"What's happening?" I scream.
"Lilly, you had an overdose on Rohypnol," one of the nurses says.
"What's Rohypnol?" I ask.
"It's a bad drug. Where did you get it?" she asks.
"I didn't get anything!" I shriek, and a nurse comes in with some black powder.
"Lilly, this is activated charcoal. You're going to need to throw up for me," the nurse says.
I'm so overwhelmed. What is happening? I take a second to process it as I'm force-fed something. I overdosed on a drug I didn't know existed. Which means I didn't do it. Who the hell drugged me? There are so many people taking notes. I look over and Stella's bed is empty. I start crying.
"Where's Mommy?" I cry, my stomach starting to hurt.
"She didn't pick up the phone. Can someone other than Mark call her again?" the nurse calls.
"Why does my stomach hurt?" I shout, doubling over.
"Disoriented, confused. She's not comprehending well," the nurse calls out.
"If you need to vomit, here's a trash can," the nurse says, handing me one.
I'm in so much pain. Everything hurts. This is like how I felt two weeks ago. My body had just started to feel warm again, and now it's cold and I feel weak and dizzy again, my stomach in so much pain.
"She'll be here in fifteen minutes," a nurse yells.
"Mom's gonna be here soon, Lilly. I need you to throw up for me," the nurse says.
Right as she says that, I start coughing. I feel something go up my throat. I grab the trash can and I start throwing up. Black stuff starts coming up. A fire starts in my throat. Why is there black stuff?
"What is this-" I begin, puking, "-black stuff?"
"Activated charcoal. We needed to get the Rohypnol out of you. Your mom will be here soon. We're going to transfer you to a private room here," the nurse decides, and they very quickly get a wheelchair.
The stand with my food comes with me. All the monitors on my heart and chest are disconnected. I still don't understand what's happening. All I want is Mom. I feel sick and dizzy again.
"You're going to stay here for overnight monitoring. I'm going to need another blood toxicity test," the nurse says.
I start puking again, but a different kind of black stuff comes out. Spiders. I scream and the walls of the hospitals start crumbling. The nurses disappear like vapor. I scream out for somebody.
"Help! Help!" I scream, the floor starting to crumble.
Tears start streaming down my face. Eventually, the walls and floors disappear completely. The bed falls out from under me and now I'm just falling. My lungs are failing. I can't breathe. I'm dying.
~~~~~
"Lilly, Lilly, wake up!" Mom shouts, and I open my eyes, gasping for air.
Immediately, I start crying, the adrenaline rushing through me. My vision starts to go blurry. I grip the collar of my pajamas, trying to get some air, but it isn't working. I'm dying.
"Lilly, try and match your breathing to mine," Mom says, but her voice is far away, despite her holding my hands.
"It's not working. He's going to find me," I wheeze, starting to tremble in fear and panic.
"Mark? Oh, sweetheart," Mom says and she takes me into her arms, cradling me like a baby.
"I'm gonna die," I whimper, burrowing my head into her shoulder.
"You're not gonna die. I won't let you," Mom assures me as she rubs my back.
Slowly, my breath returns to me, but the fear and adrenaline are still coursing through my body. Mark is going to find me.
"I can't do this anymore," I sob, sniffling.
"You only have a couple more days before you can start therapy. You're gonna get help soon, I promise," she promises.
She leaves momentarily. Every shadow or light makes me shudder in fear. It could be Mark. He could be lurking around somewhere. Mom comes in with water and a tissue. I slowly sip the water, trying not to gain too much water weight.
I'm exhausted from the night terror. Mom takes away the glass once she sees me zoning out so I don't spill it everywhere and I can see her leave the room. I turn back on my side, shaken up, and fall back asleep.
~~~~~
"Lilly, time to get ready for NYC!" Mom whispers, gently rubbing my shoulder.
"Can I take some Venlafaxine?" I mutter, still shaken up from my panic attack.
"Sure, but can you get dressed and pack up your electronics before?" Mom reasons, and I nod.
I sit up, yawning. Last night was bad. Immediately, I remember I haven't taken off the tape on the tube. Panicking, I run to the bathroom and grab the medical tape. I take off the tape and clean the skin, quickly replacing it. It feels much fresher.
I go back to my bedroom and I grab a pink ALDC hoodie, along with a blue flowery sports bra and black sweatpants over black leggings. Luckily, I don't need to do my hair in a ponytail or my makeup. I can just simply brush out my hair and take my medicine, which is Citalopram, Fluvoxamine, my iron pill, and Venlafaxine.
"Lilly, breakfast!" Mom calls out, and I sigh, reluctantly going to the dining room.
Another day of hell recovery. I look at the dining table and there's breakfast. I sit down to examine it more closely. It's a lot with so much disgusting food. Oatmeal with brown sugar. Sugar is awful. Scrambled eggs with ham. That's not too bad. Orange juice. At least it's not apple juice. Water. Water is... well... water.
Start with the hardest things: the oatmeal and the orange juice. I start with the oatmeal. Mom gets her eggs and oatmeal and sits down with me. I slowly take a bite. The oatmeal texture is bad. I never liked it. And now I have a bowl full of it. If you don't like it, don't eat it, Lilliana.
