26. Fact vs. Truth
Fact vs. Truth
Eleanor
“When do you think your problems with eating began?” Evelyn asks gently, crossing one leg over the other. She holds a pen poised above her notebook, ready but patient.
My mouth goes dry. I stare down at my hands, fumbling with my fingers, trying not to show just how uncomfortable the question makes me.
Two weeks ago, when Lily gave me her mom’s number, I kept my promise and called the very next day. I didn’t realize at the time how sought after Evelyn was in her field. She was booked solid, but somehow squeezed me in two weeks later.
Those two weeks passed in a blur. Lily came by almost every night, while Gabriel and Dillon only managed two or three visits a week, usually apologizing about being drained from back-to-back performances. Especially Gabriel.
I was surprised they came at all, honestly. Between rehearsals and shows, they had more than enough on their plates. Yet they still showed up for me. Bringing food, laughter, and comfort I hadn’t known I needed.
But the one person I want to see most never comes. Never calls, or even texts.
Nik is completely radio silent.
Whenever I ask about him, the answer never changes. It’s always: moody, distant, and agitated.
I hoped he would’ve reached out by now, but that’s the thing about hope. It doesn’t guarantee you’ll get what you long for. Sometimes it just means you’re left sitting in the ache of its absence, heart breaking right alongside it.
“When I was a child, I guess,” I answer, barely lifting my eyes to her.
Evelyn leans in just a little. “You guess, or you know?” Her tone is even, not accusing. “I know this is hard, Eleanor. And you are brave for just being here. But if we want to get to the root of the cause, we need to start with the hard facts.”
“Don’t you mean truth?” I ask quietly, sidestepping her question. Because looking back, the truth of my life has been nothing but strict rules and ballet. Neither one ever bending.
“No,” she says, reclining in her chair. “I mean facts. Facts are subject to change. Truth never changes. What you’ve experienced isn’t the truth of who you are, Eleanor. It may have been a fact of your life, but you have the conscience—and the courage—to change. That’s why you’re here now.”
I melt into the soft couch and meet her eyes. What she’s saying makes sense in a way I’ve never considered. It makes me wonder how much I don’t know about myself—and how much I still have to learn.
“I know,” I say, answering her first question.
“My mom.” I pause, gathering myself. “Enforced a strict diet. By the time I was nine I could count calories faster than I could answer math problems.” I try to make it a joke.
“My brother and sister, though… They got cake at birthday parties and after-school treats. I got rice cakes and portioned meals.”
“And why do you think that was?” she asks, pen moving across the paper.
I draw my knees toward my chest as much as the boot on my ankle allows.
“Because I was the only one who showed an interest in ballet when I was small.” My throat swells.
“My mom used to dance. She had to quit when she got pregnant with Edward at sixteen. I think she wanted one of her kids to take that dream for her.”
Evelyn lifts her eyes to me. “And that person was you?”
I dip my chin. “Edward followed in our father’s footsteps, Scarlett wasn’t coordinated, and I fell in love with it when Mom showed us old tapes of her dancing.” A brief, bittersweet smile slips across my face.
Evelyn mirrors it. “Where is your dad now?”
I shrug. “Either off in space or buried six feet under, I honestly don’t know. He left right after I was born.” I watch her pen move and add, “My whole family kind of resents me for it.”
She pauses, eyebrows lifting. “They resent you?”
“It’s never been said straight out,” I say, “but I’ve always felt like an outcast, like I exist to fulfill whatever ballet dream my mother never got to finish. Edward and Scarlett had the chance to get close with each other, while I just got to be… here.”
Evelyn nods, jotting a few more notes before pausing.
When she looks up, her gaze lingers on me, thoughtful.
“So—you’ve always had a strict diet, set by your mother,” she states, flipping through her pages.
“And you feel she pushed you to fulfill a dream she once had.” She taps her pen against the paper.
“When do you feel your eating habits spun out of control?”
