Come What May

26. closure

trigger warning: mention of disordered eating. it's very brief, but be safe.

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CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CLOSURE

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• monday, april 26th •

The next time I wake up, it isn't so dark anymore.

It takes more than a moment for me to adjust to the sun streaming into the bedroom, and then, to the fact that I'm in my parents' bedroom.

Rubbing my eyes, I sigh out of my nose, the scratchiness in my throat sending the memories of last night crashing into me like a freight train.

I came out. I cried and I cried and I cried. I fell asleep on the couch.

I don't know how I got here, on Mom and Jen's bed, but I'm too tired to rack my brain over everything that went down last night, and I don't think that I want to, either.

A trash can is on the ground, a t-shirt that I'm sure is Jen's is neatly folded up on a chair, a sticky note that reads something that my eyes can't make out is on the mirror.

No matter how much I want to know what the note says, I can't look at myself in a full-length mirror. Not like this. Maybe in a few months, but not like this. Not right now, when I'm at my weakest, physically and mentally.

Pushing myself off the bed, I stumble into the bathroom, knocking into the lamp near the bed in the process. And as soon as I enter the bathroom, I wish I hadn't.

Sunken in cheeks. Cracked lips. Purple moons lining my eyes. Collar bones jutting out of stretched-thin skin.

Somehow, my skeletal carcass isn't what scares me.

It's the image of Storm, tying my shoelaces up for me, pushing my legs away from my own vomit, holding my entire body weight and dragging me home— whatever that means— that burns my brain.

This time, the lump in my throat doesn't have time to dissolve into sobs, because someone quietly knocks on the bathroom door, effectively shocking the tears back into my eyes.

"One second," I mumble, my voice is foreign to my own ears, but it's okay because I don't think I've ever had a voice that I've known. "Just one second."

"Asif? There's a spare toothbrush, okay?" Jen. It's Jen. "Finish washing up, take a shower, come down for lunch! It's past twelve, so that's practically time for lunch, right? We've made—"

Forcefully yanking the door open, I take one look at Jen, and shake my head before she can continue. Partially because my head hurts too much and she's way too loud right now, but mostly because my stomach can't handle hearing her talk about food, let alone eating it.

"Jen," I mutter, almost inaudible to even myself. "I'll try dinner. Can't do lunch. And please be softer. Please," I repeat, in case she didn't hear it the first time.

Ungrateful. You're being ungrateful, and you're going to lose your parents. The only people who actually care about you.

Eyebrows furrowing together, Jen glances up at me, and again, I'm reminded of how comical this is.

Me, six foot one, looking down at Jen, five foot one, but I've never felt smaller than I do right now.

"Asif," she says in the same tone that I said her name, but softer. More gentle. God, I wish I was as gentle with people as they are with me. "Try lunch, okay? I'm not going to force you to eat a lot, I know that you don't feel very well. And that's okay. But you can't not eat lunch, and then not eat dinner, either."