I sigh. I need to get this over with. Think about dance, think about dance, think about dance. One bite, two bite, three bite. It's so hard. I can't spend too much time on it, though, if we want to get there on time. That motivates me enough to finish up the oatmeal.
"I'm sorry, Lilly-Bug. That's what the hospital meal plan sent over. You handled it like a champ, though," Mom apologizes, and I just nod, trying to drink my orange juice.
I feel so heavy and fat as I slowly finish up my orange juice. The last part is my eggs with ham. It's ninety calories with a little spice. It's not too bad. Eggs are a little easier to finish.
"Good job. Now go get your suitcase, your carry-on, everything you may need because we need to head out now," Mom orders, and I nod.
I pass the toilet. Half of my mind wants myself to go in there and throw up. But I can't ruin this second chance I have at Dance Moms. I go back to my room and grab my dance bag, my suitcase, quickly pack up my hair, medicine, and makeup stuff in a second carry-on, grab my phone and my water bottle, and I go back out to the main room, putting on my shoes.
I'm not going to fall asleep on the six-hour bus ride, despite being exhausted. I don't want to have another nightmare on the bus. I'm also going to have to eat on the bus, instead of in the car. I know I agreed to this, and I want to do it, but I also don't. It's too daunting.
Mom grabs her suitcase, I start a feed, and we're off. It's a little easier lugging my suitcase, but I'm still incredibly weak, so Mom has to take over when we get to the lobby. Despite being exhausted from just existing, I'm also insanely excited.
I lean my head against the window, making sure I don't squish my backpack. The sun is just starting to rise. It's beautiful. The purple and dark blue slowly meld into the red, orange, and the soft yellow of the sun.
"It's pretty," I dazeley mutter, in awe.
All Mom does is smile in the rearview mirror. It's these little moments of joy that make me gain hope for the future. That I can smile about other things than dance. I keep looking at the sunrise. It's so beautiful.
I watch as the sun gets higher and higher and the sky turns bluer and bluer until we reach the ALDC. The car ride was a blur. Seeing the bus makes me so excited. I'm going on a trip!
Pressley runs out of the bus and endorphins fill my system. I quickly open the car door and leap out, running towards her. When we finally reach each other, we hug each other like we didn't just see each other yesterday.
"Oh my gosh! I'm so excited! It's so lonely on the bus without you. Get your backpacks! Let's go!" Pressley says in such a fast tone, I'm taken aback.
It takes a second to process in my mind before I answer, "Save me a seat!"
I run to grab my electronics carry-on and the backpack full of human food, not liquid food, and I run onto the bus. It's just Press and I. Perfect! We get to pick our seats on the bus before anybody else.
I get the window seat! I put on The Good Place on Pressley's computers, and Pressley and I connect our AirPods. Then I grab my laptop. I want to finish school early. I only have to finish the other four things I didn't do yesterday. Missouri State History, Coding, Health, and Science.
"Which one should I start with?" I ask Pressley.
"Missouri State. That one is fun and there's legitimately five lessons," Pressley answers, and Gia and Joanne get on the bus.
"Nationals week!" Gia exclaims as she takes a seat right at the front.
As much as I love Gia, her energy is too much for me right now. I open up Missouri State History. No kidding, the first assignment is to read about how the state was formed. Nothing else. It literally takes five minutes. And, as promised, 20% is done.
"Dang. I may finish this on the bus ride if I get done with the other ones," I answer, and Pressley giggles.
Brady, Paris, Sarah are the next ones. If Hannah doesn't get here soon, she's going to be replaced by Sarah out of Ms. Abby's anger. I try to take my mind off of it and I go to health. Oh boy. Caden told me this is where it gets weird. Ugh.
The first lesson is how to find a reliable source for health. I'm always scared about health class. It looks innocent now, but there's always a triggering section about nutrition and what to cut out from your diet. But learning how to find a reliable source for health isn't that bad.
Health this year is really repetitive. It's asking and confirming the same thing over and over again. But when it's over, not only am I 2.8% done with health, Ms. Abby and Ms. Gianna get on the bus right when I finish up the lesson.
"Alright, everybody ready for a win at Nationals?" Ms. Abby asks, and we all cheer.
You're not going to win, Lilliana. Fat people don't win dance competitions. Immediately, I lose my excitement and pull up my next school lesson as the six-hour bus ride begins. Science.
I'm on the first unit: Cells: The Basic Unit of Life. This is even more boring than health. Thank God it's only a twenty-minute lesson on how cells are the smallest unit of life that is said to be alive. I already knew that!
I answer some pretty easy questions and once it's over, I look at the percentage of the class completed: 1.2%. That's at least confirming there's not over 100 lessons. My English grade also comes in: 100%. I look at the percentage: .4%. That's over two-hundred lessons!
I look at the clock. 6:15. Dang, I'm more awake, and I'm almost done with school. Last up: STEM. I'm awful at coding. How is this even a class? Of course, it's Code.org, and it's the Accelerated Intro to CS Code. Luckily, all I have to do is watch a 2-minute video.
