***lilly***
The bird's chirping alarm goes off on my phone and the Baby Shark sound goes off on Brady's. Eight in the morning. All the memories of what I told Brady last night flood back and all I want to do is fall asleep and never wake up. Why did you tell Brady anything, Lilliana? He's never going to be your friend now.
"Do you want to talk about what happened last night?" Brady asks, yawning.
"No," I state sharply, a little rude by accident.
He doesn't say anything else and gets out of bed to change. Today is kind of weird. We're going to Blackpool today, but we're stopping to do a show at Leeds midway, so we won't really get to show off our outfits, but yet, we still have to dress up like a person in the olden times. Mine is the 70s, almost fifty years ago.
Brady changes into a more 90s style outfit with a block color sweatsuit, one of those Will Smith hats, and Vans. Once he's done, I can change into my outfit. A tan Looney Tunes cropped graphic tee from Forever 21, some blue flare jeans also from Forever 21, black platform sandals from Foot Locker, a rainbow headband and rainbow stud earrings, both from Claire's, and those rounded sunglasses from francesca's.
I put my hair in the headband, which is more like the headband I wore yesterday, and I keep my hair down and straight to make it feel more like the 90s. The flare jeans feel a tiny bit looser than when I tried them in the store, so at least I know the scale wasn't a lie yesterday.
I take my medicine and I look at my wrists. I probably should have brought more bracelets, but I didn't think that far ahead. All the hurt and all of the pain is remembered on my wrist and the crease of my elbow. All the stress of last night is remembered in the twenty recent scars, all red and pink in my arm.
I can't look at them too long. I grab my foundation and my beauty blender, packing in the tan liquid onto my wrists until the side effects of becoming artificially happy are gone from the outside world. I add some setting powder on top as the lock to my secret.
I take a deep breath. Today is the last week of the calorie diet I've been following. It's been six weeks, where I was starting with 500 calories. Now my stomach is adjusted to 200, which is my limit for the day. I'm going to have to figure out my calorie limits after this week.
I'll worry about that next week. I shift my dull and bloodied razor from my black phone case to a white retro phone case with a rainbow on it. The razor isn't gleaming through it. Good. Every phone case that I put on holds a deep dark secret.
Since we'll be putting on different makeup for the meet and greet, I can do actual retro makeup, and I've done my research. I put on some orange eyeshadow, and I use my eyeliner to create a line on the top of my crease to create a cut crease. I add a bit of glitter to my eyeshadow for a disco look, and for lips, a cherry tomato lip gloss.
I exit the bathroom and I get a bit dizzy, the lights blaring in my face from the lamps. I sit on the bed and I hold my face in my hands for a quick second, Brady too focused on packing up.
You're such a burden, Lilliana. Nobody can ever enjoy anything because they're too worried about you. I shouldn't have told Brady. But at least he has answers to his questions. But I have some questions I need from an outsider perspective of someone I trust to give me honest answers.
"Hey, I have a question or two," I state abruptly, looking for my suitcase, trying to avoid eye contact.
"Go ahead, but I will warn you, if you say anything negative, I will blast the Baby Shark song until I see a smile after I answer your question," Brady warns me jokingly, and I chuckle.
"Okay, one, am I a burden to you guys? And two, why did I get this eating disorder? Why me?" I ask, and his goofy demeanor falls like my willingness to live every day, and he walks over to me.
After he gives me a bear hug that may have broken one of my ribs, he lectures, "Lilly, you're not a burden, okay? And if anybody tells you that, they're wrong. And two, I don't have the answer. But I know that since you have this eating disorder, you are the one in charge of asking for help. And we can help, and all the people who care about you back in NC, they can help too, but you need the first person to help yourself. And now without further ado, Baby Shark."
He starts playing Baby Shark as I process his words. I know I have to be the first person to want to change. My bulimia recovery didn't really start until I realized if I wanted to dance in the future, I had to stop. But I'm not ready to recover. I'll probably never be able to recover, even if I wanted to.
