༺ FIFTY - ONE ༻

During Teresa's visit, we're basically just chatting about anything but the reason I'm here. And those visits are the ones I like the most. They're here for me, not my stupid disorder. Same with Aris, who visited yesterday.

Once Teresa and I have talked about the things we wanted to talk about, it falls silent. I take some breaths, clear my throat, and swallow. "Eh, have you maybe... seen Thomas lately?"

She shakes her head. "No. He says he's busy all the time."

Well, at least he didn't only tell me he's busy.

"Alright. Thanks," I say, my voice about to break. "Have you seen him at least once since we— you know?"

She shakes her head another time. "No. But I was planning to check up on him today. It's a weird idea, but you could come with me."

"Oh, no." I let out an awkward chuckle. "That would be awful."

"Alright." She gets up, lying a hand on my shoulder. "You got it, alright?"

I nod. "Thank you. Would you tell me if Thomas is alright?"

She nods. "I will. Bye, Rose."

"See you."

✵

Mac and Cheese. I don't want bloody Mac and Cheese.

"Mary," I start, quite formally. "If you give me two pills, I'll be able to eat this whole bowl and I'm sure a few calories will be left."

"You're not allowed to have your pills, Rosalind. You know that."

"But—"

"Nope."

"One! Just one." I nearly knock the Mac and Cheese over when I move too much. "Please, Mary."

Mac and Cheese also used to be my favorite food. But Thomas often made it for me and it contains a scary amount of calories that I do not want in my body.

"Can I get something else? Please? I'll eat that."

"We don't have much. What would you want?"

"Laxatives."

"Rose." She palms her face, sighing.

I think about how nice that would be. Have the thing to either melt on my tongue or just to swallow it away with water. The awareness of it killing calories. The delusion of the drug that's in there, easing me.

"Maybe a tube would really help," she says. "For the first steps."

The idea of someone else being able to control what calories go in my body and that that thing goes all the way to my stomach... no.

"If you give me my laxatives, I might."

"No."

Worth a try.

I know I should be recovering, but those pills would help a lot. What if I just go from five a day all the way to none a day? Isn't that possible?

"Do you think I'll ever be able to dance properly again?" I wonder.

"Eventually. But during recovery, you'll get older, and so will your muscles. You won't always be as flexible."

I've ruined everything.

The thoughts about food made me unfocused on ballet. I barely cared about the lessons, at some point. All I thought about was food. If I would be perfect enough. But in the end, I was barely thinking about ballet itself. Just the number. The stupid number.

"I want to take a shower," I say.

"You haven't eaten anything yet. A few bites."

"Please let me take a shower," I plead, taking a sharp breath. I don't want to cry in front of someone.

Mary sits down on the bed, taking my hand. "Rose. You've got to kill the thoughts. Everything in your mind that's about the fear of gaining weight? That's the disorder. But if you want to recover, you've got to fight against it. You don't have to eat giant meals, but try to wrap your head around it. Understand that it takes something to recover."

Now I am crying in front of someone. Great. "I don't like Mac and Cheese," I then say. "Sorry. But I will eat whatever else you give me."

She raises her eyebrows. "Promised?"

I nod. "Promised."

Just don't want to think about Thomas.

"Also, any chances Newt's here yet? I'd like to see him. It's been days."

"I'll check as I get you something else."

Gratefully, I nod.

A few minutes later, Newt's arms are wrapped around me and I try not to cry.

"Hey," he whispers. "Been a while."

I nod, clasping around him. Taking in his smell as I breathe. Though I love my siblings equally, there's always something that hits harder in my relationship with Newt.

"I hate it here," I tell him, my tone low. "I want to go home and recover there. Not in a hospital, where some people act as if I'm that sick."

Newt rubs my back. "We'll try to get you home. If you will really try to recover there, then I'll help."

"Thank you." I let go of a breath. "Anything that I've missed at home? Sonya said you went to see Thomas."

"He wasn't home. I haven't seen him," Newt says. "Unfortunately," he adds.

"Ah. So he really is busy." I'll take is as good news. "Newt?"

"Hm?"

"Is it bad that after all, I still want him back?" I murmur. "But that I'm angry at the same time?"

