chapter eight

THE STEAM ROSE from the hot chocolate and swirled in front of me, eerily hypnotizing. My fingers danced through the fog and it dissipated, however more continued to rise. No matter how many times I swiped the steam away, it came back, and it would repeatedly do so until the drink went cold. In a twisted way, I compared it to how people get knocked down every day in life yet get to their feet again and again until the day comes when their hearts stop. When they go cold.

Something was wrong with me.

After the dispute back at the park, I had been a mess. Tears, snot, wheezing, the whole ugly combination. When Harry had calmed me down, I told him I couldn't go back to that house. Obviously I wasn't welcome. He said he would drive me to get some clothes and take me wherever I needed to go. I didn't have anywhere to go. He didn't care--he offered me the spare room in his apartment. I would be a bother, I reminded him. In reply he had given me a look of what I could only define as pity and said I needed to stop being so ridiculous.

The world coming from Justin would've been cruel. Coming from Harry, though, it sent a wave of serenity over me. Maybe I wasn't as big as a bother as I thought, or maybe he was used to dealing with annoyance. He apparently put up with a lot when he was with his stalker ex. Maybe I wasn't any different, or maybe I was a lot different. I couldn't tell which I'd rather be.

Less I digress, Harry stayed in the car while I packed some clothes for a couple of nights. I'd eventually find some place and have to come back for the rest. It was agonizing to really think of it as being over, yet strangely almost a relief. I felt bad for thinking the latter, though, and pondered the idea that this was just a dream. Any moment I'd wake up with Justin's arms around me.

Needless to say, I'd yet to wake up. I was sitting at Harry's small table where a dining room supposedly was placed, staring at that tantalizing hot chocolate.

"Most people prefer drinking it while it's warm," Harry said from across me. "At least, that's what the name suggests."

To his credit, he was trying to cheer me up but to no avail did he have any success. How was I supposed to be happy after an eight year relationship abruptly ended on the couple's anniversary because one of the key players wasn't good enough? When she had tried her hardest time and time again to make him content, to make him love her. I guess you can't make someone love you, but there was a time when it had been real between us. As true as fire is hot and ice is cold, the love had been mutual.

It sucked being the one dangling off the cliff from a mere limb. There was too much pain hanging in the air like that, too much suffering that the person above didn't experience. Justin had his feet grounded and my fingers were slipping. It wasn't fair.

I swallowed, then spoke quietly as if I were speaking to myself. "I always thought he was going to propose..." I felt Harry's eyes on me, but I continued to gaze at the steam and twirl my fingers in it. "When he was out late or left early in the morning, I always hoped he would be getting a ring. I mean, eight years is a long time to not propose. It's dumb, I know."

"Eight years," Harry repeated softly. "Why did you hold on for so long?"

"He wasn't who he is now," I said and sighed. "He used to always want to be by my side. During football games, he'd get distracted and screw up a play because he was smiling at me. He would ignore his friends when they called him stuff like 'lover boy' and he'd kiss me right in front of them. He used to have pet names for me... You know, the really obnoxious ones you hear other couples saying but they're adorable when someone says them to you. Now he can hardly say my actual name." I bit the inside of my cheek, looked down at the table. "I don't know what I did wrong."

"What makes you think you're the one who did wrong?"

"It's no secret that I have."

"By doing what, Delilah?" The sternness in Harry's voice caused me to look up. "Gaining weight? That's no wrongdoing."

"Well, I disagree."

He shook his head. "No, Justin disagrees. And he's drilled it into your head that you have to too. You don't have to follow him anymore, Delilah. You never had to."

I held his gaze. "He hasn't brainwashed me, if that's what you're getting at. I know you've said that before, but you're wrong."

"The very fact that you have to defend him after what he's done says enough."

"I'm not defending him." But even as I said it, my own mind detected the lie. I'd never wanted to admit it before, however my habit of defending him had been a constant.

And Harry spoke my thoughts. "When has he ever defended you?"

This brought tears to my eyes again. All the realizations hurt too much. I hated crying. I tried desperately not to let any water spill. I rubbed my eyes, blinked quickly, squeezed them shut, doing my absolute best to keep them at bay.

"I cry too much," I mumbled under my breath, frustrated with how shaky my voice was.

In response, Harry left for a moment and came back to sit a box of tissues in front of me. "You're allowed to cry, Delilah."

That's not the first time he's had to remind me.

In fact, he's had to remind me of a lot of things: weight didn't matter, tears didn't matter, happiness and sadness were a part of life. I should lose weight for my own content, not for someone else's. I should be kind because kindness is a reward in and of itself. I'm not a screw up. I didn't do anything wrong. I'm a human being with feelings and I'm entitled to express them without feeling bad about myself.

He's comforted me with so much reassurance, but what had I ever given him aside from lies?

I'm a horrible person.