And now I'm done with school and it's barely 6:20 in the morning. 5% of STEM is done. Wow. Now I can relax until 9:30, which is snack time. I focus my attention on Pressley's computer so I can watch The Good Place. I put my head on Pressley's shoulder to see better.
After an hour or two, I look around me. Brady and Hannah are goofing off in the back, Sarah and Paris are either singing karaoke or imitating their mothers, and Gia is taking a nap. One hour until snack time.
Unfortunately, that time passes way too quickly. The dread immediately builds up as the alarm goes off. Pressley turns off the computer and I reluctantly grab my snack from my backpack.
It's another apple. Pressley's face looks like she remembers the apples and the seizure and grimaces. I've had to get over that memory quickly. After a minute of staring at it, I take a bite of it. It tastes a bit better than yesterday. Gala apple too.
Slowly, I keep taking small ant-sized bites around the apple until I reach an apple seed. That counts as done in my book. With the apple digesting in my system, I connect another feed and Pressley reopens her computer.
"So who do you think is going to win?" Pressley asks.
"You. I only got an hour," I answer.
Pressley looks at me and then asks, "Why don't you believe in yourself? You beat Brady in Week 10 with a solo you spent an hour on."
Shaken up by that question, I just shrug. You shouldn't believe in yourself, Lilliana. You're unworthy of believing in yourself. It's right. I just turn my attention back to The Good Place, trying to distract myself.
"Girls, look at the New York sign!" Ms. Abby shouts, and we quickly run to the right window.
We all start screaming in excitement at the New York sign. Gia and Pressley snap pictures, meanwhile Paris and I mumble about the amazement of the skyline. So many big skyscrapers!
"Alright, I want everybody to start getting ready! Hair and makeup done! We have some guests coming to watch our group dance, and since we only have two hours until we get there, we need to get ready now!" Ms. Abby yells, and I'm off.
I look at the clock. I have one hour before lunch. That's enough time. I get my hair brush and a hair tie, and I start putting it up in a high ponytail. My hair is getting a little stronger, but not by much.
Once that's done, I put on some light makeup. My skin is still too pale for my foundation, so with permission from Ms. Abby, I just put on eyeliner and a tad bit of blush so I don't look like your daily walking corpse.
That really only takes thirty minutes, but I still need to cover up my cuts. Conveniently, Pressley, being a goofball, has put us in a blanket fort all around us, which is great for secrecy. Pressley's also seen my cuts, so it's not that bad.
Somehow, I manage to cover them all in the tiny cramped space of a bus seat, but it takes up the rest of the hour, which means I now have to eat the dreaded lunch. Cold. Barley. Soup.
What even is this? It tastes disgusting. They were going to serve this to me in the hospital? I give Pressley a small taste and she grimaces, chugging water. I laugh at her reaction, but it seriously is disgusting.
Mom comes over, takes one look, and says, "Yeah, that's gone bad. Just put in an extra feed. Your snack is pretty big, you'll be fine. I'll give you a pass."
Smiling gratefully, I put in another feed. I hope my meal plan when I get home is going to be a lot better. Food I'll actually eat rather than bad barley soup. I connect a feed from my backpack into my feeding tube and continue watching the show.
"It's okay if I eat, right?" Mom asks.
"Yeah, of course," I reassure her, and she opens up her sandwich to eat.
It's cream cheese and banana. If I was allowed to eat sandwiches, it'd be pretty good. There's a reason you can't have sandwiches, Lilliana. The white bread will make you gain so much weight.
I quickly avert my attention to the television. Thirty minutes until New York City! When we get there, it's two hours until the afternoon snack, which is probably another apple. Once this is over, go back to starving yourself, Lilliana. You don't need the extra weight.
I can't, or else I'll die. Don't you want to die, Lilliana? This is what you wanted. I don't know anymore, but the pain I would force my family through, having another cardiac arrest or seizure, would be insurmountable.
I need to do this for my family. I need to eat all these disgusting foods so I can at least be there for my family. I help Paris put her hair in a bun since her elastic keeps breaking, and by the time everybody is ready for dance, we're at the studio.
I grab all my dance bags from under the bus and on my seat, and grab my food. It's done now, so I disconnect it. There's so much stuff. My electronics stay on the bus. I grab a water bottle, my food bag, my dance bag, and my backpack with liquid nutrients jammed inside, and I head out.
"It's so pretty how dirty New York City is," Brady exclaims as we get settled in.
"Excuse me?" we all stammer at the same time, giving him a stink eye.
"Yeah! That's what gives New York City its appeal!" Brady justifies and I just shake my head.
We settle in, and Ms. Abby wheels into the front, the moms in the back of the studio.
"All right. I have a surprise for everybody. I've invited some of the cast members from The Prom to come today," Ms. Abby announces, and everybody's faces light up.
"How fun, yay!" Tricia quietly cheers.
"Yes, to-to see the number. They're gonna be here shortly. I need this routine to be amazing. I don't want them to walk in here and say, 'Oh, my God, did you see those kids?' I want them to walk out of here thinking, 'I'm gonna be out of a job soon.' This is our routine for nationals. You know, we have six kids in this group now, thanks to you, Sarah," Ms. Abby says.
