The Disappearing Girl (18 page)

I fumbled for the buckle of his pants before pulling aside my underwear. I was ready for him and primed to explode if I didn’t feel him inside me soon. After some fumbling for a condom in his wallet, he was ready for me. Once we joined, I was overcome by the feeling that I belonged with him. I gripped the back of his head and we both finished in a dizzying rush.

We didn’t move right away. Instead, his hands surrounded me and I rested comfortably against his chest. It had been a departure from the past times we were intimate. My feelings of inadequacy led to quickies under the cloak of darkness or the reassurance of the blanket covering my body. For once, what I looked like never crossed my mind after our lips came together.

“I love you,” he said reverently and I felt his lips brush against the top of my head. “I know you’re not ready to tell me you love me, too. But it’s okay. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

I snuggled closer to him and I wished I could stay in his arms forever, savor the sensations he brought on when we physically connected. I wanted to borrow his strength—he was the one steady thing in my chaotic universe. If the world outside his car windows disappeared, it wouldn’t matter as long as I had him and his love.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Cameron asked.

After driving me back to the campus in the morning, Cameron walked me to the front of the health services building. Luckily, I’d left some clothes at his apartment and didn’t have to rush back to the dorm to change first.

Sated from being with him again, I’d slept comfortably in his arms without worrying about my appointment. But since I’d been up, I’d been a ball of anxiety about what I was going to say during the session.

“No, I think I’ll give you the day off from my craziness.” But my joke fell flat, and I saw the worry lines crease his brow. He looked conflicted as he gazed past me at the few students that walked around the campus.

“Kayla, you’re not crazy. You’re not the first person to go through a rough patch in their life.”

The tension in his body hinted that he wasn’t speaking hypothetically. Brittany’s accusations weren’t without merit—I’d been self-involved. I never imagined Cameron could relate to the torment I was in. In my head, I had built him up to epic proportions. He was the perfect guy with the perfect life. The thought that he had his own demons stopped me in my tracks.

“Have you gone through a rough patch?” I asked cautiously.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaned back onto his heels. “I guess. I don’t know if you’d call it a rough patch, but I had a falling out with my mom and we don’t talk anymore.”

“What? I met your mom, she seems great. Was this recently?”

“I consider Maggie my real mother, and I’ve called her Mom since I was fourteen and she married my dad. My real mother has a drug problem, and she checked out of being a parent when I was nine. She was in and out of rehab until she relapsed and took off for good when I was eleven.

“We didn’t hear from her for years and, honestly, I figured she was dead. Have you ever seen those composite sketches in the newspapers when they find a body? I would always study them to see if it was her—”

Horrified, I stopped him. “That’s awful. I can’t imagine how you must have felt not knowing what happened to her.”

He nodded stiffly and I sensed his need to get through the story. He wanted to share a piece of himself with me, but talking about his mom was likely dredging up agonizing memories. “A few years ago, she started sending me letters, wanting to be involved in my life again. Nine years of no communication, and all of a sudden she wants to be welcomed with open arms. After I refused to write or call her, she started contacting my dad to see if he could convince me to get in touch with her.”

“Cameron, I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“I’m fine with it, Kayla. I remember what it was like growing up with her and I can’t forgive her for a lot of the crap she did. She’d leave me and my sister alone for hours to score drugs, bring junkies into the house when my dad wasn’t around, steal our stuff to get money she needed for her habit—the list could go on and on. Scarlett is in touch with her, but she was a lot younger and doesn’t remember things the way I do.”

“I don’t know what to say. I feel like such an idiot. I’ve been caught up in my own stuff. I didn’t guess you had problems, too. At your house, Scarlett told me you were hurt before, so I assumed it was an ex-girlfriend she was talking about.”

I almost wished for his sake it were an ex-girlfriend. Exes could be forgotten about, erased completely from our lives. But I was well aware of how difficult it was to obliterate a mother’s poisonous influence from a psyche.