I had my arms around his neck before I could process it, my face buried in his shoulder with tears marking his t-shirt. I just kept getting more horrible. Sure it was just water and it would dry, but I didn't deserve to cry, did I? Harry especially didn't deserve to have my tears on him. He had made attempt upon attempt to help me but I kept pushing him away. Why did I do that?

"I'm a terrible person. I'm so sorry, Harry. I can't help it. One minute I think I know what I'm doing and then everything crashes and--wait, why are you laughing?" I pulled back, my eyes narrowing in on him. Was he making a laughing stock out of me? I wouldn't blame him. Maybe trusting him really was a bad idea--

He slid his thumbs under my cheeks to rid of the tears. "It's funny," he said, "that you think you actually have something to apologize for. You might not cry too much, but you certainly apologize too much."

I gaped at him, unsure of what to say.

He let out a breath but not in irritation. He still had a faint smile on his lips. "I grew up with an older sister. She was on and off with this one kid for what seemed like years. She'd come home one day saying she hated him, but then the next they'd be going to the movies."

"So you're generalizing me as a hormonal female?"

"Of course not. I'm not sexist, Delilah," he teased and I even managed a smile. "I'm just saying that no one ever knows what they're doing. Clearly I don't considering I have a crazed ex stalking me."

"You should've caught some red flags, you know."

"Oh, don't lecture me."

I shrugged. "Just saying."

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Well, I'm just saying that I understand. You were with Justin a long time. I get it. And I definitely don't believe you're a terrible person."

"I don't like you sometimes."

He frowned, eyebrows knitting together.

I blurted it before I stopped myself. "You're just too perfect."

His furrowed eyebrows eased and he wiggled them. "Why, thank you for noticing. I must say, I do try my hardest."

I pushed him in the shoulder. "Get over yourself. I didn't mean it like I'm worshipping you or something. Just that... it's hard to believe there's good people like you, I guess. Sometimes it seems like there's no generosity left."

"All the more reason to be generous," Harry said.

"Well, you can stick to being generous and I'm going to stick to my isolated bubble. There's less pain in a bubble."

"Unless someone pops it with a needle. Then you're exposed."

"Gee, thanks Mr. Brightside."

"I was always a fan of The Killers. Kind of. I mean, I only knew that one song. Does that count as being a fan?"

"A pretty lousy one."

"I'll take it."

I was quiet for a moment. "You're really good at distracting people, too. Is there anything you're bad at?"

He pursed his lips as if in deep thought. "I'm a rubbish cook."

"Can you make a decent sandwich?"

"It's considered 'decent' if it's edible, right?"

"That's not how it works, Harry."

"You didn't say 'excellent,' you said 'decent.'"

"Maybe you should take up some cooking lessons."

"Do you cook?"

I smiled. "My dad is a head chef and my mom owns a bakery. What do you think?"

His eyes widened. "You've got baking genetics and you've yet to bake me a cake?"

"You never said you wanted a cake," I countered.

"Well you never asked, either," he argued.

"Good grief, if it means that much to you, I'll bake one now."

His grinned, his dimples cratering and my heart fluttered for some peculiar reason. He glanced at the time on his phone. "It's nearly eleven o'clock at night."

I inhaled sharply. "I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight anyways."

He gave me a concerned look, but distracting people from pain was what he did best and he knew it. He kept his smile on his face, which kept me content in thoughts of baking rather than dying. "I don't have any ingredients here for that. Care for a late-night trip to the store?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

We took Harry's car, though mine was sitting in his driveway. He didn't want me to drive at all but I couldn't leave my car at the park. It took much convincing that I was fine to be behind the wheel. It was funny. He took my keys as soon as I parked. Said he was nervous I'd have a breakdown and get myself hurt from running away. I thought he was picking on me at first, but it was evident he was merely wary.

"Driving under a lot of emotions is dangerous," he had said.

"Driving in general is dangerous," I reminded him.

"Still," he murmured. "Let's not take unnecessary chances, yeah?"

And that had been the end of it.

Now he was pulling into the fairly empty parking lot of the grocery store, which was luckily open until about three in the morning. A tired cashier muttered a greeting, soft music playing overhead. Harry grabbed a basket and followed me as I scanned for the correct aisle. Once I found it, I turned to him.

"What kind of cake do you like?"

He shrugged. "I just like cake. What kind do you like?"

I frowned. "We're not here for me. I don't want any cake."

"Do you want anything else?"

Harry was anything but stupid. He knew well enough that I hadn't been eating and he wasn't going to keep letting me get away with it. So to satisfy his worries, I told him I'd get myself some apples. It didn't satisfy him. If anything, it did the opposite.

"You have to eat, love," he said quietly, his eyes no longer holding any of the amusement they had hardly five minutes prior.

I gave him a troubled look. "I do eat."

"The only thing I've seen you eat in the past few weeks were the fries I shared with you. And even then you only had a handful."

"Maybe I'm not hungry."

