“I know.”
He looks at me expectantly.
“What?” I say.
“So go on, then.” He gestures with his hand. “Talk.”
“There’s nothing I need to talk about.”
He sighs loudly, eyes fixed on me and shakes his head. “Do you have an eating disorder?” he asks bluntly.
“What?” A burst of laughter explodes from me. It quickly dies out when I realise from the look on his face that he’s not joking. And now he looks kind of annoyed.
“I don’t have an eating disorder, James.”
“But you never eat.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.
I shake my head and look away, refusing to get dragged into this again.
“Look it doesn’t matter to me if you do,” he says voice softer. “I just want to help.”
And for a moment I actually consider just saying I have, at least it’s a way to explain why I don’t eat, but then, knowing James, he’d watch me even more hawk-like than he obviously already is, trying to ensure I eat. And when I don’t, because I can’t, the questions I’d have to face would be far worse.
I look directly at him, face as serious as I can muster. “James, I don’t have an eating disorder.”
He frowns, eyeing me suspiciously then his gaze suddenly softens. He takes my hand in his, interlocking our fingers. “Look, Luce, I know you said you left home because of a guy, but, well, you never talk about your past at all and I was thinking – well I thought that maybe the truth was that you’d been in a clinic for treatment because, you know, you were ill – with like anorexia or something, and that you’d run away and didn’t want to tell me because, well – because you didn’t want me to know the truth, so you made up the story about the guy and –”
“I left because of a guy,” I say shortly, which for once is the absolute truth. He just doesn’t know that he is the guy. “And I don’t have anorexia,” I add.
I’m starting to get really uncomfortable at his line of questioning and I know it’s only because he’s skirting kind of close to the truth.
He sighs and let’s go of my hand and pushes his fingers through his hair. “But I’ve never seen you eat, Luce. Honestly, I’ve really thought about it and I can’t think of one single time.”
“Well . . . I just don’t like to eat in front of people.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“And I’m not a big eater,” I add for extra effect.
He shakes his head, disbelievingly.
I really don’t want to have this conversation anymore. I get up off the bed to leave but he grabs my arm and pulls me back down.
“I don’t want to fight with you, babe. I’m just worried about you.” His face so sincere, so caring.
The guilt washes over me like a wave and I still it.
“You don’t need to be. I’m fine. If I had an eating disorder I would tell you. I promise. Scouts honour.” I do a two finger salute and add a smile. It feels awkward and clumsy but I hold it there, unable to do anything else.
He twists his lips. “So that’s it, you’re telling me you're just not a big eater and that you don’t like to eat in front of people?”
“That’s it.” I nod.
I hate this. I hate having to lie to him, again, but what other choice do I have other than to tell him the truth, that is?
He looks down, examining his nails. “Okay,” he says slowly and shrugs. “You say you don’t have a problem, then I believe you.”
I know he doesn’t believe me. He knows he doesn’t believe me, but thankfully he doesn’t push it any further. And honestly it makes me love him even more, if that’s at all possible.
He reaches over and grabs one of his crutches from beside the bed and stands, tucking it under his arm. “I’m gonna go down. You coming?”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
After he’s gone I flop back onto the pillows and stare up at the ceiling. I turn my head and press my face into the pillow. It smells of him, his scent setting off an ache deep inside me.
This is too hard, harder than I ever imagined it could be. I hate deceiving him all the time. And, as I’ve just discovered, he’s starting to notice things are different about me. But I guess it was only a matter time; he’s not stupid.
And for how long do I think I can keep up the pretence? I mean, really, how long it will be before he also realises I never sleep, or that I don’t breathe, or have a heartbeat, or do any of the things that define being a human.
And, really, does he not deserve the truth before he figures it out for himself.
But is that a risk I should take, exposing myself to him like that? And if I did, would he even believe me? Humans are nothing if not sceptical, generally refuting what they don’t know or understand – it’s in their nature to do so.
But what about when the Elders finally find me? Do I really just want to up and disappear without a word, leaving him to think that I just left him without him ever knowing the truth? Knowing how much I love him. Knowing what I sacrificed to be with him.
And part of me wants him to know me. The real me.
I feel a sudden burst of urgency.
I have to tell him. I want to tell him. He’ll understand, I know he will. This is James. He’s wonderful and caring. Once I explain everything, he’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. And if he isn’t, then I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
All I do know is that I have to tell him – now.
Shoving all my misgivings aside, I jump out of bed and practically run out of his room and across the landing toward the stairs.
