Milo
THE MIRROR WASN’T my friend. I avoided it because something in my reflection always triggered the urge to self-destruct. The shower ran hot, fogging the glass while I undressed, but not quickly enough. My eyes were drawn to the mirror anyway, to the emaciated body inside of it.
I saw nearly every rib beneath my taut, pale skin, and I couldn’t help but trace each bone sticking out.
The feeling of my fingers trailing over every dip and curve made me shiver as if it were someone else touching me, like I wasn’t inside my body at all.
I started drifting away, disconnected, vision falling out of focus.
My body didn’t usually look this sickly, but all the vomiting had left me looking hollow.
I was still half-convinced I was dying—to the point where Oliver was panicking so much that I had to go back to the hospital in the morning for a follow-up to get him to shut up.
According to the nurses, I was only dehydrated.
Oliver wept and apologized for suggesting basketball yesterday once he heard the diagnosis, but it wasn’t that serious.
I was only hooked up to an IV for fluids, and after that, I was as good as new.
I spent the rest of the afternoon hiding away to avoid his coddling and the guilt that slammed into me every time he looked my way. The man was crying so much, you’d think I’d actually died.
An intrusive thought pressed in, tempting me to put my fist through the mirror and shatter my reflection, but instead I ran my hands up my face and into my hair, giving it a sharp tug. I stared into the mirror desolately, trying to find a trace of myself inside my own body.
Earth to Milo.
A soft buzz interrupted my dissociation, my phone screen lighting up on the bathroom counter.
My heart still raced every time it made a sound, hopeful it was Sofia checking in to make sure I was still holding on after my failed attempt.
Nothing hurt more than being ignored in the hospital by the person I loved so fucking deeply.
My whole world revolved around her, and it only took being away from home for a week for her to decide she wanted to leave me.
The worst part was knowing it was coming as soon as I’d gotten home from my trip to visit my friend in the States. It had been in the way she moved, the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes—the subtle shift in tone—hyper-vigilance was a curse.
Every kiss was empty, and every touch was forced.
She let me think I was going crazy for weeks, deflecting every time I asked her if something was wrong or accused her of not loving me anymore.
She’d lied to my fucking face, and I’d kept on pushing it until she finally admitted what was really going on. She was leaving me for someone else.
Was I so awful that all it took was one week apart to realize life was better without me?
Jasper: Oliver going home tonight?
Jasper: What’s the plan?
My brother texted me twice in quick succession.
He wasn’t big on texting, so the fact that he’d sent two rapid-fire texts was an anomaly.
I didn’t want to tell him I hadn’t found anyone to replace Oliver as my suicide watch.
Not anyone I was comfortable with, anyway. I tried drafting a few responses:
Milo: Please move in with me.
Couldn’t do that.
Milo: Please don’t leave me alone.
Too desperate.
Milo: If you leave me alone, I’m going to die.
Okay, that was even worse.
Frustrated, I deleted everything, thumbs tapping the screen harder than necessary before I tossed my phone onto the counter without replying.
Jasper already knew I was a broken, needy, codependent mess without me spelling it out.
Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to let him in completely.
It was too risky. The closer people got, the faster they ran.
I stepped into the shower and let the water drown out my surroundings, the scalding heat reddening my skin and leaving me pleasantly lightheaded.
I reached for my body wash and immediately choked up.
It was fucking pathetic. There was no telling what would set me off.
This time, it was the absence of Sofia’s floral shampoo and conditioner next to mine.
I burst into tears, thankful not to have any witnesses, and that the steady stream of water would wash away the evidence of my breakdown.
“You good in there?” Oliver called, tapping on the bathroom door.
“Still alive,” I answered shakily, the bottle slipping from my fingers and clattering against the bottom of the tub. “I’ll be out soon.”
“You’ve got three minutes, or I’ll assume the worst and break the door down,” he shouted back, and although his voice was mostly playful, it had a worried edge. “Don’t test me.”
He was playing it safe, making sure I wouldn’t do anything drastic. Not after I’d come in here and kicked off this godforsaken series of events by swallowing an entire bottle of pills and hoping for the best—or the worst, depending on how you looked at it.
I decided not to let him worry for too long, going through the motions and getting out of the shower hastily.
Once I had a towel secured around my waist, I picked my phone back up and considered what to text Jasper on the way to my bedroom, this time much more careful to avoid my reflection on the way out.
“Mission accomplished. I didn’t kill myself,” I joked dryly, firing a finger gun at Oliver as I passed him in the hallway.
“Thank God,” he replied, clutching his hand dramatically over his heart as he laughed.
We were both coping.
The heartache the bedroom instilled in me was no less intense than the first time.
The click of the door shutting behind me cut deep.
I was so fucking alone, even with someone in the next room.
Whenever I imagined starting all over again and opening up to someone new, I wanted to stab myself with a dozen knives instead.