Michelle interjects, "So Lilly's definitely dancing?"
I smile brightly as Ms. Abby replies, "Yes. Now as I was saying... So, Gianna, we need them to be, like, brilliant at the end of the day."
"Abby? What are we doing with Michelle? Like, I don't understand why she came on a bus to sit at the end of the bench, not saying anything, Sarah's not dancing, like, I don't understand, and we all know that with Michelle comes chaos," Ashley retorts.
I feel so bad for Sarah. Drop out, Lilliana. Nobody will be disappointed in you. Pass out or something.
"It's been on social media that she's here with us and Sarah's here. Everyone's seen it," Tricia backs up.
"Yeah. People know she's here," Ashley adds.
"So?" Michelle throws out.
"People are coming for you," Ashley argues.
"No one's coming for me."
"Yes they are. Listen, we know what we dealt with before. Going forward, I mean, I don't think anybody wants to or should have to deal with that again," Ashley explains.
Ms. Abby takes a second and then says, "Agreed. Michelle, this has gone on and on and on and on because you let it go on. There's a national championship at stake here. Right now, you're bringing your old garbage with you. It's like a divorce. When you have kids and you have an ex-wife and you have all that craziness. I don't want all that extra chaos I don't need in my life. So why don't we just call this the end for you and don't come tomorrow?"
I'm shell-shocked. This is it. Just drop out, Lilliana. Please! Sarah deserves this place more than you. I look at Mom, my eyes communicating that Sarah should take my place. Mom glares at me. She's not willing to do that.
"Really? Sarah came, she learned the dance, she's being an understudy," Michelle defends.
"Right, but if I don't need her anymore, what's the point?" Ms. Abby asks.
"Sarah wants to be here."
"Sarah wanted to be in the ashes dance, and you told her, 'Don't cause a problem, just come with me, kid.' And she did it," Ms. Abby argues.
Sarah's wiping away tears at this point.
"Stop crying!" Ms. Abby screams, so loud that it starts making flashbacks appear in my head.
"You're embarrassing, Sarah. That's why I don't want you here. You act like that. Go see a Broadway show tomorrow."
Sarah runs out and I'm still in shock from her yelling, but I'm quickly whipped back when Ms. Abby exclaims, "All right, let's do this. Annabelle, you're up."
I watch as Pressley dances. Other than the front aerial handspring, this just is not Nationals choreography. Neither is Brady's. Don't think for a second you have a chance against them, Lilliana. You're garbage.
When I dance, everybody looks amazed, but Joanne looks either jealous or- I can't pinpoint it. It's because she's mad the anorexic has the solo and her perfect girl doesn't, Lilliana. GiaNina deserves this solo more than you do.
"Spot it, spot it. You can do it," Ms. Abby yells on one of my moves.
I quickly fix my mistake and finish up my solo.
"All right. Put on your dresses and suits for the group dances. We're going to rehearse it once before the cast gets here," Ms. Abby says, and on the rack behind us are our dresses.
I look at mine. A black top with a sparkly turquoise skirt. My favorite color! It's perfect, other than the fact that it doesn't cover my thighs. I run out to the bathroom to put it on.
***stacey***
Once the girls leave the room, Joanne immediately storms up to Abby.
"Abby, why is Lilly even dancing a solo if she can barely walk without collapsing? Gia deserved the solo. She beat Sarah," Joanne asks and I'm appalled.
"Because Stacey cleared her," Abby answers, and Joanne pivots to me.
"Okay. Why is Lilly here when she should be recovering?" Joanne asks me.
Before I can answer, Ashley answers, "I kind of side with Joanne. I mean, she seems happy but this may be causing more harm than good."
"She's doing this because she wanted to. She's been eating all her food for the past two weeks and her weight has gone up a bit. She deserves to be here as much as your kid, Joanne," I argue.
"Stacey is an eating disorder therapist, so I trust that she knows what is best for her daughter. One more comment from your mouth and I'll bring Sarah right back in here and she'll be the lead," Abby shouts, and Joanne finally shuts her mouth.
What a bitch.
***lilly***
Despite it not covering my thighs, I think it looks beautiful. I run inside and I can feel the air has shifted. The dynamic is tense. Everybody turns to me and I run to Mom in fear. I could take a knife and cut the tension.
"I love your dress!" she whispers, trying to make me feel happier.
"Thanks," I mumble back, giggling as some of the other kids creep in.
"Let's go, we have a dance to rehearse! They'll be here in five minutes!" Ms. Abby yells and I hop off of Mom's lap and quickly get ready.
We start dancing. I can't stop being so smiley. Every time feels more magical than the next. As we near the end of the dance, Ms. Abby's mouth opens into a wide smile and when we end, people enter the rehearsal space. The Prom members! They clap for us.
"Say hello everybody to the cast of The Prom!" Ms. Abby exclaims and we all wave sheepishly at them.
I'm starstruck.
"All right. Thank you for being here, first and foremost. So, please introduce yourself," Ms. Abby instructs.