"That's not bad," he tells me. "Though I don't like the idea after everything that's happened."

✵

A week later, I'm kind of excused from the hospital. Well, not excused, but I'm allowed to go home as long as we make sure there's no pills in the house and that after meals, I can't go to the bathroom.

It's awful, but hey, my headaches are fading.

I'm taking out the trash since I don't want to become someone who seems disabled, when there's a groan.

Haha, I recognize it!

My eyes dart around the dark. Except for the faint light that hangs above me, I can't see much but some movements. "What're you doing?" I ask.

The movements stop. "Eh, attempting to get in my house without getting noticed?"

"Because you're afraid of Newt?" I shake my head to myself. "That he'll show up once he sees you inside your house?"

"Uh." He clears his throat. Hisses. "Not really."

Not that I want him to start about the hospital, but I'm starting to doubt he even knows.

"You alright?" I raise my eyebrows at another groan.

"Oh, I'm awesome," he says.

"Why're you on the ground? Stand up. I can barely see you."

"Can't," he calls out. "Hey, why don't you go back inside the cozy house while I handle my stuff? Nothing to worry 'bout."

"No. We need to talk anyways."

"Funny you say that. But woah, Glitter just caught my tongue! And— hey!"

I've walked up to him, crouched beside his body, and pulled a face. "What's that smell?"

"My cologne."

I sigh. "Whoever uses a cologne with that smell, is creepy."

"Let me handle this. I'm freaking out. Go home. Sleep. Oh fuck, nasty piece of—"

"Are you calling me a—"

"No! No, no. I was talking to..." a pause. "Janson. But in my head. He was a tad annoying today."

"He hurt you," I realize. "It hurts when you move, so you're cursing at him."

"Nope."

"Yes."

"I don't think I'm hurt at all."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Nowhere."

"Thomas."

"Rose."

Man, my name coming out of his mouth sounds better than it should.

"Get up, then," I say. "Without groaning."

"Ha, no."

"I'll stay until you do it."

"Nope. You're not supposed to talk to me. I can't talk to you. We've broken up."

"You're a real idiot, you know that?"

"Mhm."

And I take out my phone, put the flashlight on, and shine to right onto him.

"Hey!" He shrinks. "You can't just— Rose!"

"You're bleeding," I say.

"I've noticed."

"Badly."

"Saw that, too. Which is why I'd like you to go home and leave me to this."

"We've got to go to the hospital."

"What? No. It's ketchup anyways."

I lift his bloody shirt up a bit, then have it back down three seconds later, yelping and almost falling back. "You got stabbed!" I peep. "In your stomach!"

"Not stabbed. It's two slices."

"I'm calling an ambulance—"

"No!" He almost slams the phone out of my hands. "You can't do that. They'll ask me things and that can't happen, Rose."

"Then what happened?"

"Later," he breathes. "I'll explain later."

"How're you not freaking out?!"

"Woman, I am freaking out!"

"Here." I wrap an arm under his armpits, in too much shock to get affected by it, and pull him up. "Are your parents home?"

"No."

"Good." I help him walk, panicked as hell. He might bleed out if he doesn't go to the hospital! But he was right when he said it's two slices. I don't think anything hit his organs.

We arrive in his house. Trying not to bleed into anything, Thomas presses his hands on his stomach as we make our way up the stairs, all the way into the bathroom.

Quickly, I take bandages, a bowl filled with water, a towel, and disinfection from a kit they luckily have.

"Sit down. Arms up," I order. He does as he's told. I slide his shirt off, quickly tossing the bloody thing in the sink. Dip the towel into the warm water and tell him to relax.

One touch of the towel, and he has my wrist in his hand. "You can be a little more careful!"

I tilt my head. "Oh, of course." And press the cloth harder against his skin.

"Careful," he repeats.

"Maybe you should be careful and try not get stabbed."

"Sliced," he corrects. "It's just two slices."

I continue working. Clean the towel, wipe away more blood around the wounds, repeat.

He's lucky the slices aren't too deep. Will take long to heal and definitely leave scars, but he'll live.

Thomas grunts once I'm using the disinfection on the wounds, throwing his head back and murmuring all kinds of things.