She shuffles through another sheet. “Your records from when you left the Metropolitan in April state that you were one hundred and thirty-five pounds. At your visit for surgery, you were ninety-eight.” Her eyes lift to mine. “That’s a loss of thirty-seven pounds in less than four months.”
The sheer magnitude leaves me breathless.
“I… I…” The words catch in my throat. “Before I got fired from the Metropolitan, my coach told me I looked like a whale onstage.” I cringe at the memory.
“He implied I’d get the principal role if I was willing to…
cooperate.” I drop my gaze, shame burning hot in my chest. “When I didn’t…
I was fired.” My fingers twist together.
“I was desperate to be picked up by another company. I thought if I got into perfect physical condition, someone would finally notice me.”
“I see. That experience could lead anyone down this path. Help me understand a little more.” Her voice is calm and steady
“It started small,” I admit. “Just counting calories again. But then… the rejections kept coming. And it stopped being about health. It turned into punishment. Like I didn’t deserve to eat unless I made progress.”
Evelyn’s brow furrow. “Was food used as a form of punishment when you were a child?”
I sink deeper into the couch, the memories pressing in.
Tears blur my vision before I can stop them.
“She would,” I whisper. “If I messed up in class, my mom would take food away. Or make my portions smaller as punishment.” A hot tear slides down my cheek.
“She said it was the only way I’d learn the weight of my decisions. That actions always have consequences.”
Evelyn leans forward, her pen now resting motionless in her hand. Her eyes soften, though her voice remains firm. “Eleanor, what your mother taught you wasn’t truth—it was control. Food should never be a punishment or a reward. It’s fuel, a need, just like breathing.”
I wipe at my cheek, embarrassed by the tears that keep spilling over.
“She taught you to tie your worth to performance,” Evelyn continues carefully. “But that was her voice, not yours. Her choices, her pain, her regrets… they don’t define you.” She pauses, letting her words sink in. “When you punish yourself now, whose voice do you hear? Yours… or hers?”
The question hangs between us, like a noose headed straight for me. My throat closes, but the answer is clear. “Hers,” I breathe out.
Evelyn’s head dips softly. “That’s an important truth to name. And naming it means we can begin separating what belongs to you, from what never should have been yours to carry.”
I bite my lower lip, ready to face the pain. Ready to face reality. To accept that I’ve been deceived my entire life. It doesn’t feel like ripping off a bandage, it feels like pulling stitches before the wound has closed.
For the rest of the session, Evelyn helps me separate fact from truth, showing me that change is possible if I want it. For the first time, I can see the damage my own flesh and blood has inflicted on me. And though it stings, the clarity is strangely freeing.
Recognizing the weight of my situation, Evelyn asks me to come in three times a week, determined to get to the root of my pain.
She even offers her Saturdays—one of her only days off—just to make room for me.
My breath hitches at the thought because I know my mother never would have done the same.
Even when she’s been given the chance to be my mother, she chooses to leave me behind in my most vulnerable state.
When I leave Evelyn’s office that afternoon, my chest is raw. Beneath the sting, there’s resolve. For once I’m not taping myself back together and pretending to be fine. I’m sitting with the pain and letting it bleed because maybe that’s the only way it will ever heal.
Lily comes over with food later that night. She spreads the containers across my bed and makes herself comfortable, a silent reminder that she’s not going anywhere. She’s a friend I don’t deserve, but one I’m deeply grateful for.
“So,” Lily says around a forkful of her farro and roasted veggie bowl, “how was your session with my mom?”
I poke at the chicken in my own bowl before taking a bite. “It was… a lot.”
Her brows pinch together. “Good ‘a lot’ or bad ‘a lot’?”
“Both,” I admit with a sigh, dragging my fork through the grains. “It was eye-opening. Just… painful to get to the clarity part.”
Lily nods in understanding. “Yeah. My mom’s scary good at that.”
I let out a small laugh. “No kidding. She wants to see me three times a week—even on Saturdays.”
Lily’s eyes grow wide. “Saturday? Wow, you must really be messed up.”
I bump her elbow, making her nearly drop her forkful of food.
“Hey! I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she says quickly, grinning.