At this point, that would have been less painful.
Rage swept in behind the heartbreak. Would throwing all the furniture I shared with Sofia off the balcony be too dramatic?
I’d had many more theatrical therapy sessions post-breakup with Jasper’s help in the past, such as breaking into an ex-girlfriend’s place, reclaiming all of my things, and then torching everything in our backyard.
You’d think I was the unstable one, but it had been his idea.
Something was wrong with him, too.
He never made me feel crazy. Any time I voiced an intrusive thought, he didn’t so much as blink.
Most of the time, I could say anything around him, and he’d accept it without judgment.
The more I tested his boundaries, the less they seemed to exist. He’d follow me into chaos, and sometimes, it even seemed like he enjoyed it.
I took a second shot at figuring out what to text him back. I needed a reasonable response, one that wouldn’t make him worry too much. He was busy with school, with work, and with Mom. I could handle not sounding like a needy little bitch.
Right?
Milo: No plans. Everyone’s too busy for me.
I hit send and collapsed onto my bed, groaning into the pillow. It was the furthest thing from sounding fine. My phone buzzed to life again, and I turned my head on the now-damp pillowcase, wet curls clinging to my forehead.
Jasper: Do you need me?
God, I fucking needed him. I regretted moving into my own place with my girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—but admitting I needed Jasper was terrifying.
When we were teenagers, he hadn’t carried as many responsibilities.
He’d had time for me back then. We were adults now, though, and I needed to be more independent.
I couldn’t afford to be a burden anymore.
Milo: I’m scared to be alone.
It wasn’t a clear yes. I couldn’t bring myself to be that direct with him. I stared at the screen, watching the little dots indicating he was typing appear and disappear. The suspense made me nauseous, and what was probably only sixty seconds felt like forever.
Jasper: Tell me what you need.
Fuck this asshole.
He was forcing me to say it. He knew what I was asking for; he always did. Why did he have to be such a goddamn prick about giving me what I needed?
Instead of giving in, I abandoned my phone on the bed.
If he wanted to be difficult, I could, too.
Pretending I didn’t have a phone at all, I got dressed.
Gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt were good enough for sulking around the apartment, which was exactly what I planned to do for the rest of the night.
When I found Oliver in the kitchen, a single glance was all it took to know he’d be leaving.
He didn’t need to tell me, not when the expression on his face served as a silent apology for the inevitable.
No amount of pouting and suicidal ideation was going to make him stay another night, no matter how much he wanted to.
I could be terrible about it. I could tell him I was thinking of hurting myself again, and he’d have to stay. Any other day, I might have done just that. This time, I had to suck it up and accept the fact that I was going to be alone. I’d hurt him enough this week.
We spent an hour playing video games, eating junk food, and talking about nothing. We were terrible at most of the games, but we had a shit ton of fun every time. I managed to coax him into one more game at least five or six times before he finally put his foot down.
“I’ve got work tomorrow, and it’s my girlfriend’s birthday,” Oliver explained.
“It’s fine. I’ll play some more solo and see friends tomorrow,” I reasoned.
It wasn’t exactly a lie. I’d imagine the step-by-step of doing that from my bed, paralyzed by depression and staring at the ceiling, convinced every noise through the walls was someone planning to murder me in my sleep.
“That’s a good plan.”
“Yep.”
Oliver smothered me in an embrace, rubbing his face into my hair as he inhaled deeply.
Seriously, I didn’t really die.
“Please don’t fucking cry again, dude,” I grumbled against his chest, trying to pry myself free. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, okay,” he acquiesced, releasing me from my prison. “If you need me, I can come over again for a few more nights after tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I said, mustering a half-hearted smile. “I’d like that.”
“Let’s do our monthly get-together early. Invite everyone over. Get stupid drunk and forget about all this,” he suggested with a grin, nudging my arm.
He was my partner in terrible decision-making. Jasper would scold me for thinking about getting wasted as a way to cope, but didn’t people say you were supposed to surround yourself with loved ones when you’re depressed?
Loved ones and alcohol. Close enough.
“Yeah,” I drawled. “That sounds like a great idea. You always know exactly what I need, Oli.”
I followed him around while he gathered his things, my muscles drawing tight with anticipation, bracing me for the crash.
The looming threat of being left alone slowed my pulse, like slipping into a bad trip.
My palms grew sweaty as I wiped them on my pants.
I felt like a dog watching its human leave for work, and the only thing missing was the whining. That part stayed internal. Mostly.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he promised.
I nodded, that out-of-focus feeling already starting to creep in. The only thing my brain was good at was numbing out when everything was falling apart. The rest of the time, it was actively working against me, trying to convince me that something was wrong, even when it wasn’t.
“Text me, alright?” he said, a little louder, waving a hand in front of my face.
It took me a moment to find my body again. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”
I was becoming a pathological liar by the minute.