"Hi. I'm Kate Marilley. I am the offstage cover and assistant dance captain," Kate introduces and we applaud.
"I'm Isabelle McCalla and I play Alyssa Greene," Alyssa says and we clap again.
Gia has the biggest grin on her face.
"This is the Alyssa, this is your person playing your part. Yes," Ms. Abby says, pointing to Gia.
"I'm Jack Sippel, and I'm the dance captain," Jack introduces, and we applaud him one final time.
"Okay. So we're gonna have you three critiquing the group dance," Ms. Abby explains.
Excited, we all run over to our starting positions. This feels so much like an audition, but a fun audition. You're going to mess up and then you'll never be on Broadway, Lilliana. You're a failure.
As the music starts, I brush off the intrusive thoughts. All I can think is that it's so cool that some of the cast from The Prom is watching us dance right now. They're Broadway professionals. I need to dance like it's an audition. They could be hiring me someday. I'd love to be on Broadway. I can see it now: "Lilliana Ketchman as Annie singing 'A Hard Knock Life.'" Kate looks so excited. All of them clap at the end, cheering also. It feels so good.
"It was so amazing," Isabella comments.
"That was so amazing," Kate exclaims.
"All right. So any technical corrections?" Ms. Abby asks.
Jack begins, "Yeah, as far as dance, I would say with our show, we really try hard to focus on the specificity of each movement, right? There was some drag step going stage left that all six of you did together, and it was beautiful, but I think there can be an attack behind it, and then have the next step on turn there, boom, and it is something different."
"I was looking at each one of you in different parts of the dance, and you drew me to you, and you drew me to you. With your technique combined, too," Kate says.
"Yeah. Take time to think about your partner in this number, and just... live in that and love each other and breathe in that for a bit, right?" Isabella sighs.
Then Gia remarks, "So, tomorrow, I really have to show the audience that even though Hannah and I aren't obviously a couple-- we're just great friends, that we can play the story."
"And that's what's important, right?" Isabella comments, and Gia blushes, nodding. "What's beautiful about The Prom is that it's a story about these two girls who just want to dance with each other. And their love isn't going to hurt anybody else. It's really important for young girls and young guys across the country to see themselves represented, and we get messages from kids all the time who say this story gave them the courage to come out of the closet and have conversations with their family members that may not get it at all. But the truth is, there are thousands of families across the country that are same-sex couples. Think of that responsibility and how great it is that you get to tell this story too and be a part of the change."
"All right, give 'em a hug," Ms. Abby orders, and we all run up to hug them.
It's so sad that they have to go, but we're lucky to have met them at all. I give them each a big hug and they exit the studio.
"All right. Take care. Thank you for coming and giving us your time. All right, the next time we see these numbers will be on the stage at Nationals in New York City. Tomorrow, by this time, you will either be national champions or you won't. Don't blow your shot. All right, let's get back on the bus. We have a long way to the hotel. Michelle's probably waiting for us there. I want you guys in the lobby by six o'clock because we are going to see The Prom live tonight!" Ms. Abby announces, and we all start screaming in joy.
"Alright, everybody get your costumes off and get back on the bus!" Ms. Abby exclaims and we all run back to the bathroom to get changed back.
As I start changing, I look at the time. 2:25. I'm going to have another apple right when I get on the bus. Ugh. I look around when I put my sweatshirt back on and exit the stall. I can body-check. I look at my stomach and spine. My stomach is pouching again, and my spine is less visible.
I hear Hannah's stall reopen and I quickly wash my hands. Luckily, she buys it. All this just brings up the guiltiness of throwing up my ice cream last night. But if I tell someone, they'll tell. They learned their mistakes from last time.
Hannah and I exit the bathroom, dress, and suit in hand. Feeling a bit uneasy, I just try to pack up as quickly as possible, giving Mom my dress. I just want to get the apple done and over with so I can get it off my mind.
Sure enough, when we get on the bus, Sarah is crying at the back of the bus. I give her a small smile but from personal experience, I know she just wants to be left alone.
Hannah decides to sit with me this time, and instead of watching TV or a movie, we just squish together and look out the window. This place is nothing like Fayetteville. It's so busy and beautiful and loud with so many people. Mark could be looking, Lilliana. Mark could be one of these people on the streets, wanting to kill you or do worse.
As I begin grazing on my apple, the events of that Wednesday night start playing in my head repeatedly as I continue to gaze out the window with Hannah. I try to keep a blank face on the outside. No one can know I'm struggling more than they already know. I force myself to go in a numb state, shutting down.
"That looks pretty!" Hannah points to one of the signs.
"Mhmm," I murmur in response automatically.
"Are you okay?" Hannah asks.
"Yeah. Look at that, that's pretty," I state blandly, pointing to another sign.
We don't get to go through Times Square. That's sad. But I just want to get to my hotel room. Maybe they'll have something sharp I can use to cut. I can use some masking tape to give myself pain, too, but how much will masking tape do for me?