I take another bite of food. “How have the performances been going?” The words sting as they leave my mouth. It hurts knowing I’m not out there with them soaking it all in.
Lily doesn’t brighten the way she usually does when talking about the stage. Instead, she lets out a sigh. “They’ve been going well. Attendance has been great.”
I stop chewing. “But?”
Her shoulders slump. “But everything feels… off. Tense. Paloma has basically crowned herself prima donna, throwing herself at Nik for recognition—or who knows what—and she’s been setting the tone for every performance.
It’s gotten so bad that Nik doesn’t even stay for them anymore. Backstage is a mess.”
I blink in surprise. “He hasn’t stayed?”
She shakes her head. “No. Not since opening night really.”
My heart lodges itself in my throat, but I force myself to ask the one question I’ve been avoiding. “How… how is he?”
“Nik?” Lily questions, chewing her next bite before answering. “Still as moody as ever. He barely talks to me. Even at church he used to sit with my family, or with Gabriel and me, but lately…” She set down her fork. “He sits alone.”
I sit up straighter, wincing at the ache in my ankle. “I’m sorry all of this has been happening.”
Lily’s smile is thin, her eyes shadowed. “Yeah… it sucks seeing him like this. Maybe you should come to church with us sometime. You could… talk to him?”
My stomach plummets. The idea both thrills and terrifies me. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”
“Why not?” Lily challenges gently, leaning forward. “You both care about each other. He’s hurting, Eleanor. And so are you. What’s the worst that could happen if you just showed up and talked to him?”
I pick at my food, avoiding her eyes. “He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want to see me.”
Lily’s brow furrows slightly. “No. He made it clear he doesn’t want to watch you hurt yourself. That’s different. You’re working on healing now, and he needs to see that.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Don’t give up on him yet. Please.”
I squeeze her hand back. “I’m not… but Lily, he hasn’t even reached out to me. It’s been three weeks, and nothing.” My voice cracks as I let go of her hand and stab at my food. “If he truly loved me like he said he did… don’t you think he would’ve come to see me by now?”
Lily exhales slowly, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth.
“I hear you.” She finally takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully before speaking again.
“But Nik has never been good at expressing his emotions. It’s like he bottles everything up until it finally bursts.
He’s gotten better over the years, but with you…
” She tilts her head, studying me. “I think he feels so much that it scares him. You’re not just another dancer to him, Eleanor.
You matter. And I don’t think he’s forgotten you—not for one second.
I think he just doesn’t know how to handle you… or the place you’re in right now.”
Her words settle heavy in my chest, equal parts comforting and crushing. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I can understand that.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t think the world of you.
” Lily grasps both of my hands, her eyes earnest. “When he comes to his senses, please give him a chance. I’ve never seen him look at another girl the way he looks at you.
During every rehearsal, he would watch you with eyes that screamed longing.
For goodness’ sake, he even brought you to his house.
” Her voice softens. “After Nik’s sister died, he’s cautious about losing someone.
And, Eleanor… I love you when I say this, but you were basically killing yourself.
I just don’t think he could bear to watch it. ”
Guilt settles into my shoulders. “I just… How do I fix it then? Get him to trust me?”
Compassion softens Lily’s eyes. “Just show up. Not many people do that for him.”
I nod, letting her words sink in.
For the rest of the night, Lily and I stick to lighter topics, like how my physical therapy has been going, or how Gabriel had ‘accidentally’ dropped Paloma during rehearsals, which coaxed a few laughs from me.
But her words about Nik linger in the back of my mind.
I can’t just walk up to him and pour my heart out.
Sure, I can go to their church, but then what? Profess my love for him, still skin and bones, and hope he believes me when I say I’m getting better? Because I don’t feel better. The urge to purge still whispers in the back of my mind, a voice telling me to punish myself for causing Nik’s hurt.
I know the voice is false, but that doesn’t make it disappear. I’m not ready for him, but that doesn’t make me want him any less. I just hope that when all this is over, a piece of his heart might still belong to me.