I eventually smile at the ballet he's doing to the song to get it to stop. It's so weird and funny to do ballet to this upbeat pop song. I check my phone to make sure my makeup looks good enough to cover my ugly face before I quickly pack my suitcase.
"Ready to go?" I ask him after I pack up my suitcase.
"Yup," he replies, propping his suitcase up and holding the handle so it can roll.
I roll my suitcase out to the lobby with Brady, where Mom and Ms. Tricia are waiting for the bus, coincidentally.
"Very retro guys!" Ms. Tricia compliments, and Mom takes some photos.
"The 90s and the... 60s?" Brady guesses, and I shake my head no.
"70s. Close though," I correct him, and he nods in understanding.
"Here, we got some protein bars for breakfast," Mom announces, giving us the same s'mores protein bars that Mom gave Sarah and I a couple days ago.
I unwrap it and stare at it. Thankfully, Gia and Hannah come down with their parents and we go over to talk to them, right near a trash can. I discreetly slip my protein bar while they talk about the 80s, the decade they both did by accident.
Once Sarah, Brady's 90s accidental companion, Mackenzie, and Pressley, my 70s accidental companion, arrive, we find our minibus parked at the curb. I sit next to Pressley, and since there are three seats per side, Mackenzie sits next to Pressley.
I haven't bonded with Mackenzie. He's an adult man touring with a bunch of children, and I keep my guard up around strangers. Pressley seems to like him. But I wish he wasn't here so I could tell Pressley what I told Brady. She deserves to know.
I start to observe Mackenzie's behavior. He seems nice enough. I start to engage in some conversation, but I still keep my guard up. It normally takes a while for me to trust anybody, even though I trusted my Dance Moms cast quite easily.
We have two hours, and this minibus has no internet this time, so I eventually start to zone out and look at the bleak windows. And that zoning out turns into falling asleep on the minibus until we get to Leeds, demons taking me into a night terror that I can't scream at for the sake of everyone on the bus.
"Lilly, wake up," Pressley whispers, shaking me a bit, and I sit up frantically.
"W-Was I screaming?" I whisper back, starting to have an anxiety attack.
"No, but you were shaking and breathing heavily, so I need you to breathe for me," Pressley whispers.
Mackenzie isn't in the seat anymore. He must have migrated. This is good because I don't want him seeing me have an anxiety attack. I fish out of my backpack my Venlafaxine, swallowing it with some water.
"We're here!" Ms. Tricia announces and I'm still having an anxiety attack.
I literally use my hand to wipe across my face like a scanner to help change my shaky demeanor to a smile, which freaks Pressley out to see a fake happy Lilly. Is it now just clicking in her head how much of my happy and goofy demeanor is fake?
I get up and quickly check my makeup, which is oddly pretty good-looking still before I grab my backpack and my suitcase before I enter the venue. There aren't as many seats, maybe 100-150, so it may be an hour with the people since only about half of the seats are going to be filled, then the dances, then the mock auditions, which will take another hour combined, so a two-hour meet-and-greet. Not bad.
There's no King of Queens tonight, just Body and Soul and Thoughts and Prayers, so that saves ten minutes, I guess. Kings of Queens was a bad week anyway when we competed with it.
"Girls, go change into ALDC merch and take off that retro makeup," Ms. Abby orders, and I'm suddenly handed a black sweatshirt and leggings.
Goodbye to retro day. Well, we'll get to change back and redo our makeup before we go to Blackpool. I go into the bathroom and I change into the outfit. I then redo my makeup into something more natural because I still need something to cover up my face.
I walk back out and there are neon lights. What? I ignore them and go to my seat where everybody is dancing the Baby Shark dance. This is like, the fourth time I've heard this song today. But of course, I still join in.
I feel a little weak and my stomach is in pain when the fans start pouring in. I thought I got used to hunger, but I guess not. I'm right next to Mackenzie and Sarah this time in the lineup, so I get to talk to him and Sarah, I guess.
