"Lilly, wake up. We have to go to Cardiff," Mom whispers in a sing-songy tone.
I shoot up from bed. I feel a few happy butterflies in my stomach. This isn't what the cutting gives me. It gives me fake happiness. But fake happiness is better than no happiness.
Even though it's three in the morning, I know Elliana isn't sleeping. She doesn't sleep anyway for some reason. I never understood it. As Mom leaves me to get changed, I text Ellie for the last time before I leave for Cardiff, Wales.
Sillylilly: I'm going to miss you. Leaving soon.
Jelliebelly: bye hope you have a great time
I wish she was coming. She's one of my best friends. She's part of the ALDC family. But I guess a previously booked gig in the Virgin Islands is more important. I tear the sheets off of me and go to the dresser to pick something to wear to the airport. I need to find something acceptable for sleeping and society.
I end up picking a yellow t-shirt that has a picture of the candy Dots on it and black sweatpants. My hair is pulled into a messy bun. I examine my face. It's becoming more and more defined. My cheekbones barely need contour to be shown. I have bags under my eyes, but that's what concealer is for.
This eating disorder is slowly working. I just need to lose more. I hope the UK won't impact this. The UK is going to make you fat and uglier than you already are, Lilliana. Don't go. I have to go. I don't want to disappoint my fans or Ms. Abby by not showing up.
I double-check my suitcase and so does Mom. All it's missing is a razor. I put the razor in a ball of socks and quickly drop it in before Mom closes my suitcase. I'm holding my breath that she doesn't ask why I dropped an extra pair of socks in the suitcase.
She looks groggy. She needs her coffee. The adrenaline of the trip is keeping me going, while Mom is probably counting down the minutes until we reach a Starbucks in the airport. By the time we leave, it's three-thirty in the morning.
The airport is an hour away from the apartment complex. I refrain from using my phone or turning on the radio to not annoy Mom. Sleep-deprived driving is dangerous enough. I don't want to annoy her. The only sound I make is the fishing and the rattling of my pill bottles, taking all three today. Your presence annoys your mother, Lilliana. You shouldn't be happy to exist.
It's still dark out. The only thing illuminating the world is the occasional blinding headlights of passing cars and the colored shine of the stoplights. I watch the small drizzle fall outside my car window, creating a small static-like sound that calms me down. My leg bounces at the thought of the razor in my suitcase.
I notice a big white building that Mom pulls into. It must be the airport. I gulp. This is where it must be. Ok, all I have to do is get my pink donut suitcase through the TSA. The anxiety makes me want to pull my razor out and cut in the parking lot.
I anxiously go to the entrance of the airport where bag security is awaiting. A man in the familiar blue uniform is there. Mom goes first. He quickly combs through her suitcase. They're going to find your razor, Lilliana. Then you're going to confess everything to your mother and then you'll be forced to get treatment.
I smile at the man and muster up all my strength to lift the suitcase onto the carrier. I feel so weak, but I manage to get it up. I hold my breath as he unzips my suitcase, trying to not look terrified. He combs through my suitcase.
He flashes me a smile, zips it back up, and says the customary, "Enjoy your flight!"
I almost let out a sigh of relief before I remember nobody knows about my cutting so I can't do anything but smile, nod, and keep moving on. We find the airport terminal, Pressley and Ms. Ashley are already sitting there, coffees in hand. I hug Pressley, and Mom leaves to go get herself a coffee and my ice water.
"How are you guys?" Ms. Ashley asks me.
"I'm fine. Mom, however, is really tired," I inform her and she chuckles a bit at the statement about Mom.
"I cannot wait to board the plane!" Pressley squeals quietly.
I nod and smile, remaining silent until Mom returns with ice water and a croissant. I look at the croissant nervously. I pull out my phone and type up croissant calories. 231. No way. Not taking a bite. Croissants are a fear food now, I guess.
Pressley gives me a knowing look. She knows I won't dare eat the croissant. I just sip my ice water and play on my phone, waiting for our plane to be called. At one point, the moms go to the bathroom, and I give Pressley half my croissant and I throw away the other half.
"When's the last time you ate something?" Pressley asks.
"Depends. When's the last time I swallowed something or could keep it down?" I ask back for clarification.
"Keep it down," Pressley responds, adding hesitancy, probably surprised by the options I gave her.
"The cheese stick at lunch," I say back before I go back to playing Candy Crush.
"Lilly, this isn't healthy. You didn't need to lose weight in the first place. You're losing muscle and bone and tissue. You have to eat something," Pressley pleads, and I just shake my head.
"Pressley, you're not going to win this. Everybody tells me to eat, but I'm becoming prettier. I need to look beautiful in the UK," I mutter through clenched teeth, ready to snap at Pressley at any moment.
"Lilly, you're perfect. I know it's hard to believe, and something tells you otherwise. But I know deep down inside, the real Lilly is there," Pressley tells me and she hugs me.
Any version of you is a bad Lilliana. Pressley doesn't get it. She's perfect, unlike you, Lilliana. Pressley is perfect. She dances well, except for a few feet issues, which we all have. I look down at the ground in my train of thought, not even noticing the moms coming back from the bathroom.
