Elena Vanishing (29 page)

Better than what?
says the voice in my head.

“Elena, you don't hate school,” Mom says slowly. “You've never hated school.” And she walks off, shaking her head.

Shame burns my cheeks. Mom is right. From grade one, I was the girl who couldn't wait to do her homework, the girl who loved to learn.

What happened to that girl? Where did she go?

You've screwed up your whole life, you stupid bitch.

Acid kicks up in my stomach, and I lean over, gripping the counter. Forget deep questions—all I can do at this point is lie down. I dig the bottle of Tums out of the drawer and drag myself off to bed.

Sometime later, the light flips on. “Elena, time for supper.”

I pull the blanket over my head. “I'll eat later, when I get up.”

“What about your study group?”

Study group? Oh, yeah.

“It got canceled.”

Liar!
says the voice in my head.

The light goes off, and I drift back to sleep.

A buzz in my ear jolts me awake. I've been sleeping on my phone again. Its lighted screen glows in the darkness. It's Stella.

“Elena,” she says, “Evey is dead.”

My eyes fill with tears for the second time today, and Stella and I cry on the phone together. Sweet, quiet, fragile Evey, who helped me through the early weeks at Clove House. She was so bright and gentle. She didn't want to leave treatment. She wanted to live. Now she's lost the fight forever.

“My hair's falling out,” Stella sobs. “I look like a scarecrow. All I do all day is pace the floor and panic over the next meal. I've walked so many hours, I've worn a track in the floor. Elena—is it bad that I'm jealous of Evey?”

I can't speak. It's as if she's read my mind.

“I'm overwhelmed,” Stella gulps. “It feels like it's never going to get better. You'd understand if I don't make it, right? Tell me you'd understand.”

You're not going to make it, either
, says the voice in my head.

Panic grips me. “Stella, I need you!” I say. “I need you to fight this with me. I don't know how to get through it by myself.”

Stupid bitch!
says the voice in my head.
You don't know how to get through it at all.

“I can't eat,” I say. “Even when I want to, I can't. It won't stay down. If you give up, I'll give up. I need you to keep going.”

“I'll try,” Stella says. “All right. I'll try.”

“I need you to call me,” I say. “Call me—every day. Promise you'll call. Promise you'll help me figure this out.”

“I promise,” Stella says. “I'll try.”

I hang up the phone and stare at the little ghost light from the screen shining out into the darkened room. Then the light chokes off, and the darkness rushes in.

Lights go out. But darkness lasts forever.

Evey. Poor Evey! I sob out loud. But my body is too worn down to keep up such hard work for long. Sleep tugs at me until I close my eyes again. My pillow is wet and cold against my cheek.

I am in my room. I am looking at a large fish tank set up in the corner of my room. Brilliantly colored fish dart to and fro. But an intruder rushes in and smashes the front of the fish tank. The water comes pouring out. All around my feet on the wet carpet, fish are flopping and dying.

I race to the kitchen to seize a spoon and a saucepan. Spoon by spoon, I fill the pan with water left behind in the bottom of the ruined tank. As fast as I can, I scurry around the room to scoop up the dying fish.

Only they aren't fish. They're tiny copies of my eating disorder friends, crumpled on the floor of my room. And Sam and Stella swim together in the bottom of my saucepan.

Heart pounding, I open my eyes and sit up in bed. Did I save them? Are they safe? Not Sam. Not Stella. Please not them. Please let it be somebody else!

Nobody's safe
, says the voice in my head.

The light flicks on again. Mom is standing in the doorway. “Elena, we need you to come out here.”

“I'm sleeping. I'll eat later,” I groan, collapsing back against the pillow. “I have an ethics quiz tomorrow. I have to study.”

“You slept through your ethics class,” Mom says. “You wouldn't get out of bed.”

This catches my attention. I slept through ethics? But it's Monday night, isn't it? Ethics isn't till Tuesday morning. I pull my phone out from under the pillow and look at the screen.

