"Ellie, we dated for quite a while, and we were very much in love." I wanted to keep things simple. I knew of Ellie's struggles, she had a blog, and I had read it the first few years after I ended things. "We're supposed to be going to lunch. A date."
"You dumped me." She looked at me with anger in her eyes. "You broke up with me. You left me. And then everything went to shit. It's your fault."
"You were underage, El. I could've gotten in big trouble, I could have gone to prison. You know that." I sighed. "You're ill. You know that, you know that you're schizophrenic. You know you're not thinking rationally."
"I'm not crazy. Don't call me crazy." Her voice shook with every word. "Leave me alone. I don't like you."
I'm not sure how I hadn't realized it before, but Ellie seemed tiny. She was very, very, slim. She didn't look like what I remembered. But then again, I remembered an artistic teenager who enjoyed hotboxing in the back of a tour bus with Pete, eating anything and everything, and was definitely not schizophrenic.
"You love Mexican food. We can go and get as much of it as you want. My treat. Then you don't have to hear from me again. Just, please, one meal." I was very close to begging Ellie to come with me. I didn't trust her in the streets alone after I'd just nearly witnessed her death.
"Enchiladas, but none of that vegetarian shit. I want chicken." She was still hesitating, but it was obvious that she was intrigued by my offer. "I don't want to go out, either. I want you to cook. You're good at it."
"Deal. Chicken Enchiladas, made by yours truly." Things were looking up for me. I got to take my Ellie home with me. "I'll take you to my car, and then we'll drive to my house."