Mark could be at the hotel, Lilliana. He could figure out where you are and come and kill you. I gulp. I just want this mental pain to be over. I took my medicine today, right? Didn't I take Venlafaxine or did I not? Why isn't it working? My brain is fogging up.
My brain is like a pot of boiling water that is boiling over, but the water can't escape the pot despite there being too much water in the pot. What's going to happen next? It could fizzle out or it could explode, and I do not want to explode (or have a mental breakdown) on the bus. I eventually finish my apple and put the core back in the container, blankly staring out the window, zoning out.
"Girls, we're here!" Ms. Abby exclaims, and we all dart our heads to the building.
"This is a palace!" Paris mutters, and we all giggle.
"Alright, get your stuff that you need out of the bus and be ready to go to The Prom by six!" Ms. Abby shouts, and we file off the bus, even Sarah and Michelle.
My mind is racing. Who is my roommate? Is it Mom or a friend? The fear of the unknown plus my boiling pot of water brain culminates into tears threatening to leave my eyes. Hold them in, Lilly. I'm not a weak baby.
"Alright, room assignments. Paris and Pressley. Brady and Hannah. Gia and Sarah. Lilly and Stacey. Kisha and Ashley. Tricia and Ann. Michelle and Joanne. Sounds good? Great. See you in three hours!" Ms. Gianna exclaims.
I'm stuck with Mom. Maybe it's for the best. We used to sleep together in hotel rooms. I've just recently gotten the freedom of sleeping with another friend unsupervised in a hotel room. You don't deserve any freedom, Lilliana.
At least I can break down and cry without judgment or girls trying to solve my problems or pitiful comfort with Mom. That's a positive. I drag my suitcase into the elevator with Mom, Brady, Michelle, Sarah, and Tricia. I feel so cramped and I tap my foot, trying to not break down.
Mom glances at me. Even with that glance, she knows that I'm going to break down the second we close the door. She looks back at me and gives a sympathetic smile. Finally, the elevator opens up and I feel less claustrophobic.
That alleviates about 2 percent of my stress, leaving 148 percent still in my brain. Mom rushes me through the hallways, and I swear, it's a maze. Eventually, Mom finds our room and quickly swipes the card, allowing us entrance.
Immediately, I put my suitcase in the nearest corner and collapse on the bed, crying my eyes out. All of the stress rushes through my body, and Mom cradles me like a baby. It feels so good to let it out and to just talk to somebody I one-hundred-percent trust.
"Let it out," she mumbles into my ear, and I just keep crying.
"I can't do this anymore," I sob.
"It's just today and tomorrow. You'll get through it," she reassures me
Eventually, after ten minutes of crying and letting out all the emotional stress, I start gagging involuntarily. Feeling vomit coming up, I run to the bathroom and throw up in the sink. Mom stays outside because she hates vomiting. My bulimia must have been awful for her.
My throat feels like it's on fire once I'm done, but my feeding tube is covered in icky vomit. I get a piece of toilet paper and I wipe it off. I clean out the sink and I wash my hands. I cup water in my hands and drink it, gargle it, and spit it out.
Welp, I'm going to not dance tomorrow. You always blow it, Lilliana. More tears brim my eyes as I slowly open the door. Mom's standing right there. She immediately brings me into a hug.
"It wasn't on purpose," I whimper.
"I know, Lilly Belle. It was just stress. The medication is going to work, trust me. It'll take a couple of weeks to build up," Mom reassures me and I run back to my bed.
"Can I still dance?" I ask, grabbing my makeup so I can fix it.
"Yes. Oh, that reminds me! I just wanted to say, Ms. Abby wanted you to wear a leotard for Black Widow. We have the costume if you want to see it," Mom offers and I freeze.
Leotard? All of my scars are at risk of being visible, and all of my body is on display.
"It has long sleeves, though. But some of it is sheer," Mom adds, and it marginally makes me feel better.
"Can I see it?" I hesitantly ask, and Mom pulls it out of the bag.
It's very pretty, but it suits Sarah better. It's a black leotard with sheer bands on the arms and the entire shoulders. The entire black portion, even on the arms, has rhinestones on the outline. The leotard itself has a rhinestone spider web and in the middle is a red flower made out of rhinestones. You're going to look so fat and ugly, Lilliana.
"You want to try it on?" Mom asks softly, and I slowly nod.
My scar makeup has to be wearing off, but with Mom, it's okay. I take the leotard and put it on over my leggings in the bathroom. If only this could be a unitard. I take a deep breath and exit the bathroom.
"It looks awesome!" Mom squeals quietly, clapping her hands.
I awkwardly pose for her, just wanting my warm and secure hoodie back on. After a minute, Mom nods and I run back to the bathroom to very quickly put back on my hoodie. I take a breath of relief and I feel calmer.
Absolutely exhausted, I drag myself to my bed, just wanting to fall asleep.
"I need you to apply some scar gel and start a feed before you take a nap. I'm going to go find a dress in the massive department store in the hotel. Can I trust you?" Mom asks, and I nod, starting my feed from my backpack.
