The taxi pulls away, and I bite the inside of my cheek until it bleeds, swallowing every scream inside me.
The city blurs past — flashing lights, neon signs, faceless crowds.
---
I landed in New York after hours and bordered a taxi to the hotel I booked.
In the hotel room, it’s cold, impersonal, but at least it’s quiet.
I collapse on the bed, tears long dried on my cheeks, leaving salty streaks behind. My phone buzzes over and over, Jasper’s name flashing across the screen. I flip it over, face-down.
Scrolling through my feed, I watch the world spin on. Janice’s grinning face. Jacqueline’s latest smug selfie. Ace and Sierra, all over each other in another post — the new golden couple.
A hollow laugh escapes me. Good for them.
Hours bleed into dawn. My stomach twists and growls, but I ignore it. Food is the enemy. That’s what they’ve all made me believe.
I curl tighter into the pillows, wishing — just once — that I could vanish.
The next morning, my head pounds and my skin is cold, slick with sweat. I stumble to the bathroom, gripping the sink, staring at the pale stranger in the mirror.
I’m not okay.
By noon, the hotel manager finds me collapsed outside my room. It’s all a blur — concerned voices, the sharp wail of a siren, the sterile smell of the hospital. I drift in and out, monitors beeping, hands on my skin.
“Blood pressure’s crashing.”
“Severely underweight.”
“Possible electrolyte imbalance.”
I think I hear Jasper’s voice — tight, scared — but maybe it’s just my mind trying to comfort itself.
When I wake, the ceiling above me is unfamiliar, the sharp antiseptic smell curling in my nose. And then I hear her.
My mother.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” she snaps, heels clicking on the floor. “To embarrass us? To humiliate me?”
I try to lift my head, but everything spins. Her words cut deeper than the IV in my arm.
“She needs rest,” the nurse murmurs gently.
“She needs discipline,” my mother snaps. “And some damn self-control.”
Then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
A familiar hand wraps around mine.
“Brit?”
Jasper.
His eyes are rimmed with red, his voice hoarse.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean any of it.”
I want to tell him it’s too late. That sorry isn’t a magic wand. That sometimes love isn’t enough.