Harry let out an upset sigh, but not seeming to be angry with me. He dropped the subject the rest of the time we were in the store, settling on wanting a vanilla cake with chocolate icing. I bagged about four apples to try and reassure him that I was fine, but he barely looked at them. He paid when we checked out. I didn't bother to argue. I never won those types of things against him. I never won a lot when it came to him, really.

He was too smart and too nice.

The car ride was quiet. We got back to his apartment and the only conversation made was when I asked him where the bowls and utensils were. He lifted himself onto the counter and observed, chewing his bottom lip. He did that often when he was debating on what to say. I was starting to pick up on the small details like that. When he was frustrated or anxious, he'd rake a hand through his hair. When he was worried or torn between words, he'd bite his lip or the inside of his cheek. When he was uncomfortable, he'd toy with the ring on his finger.

I paused a moment. Did I really watch him that closely without even realizing it? How many other minor things had I noticed about him? Was it a bad thing?

Shoving those irrelevant thoughts to the back of my mind, I focused on the batter I was whisking. I used to love to dip my finger in the mix for a taste. I found myself wanting to do so, however the other half knew it was a ridiculous thing to yearn for. I didn't need this in my system. It would destroy me.

Seeming to come to a decision, Harry slid off the counter and walked over to do the exact thing I told myself not to. He tapped the surface of the batter and tasted it, squinting as if he was thinking long and hard about his critique.

"I'm trying to find something to dislike so I can tease you about it, but I simply can't." He dipped his finger in the bowl again. "You've exceeded expectations. Your baker genes have done you well."

I rolled my eyes while suppressing a smile. "Your approval means the world to me. How would I have lived on if you hated it?"

I slapped his hand when he went back for more, pointing the whisk at him in an attempt to be threatening. "I need majority of it to make it into the oven, you know."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Yes, ma'am," he said with a laugh and jumped back onto the counter.

When I placed the cake in the oven, it was a quarter to midnight. I leaned against the opposite counter of Harry with my arms folded across my chest. It should've been warm with the oven on but I was a bit chilly. I didn't mind it. I liked the cold. One of my goals in life was to see snow as I've yet to do so. People who live in it always told me to be fortunate I didn't, but I'd like to decide that for myself.

"You haven't eaten your apple yet," remarked Harry.

I glanced over to the table where I set them. "I will."

"All right, come here."

"What?"

He was on his feet and grabbing my hand in reply. I stumbled behind him in confusion as he led me to the bathroom. He positioned me in front of the mirror, but I looked away. What was he doing? I didn't want to see myself. I hated the way I look. He knew that. How could he do this to me knowing how badly it hurt?

Harry was standing in the doorway when I turned to walk out. I gave him a little push in hopes that he'd get the hint. He stared at me with eyes filled with so much empathy, I wanted to scream. "Move, please." But he kept staring. I pushed him a little harder and raised my voice. "Harry, move!"

"Turn around, Delilah."

"I don't want to. I want you to get out of the way. Now move."

He tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling, seeming to get the hint that I wasn't going to cooperate. He angled his face back at me and said, "Do you know how much weight a person loses a day without eating?"

"I told you that I have been eating."

"One to two pounds," he said, ignoring me. "Do you know how much weight that is after four weeks?"

I fell quiet.

"You've lost forty-six pounds, Delilah."

"That's not enough."

He shook his head. "It's too much. The average person should only lose about half that in a month in order to stay healthy, sometimes not even that much. It makes it worse because you've been exercising with little food being digested. You're not only losing fat, but you're losing muscle. If you keep going like this, your body is going to crash and that's a scary thing."

I stared at him, making sure he would grasp how determined I was. "I need to lose weight. When I eat, I gain it all back. It's easier to just... not. Besides, I don't believe you. There's no way I've lost that much. It certainly doesn't look like it."

Harry grabbed my shoulders and spun me around to face the mirror. "You can't honestly tell me that you don't see a difference."

I pressed my lips together as my eyes reluctantly skimmed my appearance. I couldn't see a difference. I told Harry this but he still wasn't taking that as an answer.

"Don't think about it as looking at yourself," he said, his mouth close to my ear. "Imagine this is just some random girl on the street. How would you describe her?"

I closed my eyes and waited a long moment before opening them again. I took in a quick breath at the sight. "Tired," I said immediately. "She looks tired. Kind of like a person who's been ill a while."

"She'll just keep looking more tired," he whispered. "It won't take long until her cheeks have sunken in and her ribs are showing."

My eyes watered. "What should she do?"

"She should accept the fact that she needs help to keep it from getting worse."

I gulped the lump in my throat. "And if she doesn't want it?"

Harry turned me back around to face him, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine. "Think about yourself for once, Delilah. If you don't, you're going to get to the point where it'll be hard to get better. Don't let it get that bad. Please."

The timer dinged from the kitchen.

I snapped back to reality and pushed past him, as if we'd never started the conversation at all. "Looks like your cake is done."