Once the fans start pouring in, I have to put on my smile and my happy demeanor. I'm still having an anxiety attack from my nightmare, so my foot is shaking a bit, shaking out the anxiety a bit before they reach me.
It's still not fully gone, but all my fans are a nice distraction. One of them even gave all of us some cat ear headbands, which Ms. Abby allows us to wear them until we have to dance. Mine is pink and glittery, and they add a pop of color to my mundane wardrobe.
Unfortunately, we gradually have to spend less and less time with each fan because we end up getting backed up. It sucks being able to spend a minute with one fan and the next one, just fake a smile.
An hour and a half later, finally, the blockage is over, and all of the fans are done taking pictures with us, so now we can dance. I'm going first to start the show out with a bang, so there is a rush job with my straitjacket. It still freaks me out a bit to be in one, but all the applause drowns out the bad memories whenever I perform.
Of course, I get a bunch of applause for performing in a straitjacket as I run off the stage struggling to get out. Mom immediately unstraps everything and I drink some water. You didn't deserve all that applause, Lilliana. Your dance isn't even that good and you performing it doesn't aid in its success.
"Hey guys, how does KFC sound for dinner?" Ms. Michelle asks, trying to find a restaurant.
KFC is Kentucky Fried Chicken. Fried chicken is the ultimate fast food. I sit down next to Hannah, all in her pretty unicorn dress, chugging water to try to drown out my nerves. Hannah watches nervously as I keep gulping down water, eventually tearing the bottle away from me.
"What are you doing?" Hannah asks, keeping me away from the water bottle.
"KFC is fried chicken. The ultimate calorie bomb," I grumble, grabbing my phone to look up the nutrition menu.
Popcorn nuggets have 290 calories. Eat half of those, and I have 145 calories, which fits inside my limit. This is getting tiring, having to find something that is low-calorie every single time. But it's what I have to do.
"Did you find something?" Hannah asks me a couple of minutes later, and I nod.
Everybody files in and out, doing solos and then getting ready for Thoughts and Prayers. The dances are running faster, probably because we were so backed up at the meet-and-greet. It's a scramble to retrieve the props, set those up, and getting in our costumes.
It's a big rush. I pull my hair into a ponytail and put on the tan briefs and white t-shirt. My thighs are showing, but I feel more secure in this than I do in the lace leotard. I don't even have time to critique myself in the mirror because we're all rushing to perform.
More people in the audience seem offended, and there is a little less clapping in the audience than normal, but it is a touchy subject. You probably danced horribly, Lilliana. That's why the audience didn't quite enjoy the number. That's why nobody liked the dance. Until you get to be fifty-five pounds, you will never be a good enough dancer.
Then we have the quickest costume change I've ever seen into our red lacy leotards and practically thrown onto the stage. We do only have the venue for another hour, and we do need to pack and go to Blackpool.
"Ok! Mock auditions! Since we're running short on time, I hope you remember the combo from yesterday!" Ms. Abby shouts.
I mark the combo in my head and remind myself. Facials, no sickle feet, no bent knees, no wrong feet. Everybody cheers for us as we get on stage. Immediately, Pressley gets out for starting in the wrong position. I see a smile on her face. Maybe she didn't want to do the audition.
Surprisingly, Brady gets out next for not having enough emotion on his face. I could have a shot in the top three. Then Hannah gets out for being too weak in her aerial. The top three just got out first. Now it's me, Gia, and Sarah.
We redo the combo again and again. Gia gets out for bending her knee and undercutting herself too much on the aerial. Now it's just me and Sarah. If I get runner-up, the intrusive thoughts are going to scream at me. And thankfully and not-so thankfully, Sarah falls out of her turn, making me the winner of the mock auditions. Maybe I am a good dancer.
I'm given my retro clothes back and Pressley and I find a bathroom. She's wearing a white collared blouse, a plaid vest, and flare jeans with a red belt.