"Don't be a baby."

"But it hurts. A lot."

"Still." I grab the bandages, wrapping them around his torso after I put these giant bandaids on. "There you go."

He's panting for a few seconds, then nods. "Thanks, Blondie."

"Don't call me that." I take his arm. Pull him up, my stomach twisting and heart aching. "Come on. To your room."

He remains silent on our way to there. I tell him to stay still and maybe try to sleep as I clean everything up, and he just nods.

It takes a good twenty minutes to get the blood away, but I manage and then come to the conclusion that I'm not sure what I want now.

I'm back in his house. I've touched him. Helped him. But very nice words except for the thank you with that stupid nickname didn't leave his mouth.

I think I just need to know what happened.

"Explain." I sit down on his desk chair. "Tell me what happened."

"Janson, knife, combined, this."

"Thomas," I'm starting to get annoyed. "Seriously explain."

"I don't know— he randomly decided to stab me."

I sigh. It's not going to work. "Alright. Good luck with healing, then."

Once I'm at the door, "Wait! Don't leave, Rose."

"Then tell me what happened," I repeat.

He exhales. "Well, I was walking around in Sports, no— wait, I wasn't. I was changing after hockey practice."

"At night?"

"I fell, yeah? You know what happens when I fall," he says, swallowing. "And then Janson appeared, it got a lil' heated, and he suddenly had a knife."

"He suddenly had a knife," I say.

"Maybe I was kind of challenging him but there was no need to ruin my stomach." He shrugs.

"And why did things get heated? You realized you love Janson and got all hot?"

He scoffs. "No. I was angry at him."

"Why?"

"Reasons."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Yes, Thomas."

"Usually people say 'Thomas, no' so I'm afraid I can't reply to this."

I get up again. "You want me to stay but in the meanwhile you're not ready to tell me anything? Then I find out you've told my parents about my laxatives, and I'm still not sure if that was even to help me. And you refuse to talk about the breakup, not even to figure things out so I'm reassured too, then you get bloody hurt and won't tell me anything in a proper way, and I haven't even mentioned the fact you—"

"Rose—" He tries to reach my hand, but I pull away.

"Just explain." Don't cry don't cry don't cry. "Anything at all."

"It's dangerous."

"I don't care that it's dangerous, Thomas! All you keep saying is that I'm in danger and that Janson is dangerous and I can't become his next star. I've obeyed, watched out, and you're still not explaining things!" I blink a million times, trying to get the tears away. "And now you haven't watched out and you're hurt and acting stupid."

He bites his lips in silence. Doesn't reply.

"Why did you break up with me while I've tried my best to do the things you told me to do? Did I do anything wrong?"

"No— Rose, I just—"

"Don't love me anymore. Got it."

"That's not it."

"Well, you don't seem like you're going to explain either." I run a hand down my face. "Because you won't, will you?"

"Not now."

I swallow. "Alright. Bye, then. Make sure your stomach doesn't get infected."

"Blon—"

"Stop." I spin around. He's gotten up from the bed, my wrist in his hand again. "I told you to stop calling me that."

"I promise I'll explain soon. Please." His eyes trail all over my face. "Soon."

"How soon is soon?"

"I don't know."

I pull my arm away. "You're only making things harder, Thomas."

"It's to protect y—"

"When you told me you wanted to break up," I start, "I also had something to tell you, remember? For at least a week, I was stressing over telling you. So once I finally met up with you, and you decided to breakup with me, I still hadn't told you. You bloody left me when I was about to buy a pregnancy test."

Yes, it was negative. Yes, he couldn't know about that. Yes, he might have a really good for breaking up with me. But it still hurt. The random 'I don't love you anymore'.

Confusion washes over his face. "...what?"

"It was negative, by the way," I tell him. "Chuck didn't like it, especially after you almost ripped his school project apart and yelled at him to leave you alone, while the poor kid hadn't done anything wrong. You might've been angry, sure, but there was no reason to show him that."

He gives up. Looks down, face full of shame.

"You messed up." I take a shaky breath. "And I won't even try to forgive you, no matter how much I want you back. Not until you show up with a good explanation."