After a few minutes, lost in the thought of being unpretty, and how I'm changing that, I hear someone announce, "All people boarding Flight 635 to Cardiff, Wales, please board now."
Mom starts to sweat a bit. She's afraid of planes. I grab my backpack and I show the people at the front my boarding pass and go through the tunnel. I hear Mom talking to Ms. Ashley nervously. Pressley and I go to our seats, which are right next to each other.
There are only two seats per row, and Pressley gets the window seat first. It's okay, I'll get it on the way back. I grab a blanket that I stuffed into my carry-on and lay it over Pressley and me.
"Alright ladies and gentlemen, we're going to go over safety but first, welcome to Delta Airlines. This is your pilot, Jeff Walker, and your co-pilot, Amanda McLaughlin," the intercom begins and I blank it out, thinking about how I managed to sneak a razor onto the airplane.
Suddenly, the roaring sound of the engines snaps me back into reality. I nearly begin to cry at the loud noises. I don't like them. I cover my ears and I shut my eyes, rocking a bit to soothe myself. Venlafaxine is doing nothing to help my anxiety. I want to get off the plane so bad. Tears start falling down my cheeks.
"I don't like the noises," I whisper to Pressley.
"They'll be over once we take off," Pressley comforts, putting her arm around me.
I feel the plane moving off the tarmac and the roaring slowly stops. The tears stop and I stop shaking as much. I take a deep breath and squeeze Pressley's hand.
"It's over," I whisper out loud and put my head on the headrest.
"Are you okay?" Pressley asks and I nod.
"I just don't like the sound," I state and she nods back.
Suddenly, the televisions turn on in front of us. I take the headphones and my stuffed animal out of my bag. I quickly find Pixar and begin to watch Coco. It's about a boy who wants to play music but isn't allowed to by his family. So he steals a guitar that ends up transporting him to where the dead people go, and he learns about his musical lineage.
I kind of relate to the boy. There is some part of me that wants to go into treatment and to get better, like how the boy wants to play music. The rational, logical part of my brain. But the majority of my brain, the bad part of my brain, doesn't want me to get help, like how the family doesn't want the boy to play music.
After the movie is over, I look at the time we have left. Ten hours and fifty-six minutes left. Mom says after they pass around our meal, we have to sleep or at least rest for four hours, and the meal is coming in two hours and fifty-six minutes.
I search Disney and Pixar for another movie to watch. I assume this whole plane ride will just be movies and sleep, because I'm going to find a way out of this airplane meal, or I'll sure dang try. I eventually find The Jungle Book on Disney.
One of the most classic movies with one of the most classical themes. It's like, "I don't want to grow up," but on steroids. Because even if you didn't want to grow up, you probably would not hang out with singing bears and orangutans unless your wish is to be decapitated. Honestly, I wouldn't mind. I hate my life, and decapitation is quick and painless.
You should just overdose on all your pills, Lilliana. That way, you won't have to disappoint anybody anymore. You're such a burden and a problem to everybody around you, killing yourself would be such a relief to everybody around you.
The familiar tingle on my wrists appears, and I grab my phone. But then I remember the razor isn't here. The dulling razor is in my pink donut suitcase in a ball of extra socks. I take a deep breath and try to shake my wrists out as I keep watching the movie, trying to ignore the tingle.
As I switch the movie over to Cinderella, I check the time until lunch. One hour and twenty-seven minutes. The movie is one hour and sixteen minutes long. Cutting it close. As I watch the stepsisters begin to tear Cinderella's pink dress apart, Pressley, who is watching Freaky Friday, leans over to me.
"Do you think you're getting the chicken or the beef?" she asks me.
"I'm guessing chicken," I reply as I continue to watch the movie.
I don't talk to Pressley a lot more. I don't want to reveal anything I don't want her to know. As the movie ends with Cinderella running away with Prince Charming, I hear the intercom beep on again.
"Alright ladies and gentlemen, we have your meals coming out in ten minutes. Vegetarian meals will be passed out to those that requested them while booking the flight, thank you," the pilot announces.
"I think that I'm getting the beef," Pressley states out loud, her mind still paying the most attention in the movie.
I shrug and move on to Toy Story. I won't be able to watch all of it, because, from twelve-thirty to four-thirty, we're forced to rest so that the jet lag won't hit us too hard. I feel nauseous and my stomach is beginning to hurt. I must be hungry. I get out some gum and get another stick. Airplane food is disgusting like you, Lilliana. Don't eat the meal or else you'll be ugly for the UK.
Around ten minutes later, a flight attendant comes to us and hands us two trays. Time to see if Pressley was right and time to see how I can get away with this. We both get chicken. I got mine right.
Pressley eats up hers, and I just cut up my food and pretend to eat so the flight attendants won't get suspicious as they would even care. After about fifteen minutes, Pressley stabs a piece of my chicken onto my fork and tries to get me to eat it, but I screw my mouth shut and knock the fork out of her hands, grasping it into mine. I almost eat it, but something is holding me back.
"Lilly," Pressley whines softly, trying to get her, and I give her a sorry look.
