Chapter 5 #2
“Mel, he’s a man whore. No matter what he made you believe, the guy hasn’t changed. Guys like him use their pseudo-celebrity status to get into girls’ pants.”
I said nothing for a beat because I didn’t want to argue with Jayden—not on a night I felt vulnerable and needed to hear his voice so badly—even though he was wrong about Mason. I swallowed. “Good thing our relationship isn’t about him…or wasn’t about him…”
“I was thinking… Do you think we called it quits too soon? That we should have tried a bit longer? Do you think we made a huge mistake?”
“Jay… We can’t even find time to talk most of the time.
We have no idea when we’ll see each other again since you don’t plan to go back home on Thanksgiving or during the winter break, and I wanna be there with my family if I can make it work.
Don’t you think it’s better to set each other free if we can’t commit to an us? ”
“Maybe…”
“We can still be friends.”
“Nah. It would be too hard to have you without having you. I don’t wanna be your friend, Mel, I wanna be your person.”
I remained silent. His words reminded me of those Mason had spoken to me a long time ago.
He cleared his throat. “Goodbye, then. I think it’s better if we cut all communication.”
“That’s it?”
“What else do you want from me? What else do you want me to say?”
“Huh…I’m not sure…”
“It’s better if we don’t talk again for a while. Until the wound heals.”
“But I was supposed to go see your gig in Indianapolis next month.”
“I don’t think you should come…”
“Jay… I promised Jeremy I would be there to cheer you guys on. Cassidy and Donovan agreed to tag along. We were planning a two-day road trip out of it. I don’t have a meet that weekend, and my boss promised to give me time off. I was really looking forward to it.”
“I’ll talk to your cousin. Don’t worry. I’ll tell him I’m the one who asked you not to show up, okay? I’m sorry, baby…huh, Mel… It’s already hard enough. If I see you, I won’t be able to stay away...”
Silence stretched between us.
“I’m sorry. About everything. I wish things were different.”
“Tell me one thing, though. How are you doing? Health-wise, I mean. I worry about you. I don’t want our breakup to make it hard on you…you know.”
I fidgeted with the ring around my finger. “I’m doing great. I keep up with therapy, and Donovan and I watch out for each other. I have a support system, so I guess it’s all good.”
“Okay, I was worried our breakup might send you spiraling. I’m glad you have friends around.”
“Me too.”
Time ticked, but neither of us said anything. I heard his breaths, but other than my own heartbeat, no other sound broke the tense silence.
“Goodbye, Jay. I wish you all the best. Don’t worry, I won’t text you again.” I hung up before he could add anything, my hands shaky and my eyes watery. Something in me twisted at the thought that this was truly the end of us. That this was the end of our eight-month relationship.
For the longest time, I sat still, not sure how to process the last ten minutes of my life.
The woman sitting on the red chair across from mine clapped her hands. “Okay, guys. Let’s begin.”
The chatter died down. I scanned the room.
Most people stared at their feet, probably not willing to open up first—same as I felt.
Panic spread inside me, and I wished for an instant I was anywhere but here.
Before I left for college, I had promised my therapist back home—and my parents—that I would be a willing participant in the campus eating disorder group therapy sessions.
I knew it reassured them that I wouldn’t fall off the healthy wagon once I was living on my own, far from home, if I had people around me who understood what I had gone through and whom I could talk to if needed.
In a way, it reassured me too that I wouldn’t be alone in case I started struggling again.
College life could be stressful, and with the added pressure to perform as a swimmer while having excellent grades in order to keep my scholarship, I could see how things could go south pretty quickly.
As someone who had recovered from an eating disorder twice, I recognized that if I weren’t careful and started obsessing over things I could control in order to make up for everything I had no control over in my life, my recovery could be in jeopardy.
Self-imposed pressure and I weren’t good friends.
This explained why I was sitting in a therapy session after my lunch hour, surrounded by seven other students and a psychologist.
I’d only attended three sessions so far, and most faces I recognized, but still, it felt oddly personal to exchange about my past and present struggles with a bunch of strangers.
“Melody, you wanna start?” Luciana, the psychologist leading the session, wasn’t really asking, but more like encouraging Melody to break the ice first. “Last time you were here”—she skimmed her notes—“you said you were having a hard time eating at the dining hall surrounded by other people, and you always retreated to your room to eat by yourself. I challenged you to eat amongst other students at least twice a week. How did it go?”
Melody fidgeted with her fingers, glancing down, squirming on her chair.
Her cheeks were hollow and her skin, ghostly white.
I recognized the signs that she was still struggling.
From our last session, I concluded that she had made a lot of progress since last summer, but still had a long recovery ahead of her.
She also saw a doctor and a dietician off-campus twice a week, which had been part of my health regimen too during my last few months of high school.
“I-I…I only ate there once. There is…there was just too much noise. And too many people. I panicked. I-I’m so sorry.” She lifted her eyes for a split second, a light flush covering her cheeks, before glancing back down, shutting us out.
“It’s okay. I’m proud of you. We’ll find a way for you to be able to deal with the auditory stimulations, so they don’t affect you so much in the future.
” Luciana asked her more questions before addressing Victoria and Meghan.
They were identical twins from California and told us stories about their last week’s struggles.
I only half-listened, not sure what I would say when my turn came, my brain working overtime trying to think of something.
“Melinda? What about you?”
Oh no, it was my turn to speak. Cold sweat pearled on my nape. Why did I ever think coming here was a good idea?
Luciana offered me a soft smile as if she could read my mind. “The last time you were here, you said you and your boyfriend were on a break, and you were confident it wouldn’t affect your mental health too much. Tell me, how is it going?”
Okay, this was about Jayden… No, it was about me, but not like me me as I feared it would be. I could do this.