(Ariel: unedited)

She had pulled away first.

Scooted straight up from her sea and bolted from the room, lips stinging with unleashed secrets. She had felt much too big for her body, suddenly – bones pressing against her skin, begging to be released, needling through her faded excuses. Her feet carried her to the bathroom, where she wound up sitting on the lid of the toilet, knees pressed to her chest, wondering where, exactly, everything had fallen apart.

When had he decided to care for her? When he had slipped, invisible as daylight, through her defenses? What had driven him to kiss her – and why her, Ariel Fontansia, who wore entirely too much of her heart upon her sleeves?

That had been four hours ago.

Four agonizing hours, two of which she had spent contemplating her purposelessness behind dirty plastic walls. She had slipped out around 12 o’clock, splashed some water upon her burnt cheeks and ventured back up to Katrina’s room.

Price was missing. So was Mcclain.

Her friend had been sleeping, arms dangling by her sides. Ariel, upon discovering her, had pulled the sheets up to her chest and sat down beside the bed. She spent the rest of the afternoon watching twilight steal across the sky. There was nothing else to do: the handprints, and the rest of the blood, were gone; the clothing had been folded; shards of the vase had been whisked away. Despite her best attempts to convince herself otherwise, she was too afraid of finding Price to leave the room.

What if they bumped into each other in the hall, and he decided to kiss her again? Would she run? Would she have enough time to collect her armor, raise her shields, and become impenetrable yet again?

She was so fearful of crumbling that she glued herself to the chair, arms wrapped around her body and legs tucked beneath her, attempting to hold herself together. It was too soon to fall apart. Too late, too early, too terrible a thing.

“Babe.” Katrina shifted in bed and groaned. “Ariel! Are you sleeping?”

She blinked. The world refocused. Katrina was sitting up in bed, an annoyed look on her face. “Finally,” she said. She ran one hand through her hair. “Daydreaming?”

Ariel ducked her head. Her cheeks were still burning, hours and hours later. If Katrina saw, she would have a fit. She was the queen of details – down to the slightest casual movement, the tiniest quiver of a smile. “Waiting for you to wake up.”

“Since when is my sleep sacred to you?” Katrina grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Something happened! I knew it! The spoon excuse always works.”

“You set me up?”

“Duh.” Katrina rolled her eyes. “Well, I mean, not really. Because you could’ve opted not to get the spoon.”

“Kat!” Ariel said, indignant. “What if I wasn’t interested?”

Her friend narrowed her eyes, honing in. “What if I thought you needed someone to be interested?”

“Kat…”

“Babe…” Katrina was almost whining, a petulant look on her face. “Stop being cross. You’re so stoic all the time. I miss you, you know. Those coffee dances and stuff, back when you came to visit me.”

“I didn’t think you –”

“You knew I wanted to see you. Or I would, once I got over it.”

Ariel pursed her lips. “I’m not arguing about this. Again.”

“Okay, mom.” Katrina said. She rolled her eyes, pushing herself up further in bed. Up close, she appeared nearly emaciated – bones barely concealed by her thin, milky skin. When she moved, the bones of her chest expanded, folding open and closed like the wings of a paper fan.

It was beautiful. And, like everything else Katrina owned, or was, or did, it was inordinately better than Ariel’s version of skinniness. She felt a sharp twinge of jealousy. She wasn’t that thin, she realized as she glanced down. Her shirt fanned across the flat expanse of her skin, collarbones barely visible. She didn’t even come close to Katrina.

It hurt to swallow, jealousy roaring at the back of her throat as she forced a smile. “When do you get out?”

“A week. Or something. I have to be under ‘strict supervision’ when I’m released, though.” Katrina shrugged idly. “Daddy told them he was hiring a nurse.”

“But, Kat. You aren’t a vegetable.”

She scrunched up her face, still pouting. “I feel like one. I sit here all day and watch TV. Or eat – they make me eat all the time.”

“I’ve heard eating is kind of necessary. Survival and all.” A deep voice sounded behind Ariel. There were footsteps, heavy against the tile floor. Mcclain moved around the chair and bent over Katrina, smoothing the matted hair away from her forehead. “Miss me?”

She gave him her brittle smile. The one she reserved for fresh blood and new, desperate boyfriends. No matter how mysterious, they were all undermined by their emotions. Even cute, gruff ones, with fancy rings. “You weren’t gone long enough for that.”

He smiled stiffly. “Well, you’re in luck. I came to say goodbye.”

“Oh.” Katrina faltered. “Then I guess I’ll have all night to miss you.”