Mom kisses me on the cheek before grabbing her card and wallet and leaving. I slowly stand up and start trudging through my hygiene supplies. After a couple of seconds, I find the bottle. I stagger to the bathroom and place the bottle on the sink. I roll up my sleeves and wipe away the remains of my foundation. You're so ugly, Lilliana with all these scars. You look like a monster.
This scar gel will make me stop looking like an ugly monster. The urge to cut is so bad as I put on the scar gel. I have half of a mind to find something sharp to cut with more, but I don't want to look even more disfigured.
Instead, I just put back the scar gel, too tired to find something to cut with. I just want to sleep. I just want the world to disappear. After quickly taking off my makeup to prevent acne, I amble back to my bed and I let the world close around me.
~~~~~
"Lilly, wake up. We got to start getting ready," Mom whispers.
I must have been out hard. I didn't even listen to her come back in. Through my sleepy eyes, I can see she's already ready. A nice purple dress with her hair curled, red lipstick, and nice jewelry on.
"I have this outfit and some black leggings. What do you think?" Mom asks, and I sit up so I can see the outfit.
It's a white shirt and black leggings, but over it is a baby pink tweed jacket with gold buttons, and a matching skirt with gold buttons, along with my normal white Converse. Everything is long-sleeved. I won't be cold or ugly!
"Looks great. Thanks," I thank, taking the outfit to put on.
I feel a lot better after taking a nap. Everything feels new and fresh. I feel relieved of some of my stress. I try to avoid looking in the mirror while I change so I don't feel worse about myself.
I do get a little dizzy while changing, but when I look in the mirror with my outfit, it looks great! For once, I'm confident. I like my body. How disgusting, Lilliana. You're so disgusting and fat in this outfit.
I turn to the side. My stomach is mostly contained by the elastic of the skirt, but the upper part pouches out. I do look fat. I zip up my jacket, and it's hidden. Problem solved. I take a breath and walk out to show my Mom.
"It looks so good!" Mom says, hugging me.
"Alright. I'm going to put in some pigtails and then do your makeup. Is that cool?" Mom asks, and I nod.
I sit down on the bed and I feel tight elastics holding my weak hair. I cringe as the pain shoots up my scalp, but I don't say anything. I feel the pigtails. They're even. I turn around and Mom has makeup out.
"After this, if you want, you can cover up your scars and then you're going to have dinner," Mom says.
"I have a question. Can we take out my feeding tube for the competition?" I ask.
"That was supposed to be a surprise. Yes, we're taking out your feeding tube, but we're going to take it out right before you go on stage and put it back in right after the awards. Got it?" Mom asks, and I nod eagerly.
"Any time without this on camera is good," I remark.
I've kind of been forced to get used to it. The ALDC has seen it, New York City has seen it, the cast from Broadway has seen it, and the competition will see it. Mom starts putting on some eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick. It doesn't take very long.
Once Mom is done, I get up, getting immediately dizzy and nearly passing out. Mom steadies me and I stumble to the bathroom, grabbing my foundation on the way. Time to cover my scars.
At least this shade works. I pump some foundation and use my fingers to blot it on all my scars. The tingle is slowly starting to fade. I feel a little better, but I can feel a small headache forming. Ugh.
After about ten minutes, I use setting spray and powder and I roll back down my sleeves. All covered. I would feel better if dinner wasn't on my mind. I slowly approach the bed and Mom has dinner set out for me. Tortilla chips and spicy salsa.
This isn't so bad. It's corn and tomato. It's only ten chips and a small amount of salsa. About three tablespoons. Mom is on her phone, but keeping a close eye on me. I can't just hide them in a napkin. I get a good amount of salsa and take a bite. I forgot how much I love a good amount of spice.
Every chip gets harder and harder to eat until I get to my eighth chip. Suddenly, eating this next chip feels like a marathon. Don't eat it, Lilliana. You're going to look bloated for The Prom. Don't look bloated.
I simply stare at the chip. It's so hard. The task seems impossible. Including this, there are only three chips left. I'm able to put salsa on the chip, and I hold it to my mouth. But my mouth stays shut.
"Lilly, you can do this. Just take a small bite," Mom encourages, but I'm frozen.
"I can't do it," I mutter.
"That's okay. You ate a good amount. Just put in another feed and in a couple of minutes, we'll head out. I'm proud of you. This is your first slip up and it won't be your last," Mom comforts, and I nod, still feeling like I failed.
You can't even succeed at eating, Lilliana. I grab my backpack and I start another feed. Mom goes to the bathroom to touch up her makeup. Somehow, all of my lipstick has stayed in place. You need makeup to look even a little bit pretty, Lilliana.
Once Mom is done, she takes out her camera and makes me pose in the room for a couple of photos. After that, I put on my white Converse, double-check my feed isn't clogged, and I walk down to the elevator.
The ride is quiet. I'm just focused on how cool the Broadway show is going to be. I'm going to see Isabella on stage again. When we get off the elevator and walk into the lobby, Paris is there with Kisha.
When Paris first came, I was in so much physical and mental pain, so I didn't really get to know her well. And the entire time she's been here, I've been in the hospital, where I've endured a lot of emotional pain. Long story short, I haven't gotten to know her well.