I’m just going to go downstairs, sit down and calmly tell him everything, reveal the whole truth about myself and then deal with the consequences.
I suddenly feel very liberated at the thought.
As my foot hits the bottom step I become aware of voices talking in the kitchen.
Someone’s in there with James. But who would be here this early in the morning?
A few worrying scenarios skip through my mind as I walk down the hall toward the closed door, sending a chill shuddering through me.
I prepare myself for the worst and very slowly push open the kitchen door.
Chapter 13
Disruptions
It’s Sara.
I don’t really know who I was expecting, to be honest. It’s not like it would have been one of the Elders turning up to collect me, stopping off to have a chat with James first.
I am surprised to see her here, though. James hasn’t spoken to her since the party, since the argument.
He’s ignored her calls and deleted the many text messages she’s sent him. And I’ve just stayed neutral saying nothing. I haven’t encouraged him to speak to her. And maybe that’s wrong of me but I really didn’t want her to come here and launch another attack on me. And selfishly I’ve just been too revelling in our togetherness to even bother to think about anything else.
“Hello, Lucyna.” She glances up at me, nervously fiddling with her fingers.
“Hi,” I say. My skin feels like it’s got bugs crawling all over it.
I straighten up preparing myself for another battle and then I notice how dark the skin around her eyes is. Also her eyes themselves look red and puffy and her face is looking much paler than I remember. Actually she doesn’t look like her usual radiant self at all. She looks unhappy. Miserable in fact.
And I instantly feel responsible for her unhappiness.
Her and James are only having problems because of me. They were close friends before I arrived, I know this because I saw it for myself and they have been for a long time. And now faced here with it, it’s impossible to ignore. The guilt practically drenches me, soaking into my skin
How would I feel if someone came between Arlo and me in that way?
Arlo.
I feel a sudden pang of longing for him.
I hadn’t realised how much I have missed him until just now. I’ve been so wrapped up in James I haven’t even thought about him since my change. I’m sure he will be concerned in his own unfeeling way over my disappearance. I wish I could see him.
I take the seat opposite Sara. All the determination I’d built up to tell James the truth has disintegrated. My urgency has gone.
James carries over three cups of coffee, hands one to Sara then puts one down purposefully in front of me. He takes the seat between us.
Sara picks her coffee up, blows on it a couple of times, then takes a sip and places it back down on the table. I can see her hands are shaking ever so slightly and she grips hold of the cup again, wrapping her hands around it. James doesn’t seem to notice.
She clears her throat and glances at me. “Lucyna, I want to apologise for my behaviour on Friday night. I’d had a lot to drink, although that’s no excuse, I know that.” She takes a deep breath. I can see how hard this is for her. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I don’t know what came over me and I hope you can accept my apology.”
I glance at James out of the corner of my eye, seeing the hopeful look on his face.
“Of course. Just think of it as if it never happened.” I run my fingertip around the rim of the cup. The hot steam billows up, caressing my fingers.
She smiles and visibly relaxes, sits back in her chair and sips her coffee.
James gently squeezes my leg under the table, his dark eyes smiling gratefully at me. I smile at him, but don’t really feel good.
I’m not naive enough to think Sara meant a single word of what she has just said. I know she’s only done this because she loves James and wants him to forgive her, not me. But for that to happen she had to apologise to me. I’m fine with that really. I can’t fault her for wanting to make James happy, because ultimately that’s what I want for him. And I know by accepting her apology that it will make things okay between them.
He’s happy; so am I.
But that still doesn’t mean I’m going to feel elated about the situation as a whole.
“So what you been up too?” Sara says, focussing all her attention onto James, and they launch into conversation.
I stay for a short while, smiling and nodding in all the right places. Making an excuse about needing to have a shower, I take my coffee upstairs with me so I can dispose of it down the bathroom sink.
I have a lovely hot steaming shower. I would never, ever tire of these if I was human. I’ll really miss them when I’m gone. Home. I shudder at the thought of leaving James, so I lean my head back, letting the water wash over my face, rinsing away all the tainting thoughts down the plughole.
After a while, and very reluctantly, I get out of the shower, dry myself off with a towel and put on a skirt and vest top.
Assuming Sara will probably have gone by now, I head back downstairs to see what James is up to, taking my empty cup with me.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn the corner seeing straight into the kitchen and that’s when everything starts to feel like it’s moving in slow motion as I see something that freezes me cold.
James is kissing Sara. Or Sara is kissing James.
I’m not sure which. But what I do know is he’s backed up against the kitchen cupboards, her in front of him with her hands on his face and their lips are pressed together.