"I just can't," I mutter back so nobody can hear me, and I start to cry silent tears.
She hugs me and she dries off my tears right as the flight attendant comes to take away our trays. She turns off her television and then mines and pulls up the blanket on us.
"Well, time to go to sleep. Sweet dreams," Pressley announces.
Calm down, Lilly. Just sleep it away. Sleep all the pain and all the hurt and all the fear away. Maybe the demons won't torture me tonight. I just hope I don't get night terrors and embarrass myself on the plane. I take away the middle armrest so Pressley and I can collapse on each other and not be boxed in, and set a four-hour timer on my phone.
Throughout the four hours, the roaring and chatter of the plane only allow me to drift in and out of consciousness, sleeping very lightly throughout it all. Pressley is... well, Pressley is out cold. Her head is on my shoulder, though, while my head is in her lap, so I have to stay perfectly still, my head is stuck where it is for two hundred forty minutes.
Of course, when I do manage to lightly sleep, the demons are there. It's like a crazy stalker, always there, always watching, always acting. Messing with me, calling me names, giving me enough motivation to keep starving. When the four-hour timer finally goes off, Pressley slowly wakes up and I wait until she's totally off of my weak body that she used as a pillow to get up.
"Sleep well?" Pressley asks, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
"Torturous and not good. The demons, man," I joke around, remembering Pressley's a normal being who looks at me weirdly.
"Demons?" she questions.
"I'll tell you more about them if we get the same hotel together, okay?" I promise and she nods, turning the televisions back on.
You shouldn't have talked at all, Lilliana. Now you have to share more information that could be used against you. I sigh, turning on Pocahontas, the movie pulling me out of reality. I still have two hours and forty minutes on this plane, and this movie only takes off about ninety-one of them.
I decide to switch my phone to Cardiff time. According to the time, we'll arrive at midnight in Cardiff. I think the only thing that is going to be open for "dinner" is McDonald's. I'll probably force myself to fall asleep on the way so I won't have to lie my way out of going to Mickey D's.
Once the credits of Pocahontas finish up, I switch the movie to Pete's Dragon. I'll still have approximately half an hour, but that will probably be half an hour of an anxiety attack instead of the first third of a movie. Plus, the screens will probably be turned off when we start our descent to the UK.
And, right as the credits begin to roll, I hear the captain announce, "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Cardiff, Wales. We hope you enjoyed flying with Delta Airlines."
I squeeze Pressley's hand and start to chew on my now flavorless gum stick vigorously. She rubs my shoulder comfortingly and I try to match her breathing. My leg is bouncing in tremendous panic as the plane begins to descend. My heart feels like it's palpitating and fluttering like it's going to give out at any minute.
Everything's blurry. This is it. I'm going to die on a plane. You're going to die fat and ugly, Lilliana. Your casket is going to have to be extra-wide just so they can fold your fat in.
"Lilly, you're going to be okay," Pressley keeps repeating, reassuring me, and over time, I begin to believe it.
Slowly, all the symptoms go away and by the time the plane lands, I'm fine. I give her a thankful look as I take a final breath and begin to stuff the big blanket, headphones, and stuffed animal back in my backpack.
After waiting for some other people to pass, me and Pressley squeeze in right behind Mom and Ms. Ashley. I want to cut so bad. Good thing I somehow managed to squeeze a razor by the TSA.
Pressley and I do a TikTok in the baggage carousel, Sarah and Brady finding us as well during this time. Gia and Hannah's flights were both delayed, so we text them the directions to the hotel, grab our bags from the metal wheel and call some Ubers.
Sarah's my roommate this time, so the Ketchman's and Georgiana's decide to Uber together. We put our luggage in the back of a black Subaru Forester, and, Sarah, Mom, and I hop into the back while Ms. Michelle gets the front seat next to Jake, our driver.
Luckily, we're just going to starve until morning, because Jake takes us straight to the hotel. We grab our luggage and head up to the third floor. Our moms put our new outfit for tomorrow in our dresser and my meds in my dresser, and luckily, Mom does not choose the razor socks. They say our goodnights, remind us if we need anything, call them, yadda yadda.
Sarah goes first in the shower. I take this time to put my razor back into my phone case. Oh, how I missed you. It's like a piece of me is missing whenever I don't have my razor. It's a bit dull, though.
Sarah comes out, her hair down and her body clothed in a dark mint green rabbit cami set. She says goodnight early, hopping into a queen bed before I go to the bathroom for my rituals.
It's nerve-wracking to not have a scale. The scales at the gyms would be too risky for someone to walk in and see me, and I'm too young in most gym establishments inside hotels, so I'm going without checking my weight for two weeks.
My anxiety and suicidal thoughts on the plane makes me cut my wrists eight times. I'm becoming scared of myself, and the cutting makes me not scared. It makes me artificially happy. I clean up my wrists and arms before covering them in gauze and changing into some kelly green matching sweats.
Sarah's already out when I return to the main area. My wrists sting a bit when I lay down on the queen bed opposite my roommate, but I get comfortable enough where I can finally get some rest for the day in Cardiff.
~~~~~