I sit down next to her and for a minute, we just scroll on our phones. It's awkward. Mom and Kisha are talking like old friends. I think I remember her from some conventions when I was younger, so maybe I'll bring it up.
"Were you at that NUVO competition last year? I think I helped out there," I ask and she looks up.
"In Charlotte?" Paris confirms and I nod eagerly.
"I think so! I helped out with the contemporary class," I add.
"Oh yeah!" Paris realizes, and a conversation is started.
Paris and I get so lost in conversation that we don't even notice the other girls and moms appear in the lobby. Soon, the bus pulls up to the entrance and I get a nervous rush of butterflies! Here we go!
We all rush to the bus, the mothers a little slower since they have heels on. I can hear Ms. Abby's shouting from the bus and I wince in anguish as we enter the bus. Don't you have tough skin, Lilliana? Stop acting like a baby.
I remember my old therapist told me that people react multiple ways to trauma. The most common one from her understanding was the thick skin one. That's the one I developed, at least when I'm around people because of my eating disorder and Dance Moms. The second one is whenever something triggers it, instead of toughening up, they break down and cry. I think I have a mixture of both.
I sit next to Sarah, who is flustered and wants to keep to herself. I sneak a small smile between us and I go on my phone. Everybody else is clambering about seeing a Broadway show, but I'm too tired to join in.
While the theater itself is only ten minutes away, parking is hard in New York. Ms. Abby is shouting at the bus driver, the bus driver is shouting back, Ms. Gianna is figuring out how to help, and the moms are drinking a glass of wine in the back.
I cover my ears and I try to think of happy thoughts. Beach trips, first places, perfect scores, fun outings. Everything seems gray, though. Like happiness is drained out. I just force myself to endure the shouting until it all feels quiet. Surprisingly, I don't have a flashback.
Finally, after ten more minutes, we find a parking space after a fifty-dollar fine. We file out of the bus into a dim and busy parking lot. Not liking the must and damp air, we all run out of the parking lot.
Crossing a couple of blocks, we finally reach the theatre. It's beautiful. Ms. Abby starts placing us around her, even Sarah, for some photos. I'm on her lap once again. With a feeding tube.
"Is there a way we can Photoshop the tube out?" Ms. Abby asks Ms. Gianna.
"Maybe. I don't mind it," Ms. Gianna answers, and I feel a little shy about it now.
I hang my head down a bit as I get off her lap, leaning my head on Pressley. She throws a small sympathetic smile as we walk into the theater. I can't help but hold my head up high, however, because the architecture is beautiful.
All of our mouths drop in awe as Ms. Abby checks us in. The moms almost take photos until Hannah points out the no photography sign. Close call there. We walk to our entrance. We have awesome seats. Not too close to the orchestra pit, but not in what Dad calls, "the nosebleed seats." I sit down next to Gia at the end.
I need to embody the energy and character of The Prom. I wish I could use my phone to take notes, but it's not allowed. I'll just have to remember it. I remember corrections all the time.
The orchestra pit starts tuning and the lights start dimming down. We all look at each other in excitement and Ms. Abby holds a finger to her lips and we quickly return our attention to the opening curtains.
The Prom is so magical. It's so entertaining and just sparkling with joy and happiness and pride. There are sad moments, like when we find out Emma's been disowned, but overall, it has to be my favorite musical I've ever seen.
In the intermission, we stretch our legs and we rant about the musical. Gia and Hannah are so happy and excited. Even Sarah is excited, and it's nice to see a smile on her face after all of the stress.
By the end, however, I'm super tired and all I want to do is take a nap. But I'm so excited and giddily nervous to be portraying such an awesome musical for Nationals at NYC. Mom offers to pick me up, but I think I can make it to the bus.
I manage to stagger to the bus in the parking lot before I collapse in my seat. It's so hard to stay awake, but Ms. Abby's constant shouting keeps me semi-awake. I sit next to Brady and my head falls on the seat above me, but Brady moves it back so my feeding tube won't get twisted.
I blink my eyes a lot at once and I can feel my eyes rolling back, my body trying to tell me to fall asleep. But I still need to take off my makeup, take a shower, and change into pajamas. Why does recovery make you so tired?
New York City is still wildly busy at night, and even if I close my eyes, the signs have giga LED lights, so I can't even fall asleep if I wanted to. At least I won't have dessert tonight. Hopefully, I won't have it tomorrow, but with my luck, we'll go to Baskin Robbins.
Ten minutes later, we arrive at the hotel. I'm practically dragging my feet to the elevator. It's a quick ride up to our room and I force myself to walk to the room. Once we enter the room, I collapse on the bed, trying to stay awake.
Mom's not tired in the slightest, but she doesn't talk to me. She doesn't want me to use my energy on that. I stumble to my suitcase and grab my pajamas. A black sweatsuit. I go to the bathroom and start the shower while I wipe off the makeup on my face and my arms.
I take one of the shortest showers of my life, but at least I'm clean for Nationals. I quickly change into my black sweatshirt and black sweatpants. I put on some more scar gel and I collapse on the bed, instantly falling asleep.
~~~~~