"70s babies for life!" Pressley squeals as we redo our makeup.
She takes a mirror selfie, and I see exactly where I'd FaceTune my body. My hips are too wide, my arms are too big, and my cheeks and chin need to be slimmed. Mom doesn't FaceTune my pictures, but I wish she did.
Pressley and I get our sweats and we find our parents helping take away our signs and cleaning up the venue. We aid a little bit in the process, stacking up the chairs on the side. It makes me feel weak and tired. You need to gain some muscle and gain some endurance, Lilliana. How are you going to be in the dance studio next week, dancing?
I get on the minibus, sitting next to Pressley, beginning to watch The Great British Baking Show. She's now going to be my permanent UK bunk mate, and Pressley and I are very excited. It's going to be so fun watching movies and playing games with her.
"Hey, guys! I just looked up what Blackpool means, and apparently, it's because this place is known for sewage in the water so everybody be careful!" Gia announces, and I scrunch up my nose in disgust.
"I am going to be ordering many bottles of water from KFC then," Pressley mumbles to me, and I laugh.
"Me too, I guess. I don't want to drink black water," I add, and we giggle to each other before going back to watching people create bread and biscuits. We manage to get through the first three episodes by the time we pull up to our hotel in Blackpool.
This time, our mothers are going to sleep with us, but thank the heavens we have a separate bathroom, or else I wouldn't be able to cut myself and release all my stress and create my artificial sense of happiness.
"We're here at KFC!" Ms. Joanne announces, and I feel a wave of anxiety hit me like a bus.
I nervously follow everybody out of the bus. I'm going to throw the popcorn nuggets up once we get back to the hotel. I anxiously order them along with three bottles of water. All the other people order extra water too. I guess we aren't going to be taking showers. I'll have to gag very quietly.
I slowly eat half of the popcorn nuggets, making sure to space them out and chew them each a lot of times so that by the time we reach the hotel, I can throw away my box with half the nuggets left inside.
Mom, Ms. Ashley, Pressley, and I get our keys and go up the "lift" to our hotel floor. We comb through the hallways for a couple of minutes, eventually finding our hotel room. We enter and the poor moms have twin beds.
"Lilly! We have bunk beds!" Pressley gushes from the tiniest room imaginable, big enough to be a closet for my dog.
"What?" I scream back in shock, running to the tiny room.
Sure enough, there is a set of bunk beds. I claim the bottom bed and I see television and gaming. I grab a controller and show it to Pressley, whose eyes light up. She climbs down and we find Mario Kart and two steering wheel controllers. Caden always forced me to play this game when it first came out, so I beat her easily.
Eventually, around eight, we decide to get ready for bed. I let her go first. I look at my suitcase. I'm out of sweatsuits, so time to use the normal pajamas. Luckily, I packed long-sleeved pajamas. Smart thinking, past Lilly. I grab my white long-sleeve shirt of a coffee cup and cookies and matching blue pajama pants with chocolate chip cookies on them.
Pressley comes out with one of those pajamas that always reminded me of what a maid or a nurse would wear, in dark green. I grab my pajamas and my phone and go into the bathroom.
I quickly cut three times into my wrist, and the pain seems worse, but after comes adrenaline and fake happiness. I feel a lot calmer after I do so. After I bandage them up, I cover them with foundation, and then immediately puke the popcorn nuggets up, gagging very quietly, suppressing the urge to cough so I don't blow my cover.
I flush my dinner, put the razor back in my case and I walk out, placing a breath mint in my mouth. Pressley catches a glimpse and frowns. Damn it. I shrug it off. She knows already. I lie in bed, changing the direction of the pillow so I can watch more of the Great British Baking Show before our parents come in and tell us it's time for bed.
"Goodnight, Lilly," Pressley mutters to me.
"Goodnight," I say back, resting my head on the pillow.
I stare at the wooden boards on top of me until I slowly and reluctantly close my eyes, demons taking me in my sleep to horrible places.
~~~~~