“Yes,” I respond.
“Have you been vomiting?”
Now is the time I look over at Brody because I need to see the disappointment. His face is expressionless, though.
“Occasionally,” I answer.
“How often would you say you are vomiting in a day or a week?”
My gaze falls to my hands, the cuticles needing to be trimmed and nails in need of color. “Once or twice a week.”
“Okay, we can manage this, Journey,” she says. I can’t look up and face her, though. “I’m going to run some tests just to make sure there isn’t an underlying cause, but assuming there isn’t, I want you to restart therapy and checking in with a nutritionist to help keep you on track.”
I hate this. People can look at me and pretend like they think nothing less of me, but inside, even the medical professionals feel sympathy and want to understand why my brain works in this way.
“Sounds good,” I tell her, feeling very much the opposite of my words.
“Do you want to get better?” Dr. Beatrice asks.
The million-dollar question. A patient won’t get better without a purpose, reason, or motivation to do so. “I think so,” I say, honestly.
Dr. Beatrice twists in her chair and centers her attention on Brody. “Patients who suffer with bulimia often need emotional support. I assume this is the reason you’re here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Brody says, sounding frazzled. “I want to help her get better. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“I wish everyone had a friend like you,” she says with a smile.
“Well, then. The nurse will be back to take some notes and run some tests. You’ll only hear from us if there is a concern with any of the results. In the meantime, I will have Paula send referrals to the nutritionist and therapist you worked with last time if that’s okay?”
“That would be great, thanks,” I respond.
“I’m glad you came in today,” Dr. Beatrice says. “You’ve already handled the hardest part.”
It’s a line doctors say, but this isn’t the hardest part. Cutting addiction is much harder.
Dr. Beatrice leaves the exam room and closes us back inside. This time, the room feels much smaller. “You are just one surprise after another,” Brody says.
I know he’s trying to lighten the mood, but he’s right, and if I could tell him everything at once to save him from having to walk away from me later, I would, but it’s not so easy. “I’m too much for your life, Brody. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be here for me or play this role in my life. It’s not fair to you. You have enough going on.”
“Is there anything else I should know about you?” He tilts his head to the side, and smirks. “Other than the fact you were married at some point, which I’m sure we’ll get to when you want to share the story, but I’m not concerned about that.”
“I think you are fully versed in all shitty parts of my life now.”
“I’m not here out of pity,” he says.
The thought crossed my mind. “Then why are you here?”
“I like you. I don’t know. I care about you, and I’m attracted to you physically and emotionally. What other reasons could I have after just hanging out with you a few times? I have the desire to be around you and be someone you might need or want in your life.”
“Even with all the baggage?”
“We all have baggage. It’s a part of life, but when you hide the baggage, you disappear with it, and I don’t want that for you.”
“Brody, if you sleep on it and feel differently, I won’t hold it against you. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. Just be honest, and I’ll be okay.”
“Honestly, I just want to be with you—all parts of you, broken and whole.”
I didn’t think I’d feel the same about him. I’ve avoided friendships and relationships for so long because I didn’t want to bring anyone into this life I’ve created. I never assumed anyone would volunteer to break down my walls just to be in my life that I consider a mess.