“That’s the spirit.” Mcclain kissed her temple. “You looked beautiful today.”

“Take a good, long look. You might not see it tomorrow.”   

“Going home already?”

Katrina reached over and grabbed Ariel’s hand, squeezing so hard that her knuckles turned white. “We were just talking about leaving. Going back to Redemption, maybe.”

Mcclain lifted one eyebrow. He stepped away from the bed, hands falling away. There was a momentary lull, in which both seemed to silence, before he gave another crooked grin. “I’ll see you in Redemption, then. If they take you.”

“Every angel is capable of being redeemed.”

He paused is the doorway, perusing her up with his eyes. It was strange, how they interacted – like predators sizing up their prey. Perhaps his smile had been one for fresh blood. Yet if he was only interested in easy game, then why had he followed her to the hospital?

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kat.” He said. Then, like a vapor, he was gone, leaving Katrina slumped over her empty rebuttals, whispering her goodbye to the wrapping on her wrists.

Ariel slid her hand around her friend’s shoulder, tugging her close. They sat in in silence, limbs intertwined, elbows bumping, faces scrunched with private misery. Price was missing – wandering the hospital floors, hands woven through his hair, cursing his impetuousness. Mcclain was sailing back to Highland Hills, gliding back to his safe, comfortable life, leaving Katrina a distant memory. Everything was falling neatly into place at the same time it was shattering, falling apart at the seams.

 Minutes slid into hours. The moon came out eventually, slipping across the tile floor like a ghostly specter. Yet they remained, holding each other together while circumstances spiraled outside of their control.

And deep inside, they were screaming, because the days were irretrievable, and they were dying just to wish them away.  

***

“Breathe.”

Something wound into the curve of her elbow, hot against her skin. Urgent whispers rattled against the hollow, empty silence in her ears.

“Ariel. Breathe.”

She couldn’t remember the voice. She couldn’t remember anything, except for driving away, and staring into the blackened panes of the hospital windows, wondering if the girl hidden behind them would survive.

She had found Price outside, shoulders hunched against the cold. Snowflakes dusted his curls and his nose was an ugly, bloody red. His hands had felt like icicles against her skin as he had pulled her into his body. After that, it had been a remedy of hot and freezing, and a continuation of the cafeteria scene.

“I need you to breathe.” Her skin was wet. Droplets spattered over goose bumps, but the shiver inside her head failed to reach her splayed legs.

She knew that he had driven her home. Waited until she opened the door, then leaned across and kissed her again, as if he couldn’t stop himself, as if she was his for the taking. He had acted like he could kiss her anytime he wanted, and she couldn’t decide if being desired was a beautiful or terrible thing.

The very last memory lingering in her head was of trudging upstairs, still preoccupied with leaving Katrina. She had broken the zipper of her sweatshirt trying to pull it down, and the aglet of her left boot when she unlaced it. There had been a showerhead above her – brightened by the white-hot light, so polished and silver that it resembled a surgical instrument.

“Ariel, Ariel, Ariel.” Something was rubbing up against her – hands against her forearms. An attempt to rekindle the heat within her body. It stung, but not as much as the realization that all she could see was black spots.

The black was everywhere – congealing over her pupils, rendering the world into obsolete shapes. It had been covering the showerhead, too. And then the ceiling, and her hands, and her jaunty white hips.

Strange how it took five minutes to piece together, and one minute to despair. Ariel forced her eyes open. The spots eased slightly. She could see her arms now, lined with prominent blue veins. And then her stomach, skin loose and flushed from the heat of the shower. Her toes and fingers, crumpled as prunes.

A towel was beneath her and a face was above her. She blinked, and the fog disappeared. The bleeding edges of Iris’s red lipstick replaced the darkness. Her aunt was crying – sobbing – sharp nails digging into the extra skin of her cheeks.

“Ariel, doll. Please. Breathe for me.”

When she tried to inhale, her lungs tunneled against her spine. She coughed, choking on her vomit, gasping frantically for air. A rancid smell surrounded her, bile sticking to her lips.

“Oh my God. Benny! Benny! Get me some water. Now.” Iris lowered her voice as she leaned down to Ariel. Her smile was trembling, insubstantial as sunshine, a wiggling crimson butterfly. “How are you?”

How are you. She was miserable and disoriented. Everything was spinning, her stomach turning with each dip and twist of her vision. Her saliva tasted like soap, smoke, and regurgitated apple. And nothing was constant. She couldn’t grasp a conscious thought and shake it into her brain.