It's Wednesday evening. How the hell did that happen?

Sleep lasts
, says the voice in my head.
Sleep lasts forever.

“Elena, you've slept for two days,” Mom says. “You can be up for a few minutes. We need you to come out here.”

I shuffle into the living room in my pj's and fuzzy blanket. Dad and Valerie are sitting on the couch. Mom hands me a piece of paper and joins them.

“What's this?” I say. “I'm not reading this.”

Dad and Valerie exchange glances. Nobody answers me.

I look at the paper. It's a contract between me and my parents. There's a line where I'm supposed to sign. And it ties everything—everything!—to how much I weigh, from whether or not I have texting on my phone all the way to taking away my computer, taking back my car, and forcing me to move out—for good.

This is it
, says the voice in my head.
They've given up. They don't love you anymore. You were stupid to count on love.

“What the hell is this?” I cry. “What do you think you're doing?”

“We're trying to help you get better,” Mom says.

They're not helping you. They're blaming you. It's your fault you killed their love.

“You're blaming me for being ill. You're blaming me!”

“We're not blaming you,” Dad says. “That's not the idea here.”

You killed their love, and now they're going to make you pay.

“Well, it sure as hell looks like I'm the one who's going to pay!”

“Elena,” Mom says, “we'll do anything—
anything
—to help you get well. But if you're determined to continue destroying yourself, you're not going to use a single thing of ours to help you do it.”

You trusted them. You thought they loved you. You were so stupid!

“It's great,” I say, “that after everything Valerie did, she turns out to be the one who's the favorite daughter. I like it that I've got almost a four-point grade average, and I'm the one on the street!”

“Hey, I'm not saying I didn't screw up,” Valerie says. “But I got my ass in gear.”

“This isn't about punishment,” Mom interjects. “This is about trying to help you out of a downward spiral.”

This is about forcing you out of their lives because they're ashamed of you.

“Well, you know what?” I say. “If you want me out of your life, then I'll be out of your life! You'll know what it's like to lose a daughter!”

“Do you know the reason we're doing this?” Mom says. “Your father started crying the other day. ‘She's going to die,' he told me. ‘I'm going to walk into her room, and there she'll be, dead. And I don't think I'll survive it.'”

This is so eerily like my own nightmares and premonitions that I stop for a second, stunned.

“Well, he's right,” Mom says. “You're killing yourself. But you know what? You won't do it here. You won't have that nice, clean,
freshly showered, air-conditioned death you've counted on. If you want to die, you'll have to do it under a bridge.”

Dying is quick
, says the voice in my head.
But death lasts a long time.

“I DON'T WANT TO KILL MYSELF!” I scream. Which means I've lost the argument.

I snatch up a pen and sign on the line, and I go back to my room and lock the door. Valerie comes and tries to talk to me. Dad knocks and says he's sorry I'm upset. Mom doesn't come and say anything at all.

Words go away
, says the voice in my head.
Silence lasts forever.

In the morning, I wait until I hear Dad drive off to work, and then I unlock the door. I go to Mom and Dad's room and get a suitcase.

Mom and Valerie are sitting on the living room floor with Gemma. “Where are you going with that?” Mom asks.

“I'm leaving,” I announce. “I'm moving out, just like you wanted.”

“That's not what I want,” Mom says. “And if you're leaving, you're not taking my suitcase. You can use a trash bag if that's what you're determined to do.”

See how much she loves you?
says the voice in my head.
She's never been anything but a bitch.

“Fine, bitch!” I say as I drop the suitcase on the carpet. Eyes alight with excitement, Gemma scrambles over and grabs the handle.

Valerie's head comes up as I pass her on the way to the kitchen. “Hey! Don't call Mom a bitch.”

They never loved you
, says the voice in my head.

“That's choice coming from someone who's got a mouth like a toilet,” I say as I fish a trash bag out of the pantry. Gemma lifts her little hands and laughs as the trash bag floats by over her head. Valerie hands her a block and gives a shrug.