“Okay, I’m supposed to make you feel better, not lay my crap on you before you go into your appointment.” He snatched a kiss before straightening up. “I’ll be by later and we’ll pick up your car from the bar.”

I grabbed his elbow before he could slip away. “I’m sorry about your mom. If you ever want to talk about things, I’m a good listener.”

“I know, but I swear I’m not torn up over it. I just thought it was important for you to hear you’re not the only one with a crappy mother.” His tone and expression didn’t match up, and it was obvious he had a hard time talking about his mom. After another quick kiss, he walked back toward his car.

I was pensive as I watched him go. Each day I was with Cameron, he managed to surprise me. His confession hadn’t lessened his appeal; instead, it made me feel drawn to him even more. He’d obviously been through a lot and still managed to survive. He gave me faith I could do the same.

The waiting room of health services was mostly empty. Only a handful of students sat slumped in the plastic chairs, and I didn’t spot anyone I recognized. I checked in with the receptionist, and she handed me a stack of paperwork to fill out. I breezed through the sheets, answering the questions as vaguely as possible. The staff wouldn’t refuse to see me if I didn’t reveal my deepest and darkest secrets on a medical form.

After a while, a bespectacled man who looked about ten years my senior came to the door and called my name. His black hair was slicked back, he had a medium build, and he stood only a couple of inches taller than me. He introduced himself as Parker and explained he was one of the therapists working for the health services department. My stomach flipped as I followed him into a small office. There was no way I’d comfortably divulge my body image demons with a man not much older than me. How would he be able to understand my daily struggle to not be fat? How could I confess my darkest secrets, like the way I ate naked in front of my mirror some nights so the sight of my fat would stop me from overeating?

The room had a small desk and an office chair near the far wall with two additional chairs set on the opposite side of the desk. There were four cherry-wood bookshelves overflowing with large textbooks and a few miscellaneous knickknacks. I didn’t see any personal photos or mementos, and I guessed it was a shared office space.

Parker’s smile was noncommittal as we sat across from each other. He adjusted his black glasses and looked over the forms I’d filled out. Then he asked, “What brings you here today, Kayla?”

I fidgeted in my seat and played with the dangles on my bracelet for a few seconds before answering. “My friends and boyfriend are worried about me. I guess I’ve been acting a little depressed lately.” He leaned back in his chair and studied me. Since I was new to therapy, I wasn’t sure if this was a technique to get me to continue talking. But if it was, I obliged. “My dad died almost two years ago and it seems to have all of a sudden hit me hard.”

“How have you been feeling lately?”

Like I’m drowning, I thought silently. “I’m sad a lot, probably more sad than I was right after he died.”

He picked up a pen and drummed it steadily on the desk. “People grieve differently, and there’s no exact time frame for how long it takes to get over a loss. You may have been in survival mode after losing your dad, and you suppressed the pain.”

“I guess that makes sense. After he died, I was more worried about my sister than dealing with what it meant to live without him. My mother is …” Explaining my mother would be like teaching a child about nuclear fusion; there was no way to put into a few words what she was like. More importantly, I couldn’t detail how she made me feel. “My mother is selfish. Don’t get me wrong, she was devastated over losing my dad, but instead of turning to my sister and me for comfort, she became hardened and lashed out at us every chance she got. Maybe it’s because my sister and I look so much like our dad and we were a painful reminder of what she lost. We had to learn how to cope on our own.”

“How are you coping now?”

The question was almost laughable. “I don’t know, probably not well. I feel like part of me died with my father and maybe I’m only half existing in this world.” I was surprised by the honesty of my answer. Actually, I couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to Parker. It was as if I had all this stuff bottled up inside and finally found an outlet to get it out.

“Have you found yourself retreating because of this feeling?”

“I guess I’ve checked out lately. Things that used to be important to me don’t seem to matter as much. My grades have taken a nosedive, and I wonder if I should even bother coming back next year to finish my degree. I used to have fun going out with my friends, but now I don’t have any motivation to be social.