Thoughts, emotions, and people drifted over her like the tossing of a wave, pulling forward and back again. So when the black dots returned, she surrendered her fragile consciousness, allowing her unmoving body to be sucked into the undertow.  

***

She was wearing Price’s sweatshirt. She knew because it smelled like him – furious and glorious, all at once – and, unlike any of her clothing, it covered every square inch of exposed skin. She couldn’t see her hands as she moved them, but she could finally feel them. Wiggling, crinkling, nails pressed into her palms.

Another hand was laced through hers, callouses rubbing against her smooth, frigid fingers. An arm crystallized, attached to a slumped body. She could barely see the downturned angles of his face, but there he was, sitting dangerously close.

“You drove me home.” She said quietly.

Stirring, he pulled himself up and stretched. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. His face was grimmer than she remembered, lined with exhaustion. “That was before you decided to pass out in the shower.”

“I passed out?” Ariel released his hand, wrapping her arms around her waist. She could feel her bed beneath her, flannel sheets covering the hard wooden bedframe. And it was her ceiling above – seashell shards affixed to her painted plaster sky. But she couldn’t figure out if she was home, and awake, or if she was merely dreaming.

Price shook his curls out of his eyes, watching her carefully. “You were malnourished.”

God. Oh, God. Had they called a doctor? Was that why she felt so strange? Had they poked and prodded her while she was unconscious, forcing liquid nutrition down her throat? Panic made her heart pound faster, crying to be released from the confines of her chest. Despite the sheets and the sweatshirt, she was freezing. It was a terrifying kind of cold, one she could not control, and one she did not understand.

Was this what dying was like? Uncontrollable, unpredictable, and entirely too forgettable?

“You didn’t look, did you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “There wasn’t much to see. Just you, curled up on the bathroom floor like a spaghetti noodle.”

“Price,” she said quietly, “am I going to die?”

“Only if you keep this up.”

“Does Katrina know?”

He sighed. “No. I wouldn’t have, but your mom wasn’t home, and Iris was having a meltdown. She called me.”

“Oh.” Ariel contemplated the ceiling. “I forgot – you know her. You knew Randall.”

“Charliegh knew Randall.”

They fell silent. Outside her window, snow was drizzling down onto the frozen ground. Footsteps creaked across the floor downstairs. Price was breathing heavily, a background soundtrack of worry to her scattered thoughts.

Ariel couldn’t understand why she had passed out. Yesterday, she had eaten an apple and numerous cups of coffee. 300 calories, at the very least. Wasn’t that enough to live on? What was so wrong with being thin – and why was her body rebelling against her attempts?

She slid her hand underneath the sheet and sweatshirt. Her hipbone was sharp against to the touch, a beautiful meter of progress. Her stomach still dipped inward, and she could feel the accordion folds of her ribcage. No liquid nutrition. There couldn’t have been a doctor, or food, involved.

She was as fat and disgusting as ever, and now she had Katrina to compete with.

Price reached out. “Stop, Ariel. For God’s sake, stop.” He yanked down the sheets and pulled her hand away from her bones, jaw set tight. His movements were precise, anger barely controlled as he wove his fingers through hers. “Don’t. Please.”

“I can count them.” My ribs. My thoughts. The bars left of my sanity. Ariel felt inordinately satisfied with herself. And then, suddenly, ashamed. Price looked heartbroken, gaze running up and down her body, taking all of her in with one painstaking glance.

The disappointment in his features overruled her conflicted thoughts. She gripped his hand tightly. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. “You didn’t have to come.”

He smiled. He had that odd look on his face again – like he wanted desperately to kiss her, but he couldn’t bring himself to. “You needed someone.”

“I know. But maybe that someone shouldn’t be you.”

“Who else could it be?” He asked. “Your best friend is in the hospital. Right where you would be, if I hadn’t told Iris that you seemed healthy enough to pull through this.”

“I thought you wanted me to get well. If, you know, I was actually sick.”

He blew out a long breath, frustrated and empathetic. “The hospital kills free will.”

Will to live? Or will to die? Ariel didn’t recall having been given a choice in the matter – her downward spiral seemed predetermined. She couldn’t remember a distinct decision. She wondered if Katrina did. Or if they were merely plastic dolls, pre-produced, set upon a crash course from the moment they entered the world.

“What if I don’t want to choose?”

“Ariel,” Price said tightly, “you don’t have a choice.”

***

I seem to have run out of people to dedicate to, at the moment. Comment below if you would like a dedication -- I'd be more than happy to. Thank you for reading, loves.