“Hell if I care what you think,” Valerie says.

Back in my room, I stuff shoes into the trash bag. I start going through the piles of laundry, but I can't find my favorite clothes.

What the hell?

I check the bathroom laundry bin. Not much in there, either.

What the
hell
?

Once more I confront the two women in the living room. Gemma looks up and waves bye-bye.

“Where the HELL are my clothes?” I say.

“We got rid of your extra smalls,” Mom says. “We went through them while you were at school. That's not your real size, that was your unhealthy size, and you know you were supposed to get rid of them when you got home. They were sending you the wrong message.”

Something like panic grabs my throat. My gray shirt with the three lines of lace . . . my X-pocket jeans . . . my Pink University T-shirt!

“YOU THREW OUT ALL MY CLOTHES?”

I run to the garage. Nothing in the trash can. Nothing in the car. I'm so furious that I'm shaking from head to foot.

“Where are they?” I yell like a maniac as I burst back into the house. “What did you do with my clothes?”

“We donated them to Goodwill,” Mom says.

I feel the overwhelming urge to slap her across the face.

That's right, hit her!
says the voice in my head.
She doesn't give a damn about you.

“You don't give a damn about me!” I yell. “You don't give a damn!”

“I
do
give a damn!” Mom says. “All I've done this year is focus on your treatment.”

That's not because she cares
, says the voice in my head.
She doesn't love you. She just loves to play the martyr.

“I didn't ask for your help!” I shout. “You chose to be a martyr!”

“It takes two people to make a martyr!” Mom yells back. “Lucky for me I've got you!”

All you do is cause her stress
, says the voice in my head.
She hates you, and she wants you gone. That's what this contract is—it's a way to get rid of you.

“Congratulations on getting rid of me, then!” I yell. “You wanted me gone, so I'm gone. You put me in boarding school to get rid of me, too, even though you
knew
I didn't want to go. You made me sick! You wanted me out of the way so you could write your damn books!”

For one long second, everything in the room freezes. Then Mom jumps up and grabs her purse. The front door slams.

The next thing I hear is the car starting up in the driveway.

“What the
hell
, Elena!” says Valerie. “What the
hell
!”

“Screw you,” I say, and I go back to my room.

But I don't keep packing. I sit down on my bed. My head is pounding, and I realize I've forgotten my morning meds again. Hands shaking, I count them out and swallow them with some flat Coke out of an old can sitting on my nightstand.

Seven pills now, plus two at lunch, two at supper, and two more to kiss me good night.

But I didn't take them last night, I realize. Mom always reminds me, but the door was locked. Is that what happened just now? Was that me, or was that the meds?

Valerie comes to the door. She's holding Gemma on her hip. You'd never know to look at this happy young mother now what a hell-raiser she used to be. The scars from her cuts and burns have almost entirely faded away.

“Seriously,” Valerie says, “that was not cool. You know Mom puts us first. I've tried her five times, but she won't answer the phone.”

The anger that drove me is gone, replaced by bitter unhappiness.

“It was the truth,” I say. “The boarding school made me sick.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Valerie says. “You're sick enough, I'll give you that. Except Mom didn't make you go to boarding school. She let us make the decision.”

Leave it to Valerie to take her side
, says the voice in my head.

“I remember begging Mom not to go!”

“Sure,” Valerie says. “And I remember you saying you loved it so much, you were going to stay at boarding school even if Mom and Dad went home to Texas.”

It's crazy, but as soon as she says this, I remember it, too. I shake my head, but that memory won't go away again.

“But I told her I wanted to leave. I remember it!”

“Yeah, well, you weren't what I'd call the most stable little kid in the world,” Valerie says. “I remember hearing you say a lot of things.”

“I wanted to leave!” I say again. “It was too much stress. I can prove it.”

Valerie holds up her hand.