“But what makes me mad is that everyone around me thinks I have a choice. I don’t want to be this way. I fight against these depressed feelings each day, but I’m losing.” I was losing so much more than fat in the past months. I was losing my identity and becoming someone unrecognizable in the mirror.

He put his pen down and leaned slightly back in his chair. “What made you decide you needed help dealing with your emotions?”

“I’ve been dating someone since February. Cameron makes me feel like, if I just allowed myself to get over my crap, I could be really happy with him. He has all the same qualities I admired in my dad; he’s smart, thoughtful, and funny. But because of all of the doubts in my head, I can’t give myself fully to him. And I want to. I want to so badly I hate myself for not being the girl he deserves.” My fingers nervously twisted the hem of my shirt as I spoke. The embarrassment I had expected over confessing my inadequacies was nonexistent.

We talked for the full hour about my family and Cameron. Time flew by as I divulged information about my crumbling relationships. Parker took a few notes, but mostly he asked me questions to prompt me to talk. I was candid—to a point. I had resolved beforehand to not talk about my diet, and I kept that promise. I had an irrational fear if I confessed how far I was willing to go to stay skinny Parker would try to have me committed for my own safety. I’d taken my Pro-Ana friends’ advice very seriously: Never let anyone know the truth about how I was able to stay thin.

Since the semester was drawing to a close, Parker recommended I see him once a week until summer break. It would only mean two more sessions, but he said I could continue therapy with another counselor back home. He also wanted me to learn how to cope with my grief. He gave me some information on bereavement groups I could attend, saying talking about my loss with others could help me heal. When I admitted I hadn’t visited my father’s gravesite since his funeral, he suggested I find a way to learn how to accept he was gone. I could go to the cemetery, or maybe write my father a letter to express how I’d been feeling.

When I left the student health services building, I felt lighter, no longer hindered by some of my depressed thoughts. Maybe the tide was finally turning for me; I had won Cameron back, and I was finally talking to someone about my problems. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t being totally forthcoming with Parker; a man wouldn’t understand how important it was to be slender and beautiful. Instead of listening to others’ voices about how I should eat, I would make my own choices.

My good mood didn’t fade, not even when I saw it was my mother calling my cell phone. “Hello,” I chirped as I walked back toward my room.

“Hello darling, glad to finally catch you. Have you been avoiding my calls?”

“No, of course not,” I lied easily. “I’ve been overwhelmed with term papers.”

“Well, at least I know it’s not me. Lila said you haven’t spoken with her since she visited.”

I would have to rectify things with Lila immediately. I’d been furious after Cameron told me about Lila’s part in revealing my secrets to him. After dodging her calls and emails for a whole week, I decided to let go of my grudge. I’d have to call Lila and let her know I forgave her for going to Cameron behind my back.

“Just been busy,” I said.

“Good, I was worried something happened between the two of you while she was with you. She hid out in her room for days when she came back, and the only times I saw her she had a sour look on her face. I swear, Kayla, you have no idea what it’s like to raise moody girls. Pray for boys when you have children,” she said condescendingly.

I rolled my eyes as I sidestepped a group of students walking in the opposite direction. “Was there a reason for your call?”

“No need to get snippy, Kayla. It wouldn’t kill you to call me every once in a while. I
am
a widow with only a sullen teenage girl for company.”

I groaned. I should’ve figured she’d manipulate me with the guilt card. My mom had a way of always making me culpable for her erratic moods. “Let’s not fight; I don’t have the energy for it. How are you, Mom?”

“I’m okay enough, I suppose. I did get asked out on a date the other day while I was at the bank.”

I wasn’t sure why she was sharing this news. Men were constantly asking her out, regardless of her wedding ring. My father had almost come to blows more than once over a man trying to seduce my mother in his presence. In spite of her flaws, I believed she’d been faithful to my father. After his death, her misery was authentic enough I imagined no one would ever be able to replace him in her heart.