༺ FIFTEEN ༻

Guilt.

I'm sitting on my bed and I'm doing nothing else than overthinking the choice I made at Mamma Mia yesterday.

I shouldn't have eaten the lasagna. I don't even know what got into me when I decided to do it, but I feel so guilty.

Well, I do know what convinced me. It was Thomas. Of course it was Thomas.

Yet I still can't explain why I feel guilty the morning after I ate all those nasty calories I shouldn't have eaten.

I shake my head, dropping my shoulders. Food's everything I've been thinking of lately. The conversation with Thomas last night was tense and warm and everything, but even that was about food.

Calories this, healthy that.

I just don't want to think about food and being skinny without much effort.

Like, I'll do a lot of things to lose weight, but it would be easier like that.

I do my researches. It's a big risk and especially if Mom or Dad happens to look at my search history, but my mind forces myself to.

Water fasting is a type of fast during which you cannot consume anything besides water. Most water fasts last 24–72 hours. You should not follow a water fast for longer than this without medical supervision.

My eyes stare at it for a long time and I think I feel nothing but the goosebumps on my arms for a second.

Overwhelmed, I slam my laptop closed.

I don't want to think about food as in not eating it, but as in not caring about what I eat.

But things have changed and I realize I'm no longer a little kid who can eat whatever she wants without gaining weight, nor am I in a child's class ballet. If I want my career to be serious, I have to keep going.

Calories, diet, no food, water fasting, throwing up, eight pounds, one week, other girls.

Other. Girls.
I sigh. They're everything I'm not. I've never viewed the world in that way, but now I do, I realize it's true.

I think I might be the overexcited girl who thinks the friend group welcomes her while they in fact all hate her presence and find her annoying as hell.

Translation of friend group: ballet class.

I can't help it that I get excited like that. Neither am I going to let them ruin that. I'll show excitement or happiness or hatred whenever I want to. I feel it deeply, so I'll show it deeply.

There's things I can't and can change.

I can't change my emotions. But my weight? Yes.

Yet I'm scared. A part of my mind's telling me to do that water fasting if I want to lose weight quickly, another part tells me to do it the healthier, slower way.

First water fasting, then the healthy way.

It's Thursday night. On Monday, the week will be over. That's three more days. Seventy two hours.

I'll do it 'till Sunday night.

After making my decision, I weigh myself, wiping my clammy hands on my pants. Another two pounds are off. Four more to go.

I smile to myself, especially when that feeling of satisfaction hits me. I'm growing. I'm finally losing weight and it's amazing to know I'm close to achieving my goal.

And though I'm sad I won't see Thomas today, it's nice I won't have to worry about him worrying about me eating, because Luca called to say all the colleagues went to a party or something together, and that we were allowed to come too, since work wouldn't continue anyway.

Thomas texted in the group chat that he wouldn't be able to make it... and then I kind of did the same.

I don't even know the other colleagues. 

He's also the only kid from my age, so that's another reason.

And another reason, it's boring without him.

But I have plenty of reasons why I wouldn't go, which of course don't all have to do with Thomas.

Well... overstatement.

❤︎︎

Friday night, we will for sure have to work. It's the whole band thing again, but first, I have ballet and I know Thomas has hockey because he mentioned it before.

I frown when thinking about it. He's always on time if he picks me up and I've only heard him say he has hockey on Friday. I'm sure there's other days where he also has hockey, but Friday is the only day he eats dinner at Mamma Mia.

So I don't know why he did this Wednesday.

Whatever. Right now, I'm just worrying because he's not waiting for me to drive us to the restaurant. His car is there, but Thomas isn't.

Must still be at hockey.

So there I go, to the rink. The coldness hits me fast and I feel a breeze of uncomfortableness hitting me at the temperature because these days I've been colder than usually already, but then I walk closer.

"Twenty four..." I mutter as I trail my eyes over the players.

Nope, no twenty four.

"Minho!" I wave for number seven to come over, which he does pretty fast.

"Hey, Frenzy." His eyes squint through the helmet he's wearing: he's smiling. "What's up?"

"Have you seen Thomas? His car is on the parking lot but he's not there and we have to work in half an hour," I say fast, a little panicked.

"Oh, he went to the bathroom." Minho shrugs. "Should've gone before we started these practice games, but I guess I can't blame him. His skates need a readjustment anyway. He better be doing that."

My eyebrows furrow even deeper. "Why? What's wrong with his skates?"

"He slipped on the ice."

I think the worry on my face looks awful, because Minho chuckles.

