Evergreen Everleigh - The Wattys 2020

Chapter Nineteen - Sunrise with a Friend

Chapter Nineteen

Sunrise with a Friend

I wake with a start, my hand flies to my throat. The house is silent but for the heaving gasps as I inhale deeply. Sweat drips down my neck and my t-shirt and shorts are soaked in sweat. The bedroom is almost completely dark if it weren't for the signs of the sunrise which are filtering through the cloth blinds. Juniper rolls over in her bed and snuffles silently. I curse myself for waking up so early - even before Violet. I try to calm my breathing and cast my mind back to the dream that caused my abrupt awakening. 

I had been dreaming of my grandmother and grandfather. No-No looked just as always, dainty and classic with red lipstick not unlike my mother's. I hadn't seen Ga-Ga in a long time. It had startled me to see him so vividly. But this wasn't what caused me to wake. We had been standing my room back at home, just inches from the bathroom where all of this trouble came to ahead. I remember looking from the bathroom and back to my grandparents. Ga-Ga looked so much younger, with smooth skin and dark wavy hair. He was the epitome of handsome. Instead of the reprimand for my actions which I expected, they walked out of the room silently and into Harmony's room. Henry and Harmony used to share a room until my mother could no longer handle the mess they made. In her bed, laden in soft toys, and illuminated by her bedside night-light, Harmony slept peacefully. My heart almost burst at the sight of her and I was tempted to get into bed beside her and hug her to my chest. Though somehow, I knew this would cause the entire scene to evaporate entirely. The peace did not last long, however, as from the corner of her room farthest away from the window, a soft growl began. It was deep and guttural sound. 

"What is that?" I whisper to my grandparents who stood by passively, surveying me with eyes that gave nothing away. When I clasped my grandfather's hand he held mine tightly and smiled at me serenely. 

I tugged free of him in time to see the gargantuan wolf emerge from the corner and lunge with a howl towards Harmony. Moving on instinct, I leapt to meet the wolf half-way, but Harmony's scream filled my ears and I woke. 

No longer able to bear being passive in bed, I crept to my feet, pulling on a pair of long, woollen socks as I cringe against the cold floor. From the trunk under my bed, I quietly pull free my bath towel, thinking that I may as well wash the sweat from my body. Had I been paying more attention, I might have noticed that I was not the only girl of Freesia Fields having trouble sleeping. 

Out on the landing, I am once again thinking of Harmony and the wolf that approached her. It had felt unlike any of the other dreams I had ever had before. This was hyper-pigmented and vivid to every detail and somehow felt true, if a dream can feel true. As I pander down the hall to the bathroom, a sense of dread settles in my stomach to stay as I sense rather than feel, something is coming for Harmony. I feel ill at the thought.

This is all I am thinking when I push open the bathroom door and find Willow bent over the toilet, retching. Her blonde hair is pulled back into its baby blue ribbon and her hands are gripping the toilet bowl so tightly her knuckles are white. Her own bath towel is folded into a kneeling pad on the ground. Her retching ceases the second she hears me. Turning, our eyes lock. Both of us have blue eyes, not dissimilar in shade, but right now Willow's eyes are bloodshot from burst blood vessels. She pushes away from the toilet bowl and leans against the wall under the sink, her arm around her knees. She wipes her mouth on a piece of tissue and flushes the toilet. There is an aura of deadly calm around every move she makes.

I am not fool enough to ask her if she is ill. I have seen girls like her too many times with their cut knuckles from their teeth and bloodshot eyes. Willow watches my eyes drift down to her knuckles. They are not yet cut. Even now, as she stares at me bold-faced and tears streaming down her face almost impassively, she is beautiful. And so young - too young, I think. 

"I didn't realise anyone else would be up this early, otherwise I'd have knocked," I say but Willow does not speak, she only stares. I think that she is inviting me to judge her and prove myself a hypocrite. 

"Do you do that every night?" I ask, taking a step forward and closing the door behind me. There is no lock, so I sit with my back against the wood, resting on my towel. 

"Used you do that every night?" She counters, her tears streaming harder now as she looks at my arms. She does not speak with the same insulting bite of Aloe, but instead, she looks scared. Scared of who I might tell.

I take a moment before looking down at what she nods towards. On my wrists, besides the two deep scars that are remnant of my attempt at taking my own life, there are layers of smaller, white scars that look like nothing more than little nicks against the rough-hewn marks. I run my right thumb over my left arm feeling the uneven surface, where most of them are because I didn't trust my left hand to hold the razor quite as steadily. I wonder if my shorts were any shorter and she saw the scars on my thighs what she would say. The thought does not worry me, because now I know that she is as fragile as I am. 

"Much more than every night," I answer honestly because is so young and can still stop this. I hold up my knuckles for her see the marks embedded there from my teeth. Her tears do not slow. "How old are you?" 

"Fourteen." Willow's nose is running now and she rubs it on the back of her sleeve, something which I suspect daytime Willow would never do. But she is broken now, and worse still, she has a witness. 

I nod, though I thought she was a year or so older. She always seemed so ethereal to me, a true beauty, and perhaps she would once again once morning came, but right now it is as though a glamour has been lifted and I can see the tremor in her hands that never truly stops.

"Why now?" I place the question between us slowly like moving a piece on a chessboard and wait for her response, though I think I can predict the answer. 

"I get hungry in the middle of the night. When I eat, I eat too much," My chest aches at this even more than when I was worrying about Harmony because Willow has just summarised both of us in a single sentence. There is no moderation, no control, only the preventative measures afterwards.

"I hear you," I say, smiling, "Maybe we should start a club." 

Willow cracks a smile at this and I feel as though I have won every lotto in existence for the length of that brilliant grin. 

"Does anyone else here do what you or I do?" Starve or purge, is the real question, but I have seen girls who do like to use the word purge and I don't want to upset her. To me, it has only ever been a word. The action was the real ferocious beast.

Willow shakes her head and her great blonde locks come loose from her ribbon. I am momentarily riddled with jealously that whilst both our hair is blonde, hers hangs like spun silk, and mine looks dry and coarse even in the braid I have begun to use daily. 

"None of the others. Though they have their share of problems, that's for sure," She blows her nose on a tissue and I consider asking her what I desperately want to know.

As though she reads my mind, Willow says; "Don't worry, you're not the most messed-up person here. We're all pretty even." After a breath, she adds, "Even Yarrow." 

I lock eyes with her once more and realise that it is not my job to seek everyone else's diagnoses when I have barely attempted recovery myself. 

"Have you improved here at all?" I ask and Willow's gaze softens. 

"Oh yes," she pauses briefly, "I used to be hereafter every meal. Now it's only when I binge." At this, I see that I was right to not say the word purge because Willow frowns deeply and shudders at this word. 

I take in the dark circles under Willow's eyes and the yawns that are beginning to roll out now every few seconds. I stand up and bring my towel. 

"You need to sleep, Violet will be awake soon you know how much noise she makes," I say, trying to make light of the situation. I hold out a hand to help her up. I don't miss the surprise on her face. She is shocked that I would want to touch her hands after they've been down her throat. After a moment's hesitation, she takes my hand and I haul her to her feet. We are almost the exact same height. I stunted my growth a long time ago. "I'll use the upstairs bathroom, so take your time." 

When I turn to leave I think I see Willow open her mouth to say something, and close it again almost as fast. I force myself to say what she can't because I mean, too. 

"Thank you," I say, facing the door. 

And then I am out in the hall and moving upstairs. I pass the bathroom altogether and go straight to the recreation room to write an additional, shorter letter to my mother to plead with her to tell me that the twins, especially Harmony, are safe.