined her. “You’re killing yourself. You have to stop.”

“I can’t.” she told me dropping her head again.

“I’ll help you.” I said holding her thin face between my hands. “I have to make you better.” How did I do this? How did I not see what I saw doing to her earlier?