"Don't worry, Frenzy. He only fell on his poor ass. Just a little bump everyone has when skating for the first time."

Minho is confusing me. "He's skating for the first time?"

"Oh, my god." Minho slams his head (with the helmet still on) against the wall between us. "No. I mean that he fell just like someone who's skating for the first time would. AKA, he's not in life danger."

"Aha! But of course not. If Thomas would've been in life danger you wouldn't have been standing here so casually and I for sure wouldn't have either. Imagine, Thomas in life danger. Nah-ah."

Minho stares at me.

I realize I said weird things I can't take back.

"Are you feeling alright?"

I clear my throat. "So he's in the bathroom?"

"Yes. Before you go, please keep it quiet."

My eyes trail up so I can think about that comment for a while, as my eyebrows get even more curved, and I pull a face when I still don't understand him. "Minho, you have to work on your vocabulary because I don't get it."

"You have to work on your decency," he replies, pointing at me. "In a bad way. But imma go before Jorge gets pissed. See ya, Frenzy."

I nod at him, then make my way to the bathroom in a way it takes in enough time for Thomas to come out in the mean while, but he doesn't.

I knock on the door. "Hey, Thomas? Are you in there? I know I forgot about work too so it's okay if you did... but I think you'd prefer going and not having to make up another excuse."

I wait, but there's no reply. I don't put my ear on the door before I open it, because all I'm thinking of is if Thomas is alright.

I really hope so.

The room that Minho called the bathroom is actually just their changing room with the showers in a different, smaller room, and a toilet totally divided from the open space.

"Thomas?" I ask again, my voice mirroring against the gray lockers and walls. "Sorry if I interrupted whatever you might be doing, but eh, well, I know I shouldn't be in here— Thomas?"

I hear something. I can't tell if it's a grunt or a cry or a chuckle, but it's in the corner of the room.

Carefully, I move closer. As I do so, the sounds become clearer. They're definitely not laughs. Heavy breaths and little cries between the gasps.

Shit, I didn't walk into Thomas crying, right?

My heart is thumping in my throat by the time I'm close enough to see him, and once I do, I think it skips a beat and my breathing rags.

He's there. In the corner. On the ground. With his knees pulled up. Hand on his forehead. Breaths heavy.

My first instinct is to crouch in front of him. I haven't even thought of what's going on, it's just what gets in my head first.

But he holds up a hand. "I'm..." He takes a deep breath. "I'm okay."

He doesn't sound like he is. His voice cracks and I hear him gasping for air after he speaks, beads of sweat on his forehead.

I crouch down anyways. "You're not. But you will be."

Realization hits me soon: he's having a panic attack.

Newt struggled with them after Alby's death and he now and then has one, so I know how to deal with it.

Well... with Newt. We tried different methods and eventually figured out it was the best to ask him questions, but I don't know if that works for Thomas too.

Neither do I know if this is the first time this is happening. If it isn't, it might be possible things only gets worse if someone crosses his personal space.

I'm overthinking.

I— well, am sometimes reminded by the accident out of nowhere, and get quite panicky.

He told me that a few weeks ago.

I look at the boy again.

Yes... quite panicky.

"I got it—" he inhales deeply, but it doesn't change the fear in his eyes, "—got it under... control," Thomas manages.

I squeeze his hand. He doesn't have anything under control. He's shaking. His eyes are almost glazed over, and I believe that's because he's living in memories right now. Explains why his words sound so... weird, as if he doesn't know he's actually speaking.

"What's my name?" I ask him.

His eyes squeeze shut after a wince leaves his mouth, unlike a reply.

"Thomas, what's my name? Who am I?" I repeat, taking his other hand too. "I'm here to help you."

It takes a while, but eventually, "Rosalind."

"Good." My heartbeat is already calming more at the simple thing. "What do I prefer to be called?"

"Rose," he breathes, eyes still closed. He's trying to pull his hands away from mine, but I don't allow to. "Not Rosa."

"Who's your best friend?" I almost lose control when I start getting the urge to move his hair away from his sweaty forehead for more freeness, but keep holding his hand.

"Minho and Newt." His eyes flutter open. They're glossy and still filled with fear, so I continue.

"Where do you work?"

"...Mamma Mia. A restaurant." His breaths calm a little, but it's not enough just yet. Though before I can say something else, he does. "My bag, Rose," he gasps. "The bottle. It's medi...medication."

Nodding fast, I get up and search through the red bag that's next to us until I find the calming pills. Three seconds later, I've read also grabbed his bottle of water and hand him both of the things.

