Page 237 of Face Off
“When I couldn’t reach you anymore, there was nothing left containing me from everything I had been doing to myself. I stopped eating. I stopped pretending I cared whether my body survived what I was putting it through. I was so depleted after you left that giving up felt easier than finding another reason to fight.”
I take one step toward her. “You think I wanted that?”
“No. You didn’t know.”
“I knew you were hurting.”
“You didn’t know why. You thought I avoided food because I wanted to preserve some perfect image. You never knew how sick the thoughts were because I made sure you couldn’t see them.”
My teeth grind together. “You should’ve told me.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve trusted me.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve given me one fucking truth before everything collapsed.”
“I know!”
The word breaks into a sob, but Charm forces herself to remain in front of me.
“I know every fucking thing I should’ve done. I learned all of it after there was no one left to hide from. I went into treatment at ninety-four pounds and still believed part of me had finally done something right. I stood backward on a scale because knowing the number could decide whether I ate that day. I had to learn that feeling full wasn’t failure and gaining weight didn’t make me worthless.”
Her hands close over the softness at her waist.
“This body did not happen because I finally decided to love myself. I fought for it while hating every pound they made me gain. I fought for it while my brain screamed that recovery was destroying me. I fought through meals, mirrors, panic attacks, and every instinct telling me to become smaller until there was nothing left anyone could reject.”
My attention follows the grip of her fingers against her waist. “Let go of yourself.”
“No.”
“Charm.”
“This is what I see some days.” Her grip tightens. “I see too much. I see failure. I see a body I spent my entire life being taught to control, and I have to choose every fucking day not to punish it.”
“Let go.”
“Why? You wanted the truth.”
“I said let go of your fucking body.”
She releases herself and throws both hands outward. “There. Better?”
“No.”
“What the fuck do you want from me?”
“I want you to stop standing in front of me and tearing apart something you fought to keep alive.”
Her expression twists. “You saw the pictures.”
The anger inside me changes.
“You saw what I looked like when my body started failing. You sat across from strangers while they spread photographs of me at the lowest point of my life across a table and blamed you for what they were seeing.”
“That was Lance.”