Thomas pops the pill in his mouth, followed by so many chugs of water I worry he's going to suffocate if he doesn't stop soon, but the he does, with a deep exhale.

Both of us are silent. It's calming to watch Thomas get calm. Slowly, his breaths get even and he runs a hand through his damp hair, mumbling something.

"Are you alright?" I wonder softly. "Or you know, as far as you can be after that."

He nods. "Yeah." Another breath. "As far as I can be after that."

A tiny smile forms on my lips. "Do you need anything else? A shower, maybe? I came here to remind you we had work but I don't mind telling Luca we won't be able to come."

Thomas runs a hand down his pale face. He gets up by holding the wall, and it's almost devastating to watch him struggle. "I'll shower, change, then see you outside. I don't want to leave Luca hanging again."

I nod. "Okay. I'll be right outside."

I've only made it to the door when he calls my name. "Rose?"

"Hm?"

His eyes gain the spark again. "Thank you. For helping me."

❤︎︎

The silence when we're driving back annoys me, so I start speaking after ten minutes or so.

My head turns to Thomas. He looks better after that shower, but he's, obviously, not as enthusiastic and talkative as usually.

"How often does that happen?" I question. "I mean, if you have medication..." A short pause. "Only reply if you feel comfortable, though."

"Happens every time I—" he swallows, shaking my head.

"Don't be ashamed." I lie my hand on arm, and it causes a million sparks to explode inside of me.

"Happens every time I fall," he says, "on the ice. I get reminded of the accident and panic. I thought I was having a heart attack the first few times it happened." There's a scoff. "First time, on the middle of the rink around all my teammates. All saw me boohoo like a baby." 

The familiar scrunch in my face deepens. "I'm sure they understand. No one can blame you. And it's not a shameful thing to have."

Thomas shrugs. "I know. They were nice about it, but I still had the feeling... I don't know." He scratches the side of his head.

"Did you buy the medication or...?"

"My parents did," he says.

I'm grateful enough he's even open to talk about it. It's nice to see it from his view. I always have the urge to understand every person to realize you never know what they might be going through.

"It was when I was holding a glass with ice cubes and everything. I dropped it. The shattering sound repeat in my ears as if it was a slowmotion scene in a movie, and I felt that coldness splash up my body." He sighs. "I panicked. It all reminded me of what happened on the rink and when I shared it wasn't the first time, my parents got the pills. Some sort of sedative, in easy words."

I don't remove my hand off his arm, and neither does he, so we stay like that for a while. All I can do is nod, mostly stunned. Through that, my mind is spinning.

I'm bloody dumb.

Every time I was yelling and going on about how he should explain things if he wants my trust, I didn't realize things were trigging for him, too. I didn't think about it for a second and I regret it.

But I already know that if I apologize, he's going to tell me not to and I don't want him to because I should feel sorry or at least apologize, and he shouldn't worry too much, especially not after this.

I don't want Thomas to worry about anything at all. I officially just decided that I hate it when Thomas is worried or panicked. I don't want him to be.

"Don't move," he tells me again.

Bloodyhellhesafreakinggentlemanevenafterthepreviousevents.

I clear my throat as I step out of the car, attempting to calm my mind.

Bloody hell he's a freaking gentleman even after the previous events.

Though he does still look a bit off. I can't blame him for it.

"Ready?" I take his hand just like last time. "It's gonna be a long work night."

He nods. "Ready."

Together, we enter Mamma Mia. I have a sudden urge to hug the crap out of Thomas, but I don't.

"Hi." He's not really looking at Luca while he greets the chef. "Have you got anything left?"

With worried eyes, Luca glares up. His face tells me he's aware of what happened, so he doesn't question why we're late.

Thomas turns to me way slower than last time. "What would you like?"

I do my best to smile. "I'm not very hungry. After ballet and all that stretching, kind of lost my appetite."

I hate that it's not even half of the truth. Ballet and stretching only make my appetite worse.

Thomas is staring at Luca again. "Then you'll have two extra portions food for today, Luca."

I think the jump I mentally made caused my mouth to drop a bit. "But you have to eat, Thomas. After what happened and- and you know, you're always providing me of food so you have to—"

"Kind of lost my appetite," he says. His tone is sweet enough as he bites his lip. "We'll get to work, Luca."

Thomas walks to Random Cowshed so fast I do a little sprint to catch up with him.

"Thomas?"

He looks up. "Hm?"

"We're still going to the fair, right?"

His face lits up. It happens in just a second and it's so random that it makes my whole body warm.

"Yeah, of course."