Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
Who the hell moved in across the hall from me?
I was leaning against the inside of the door to my apartment with my eyes closed, trying to catch my breath. I mean, I wasn’t used to seeing someone like that in real life.
He was a model. He had to be. I mean, he couldn’t be a movie star and living in my apartment building, could he?
He was so tall and ripped and gorgeous. Those dimples were over the top. It was like God gave him one too many things, and it put him way-off-the-charts hot. Overkill. The definition of overkill.
I bet he was dumb.
Okay. So, maybe that was a horrible thing to hope for, but that was the only way that his level of hotness would be any kind of fair. He needed some huge flaw to make him more approachable and human. If he wasn’t dumb, then maybe he picked his nose.
No, that wasn’t bad enough to balance all the hotness. He would have to pick his nose and then eat it.
I tried to imagine him doing that and couldn’t.
And now that I was thinking about it, he didn’t come off as dumb at all. I was the one that acted like a moron.
I wiped a hand down my face and felt something wet on my chin.
Oh my fucking God. Did I drool?
No. Even I couldn’t be that much of an awkward mess.
Shit. I’d barely gotten out a word without bumbling it.
Goddammit, Cassie. Way to make a fool of yourself.
It wasn’t like I had a hope of dating a guy like that. Talk about a different league—a different planet entirely. But it would’ve been nice if his first impression of me was something a little better than a drooling idiot who stank like the hospital.
I pushed off the door and walked through my apartment. My mother had furnished it, and I hated it. The couch wasn’t comfortable. The chairs had no cushions. And there wasn’t enough color in any of it. Most of everything was shades of gray, black, or blue. Boring.
One day, I’d have my own job—my own money—and not feel weird replacing everything she’d picked out for me.
I walked into my bedroom and dropped my backpack next to my bed. It was a tossup which I needed more—food or a shower. I was starving and I’d showered at the hospital, but I still felt gross. These were the same clothes I’d worn all day at the coffee shop, and I had to get out of them. There was no way I’d enjoy eating until I was clean. Which meant the shower came first.
I moved into the bathroom and quickly stripped off my clothes. I turned to throw them in the hamper and caught my reflection in the mirror.
Damn it. Two days in the hospital had cost me some weight. I was thinner again. I could count my ribs, and if I lost any more weight, I knew I’d be in big trouble. Not just with Mother, but in terms of my general health. I couldn’t afford to lose any, and yet, I still managed to lose some.
I stepped under the hot spray and let the water wash away the last of the hospital smells. I could fix this weight problem. In a few minutes, I’d fix myself some food, and it would get better.
The good news was that I hadn’t gotten ahold of mother—not since she called me in the coffee shop. I’d missed a bunch of texts from her while I’d been asleep, and the last one said that if I was behaving like a child and ignoring her, then she had better things to do. She was going on a trip and would be out of touch for a while.
I couldn’t believe my luck. Her being MIA meant that I didn’t have to check in with my regular doctor, which meant no extra tests. I’d texted her with an apology and that I would be around if she needed me. I hadn’t heard back yet. I hoped it’d be a while before I heard back, and then instantly felt bad about that.
I shouldn’t feel such animosity toward my own mother, and yet, I couldn’t help it. Something about the way she treated me and how she talked down to me bred nothing but enmity. The less I saw her, the less I talked to her, the better for everyone.
When I got out of the shower, I quickly dressed and then made a list. Item one was checking in with my professor. Georgine called to tell me that she’d talked to him for me, but I needed to reach out. I took a picture of the medical excuse the nurse from the hospital gave me this morning, and then attached it to my quick email asking when I could retake the test.
There. That was done.
Item two was food. A lot of food.
I was used to being hungry all the time, but it was still annoying. I ate more than any other average girl ate. Nothing ever seemed to be enough.
My stomach growled, and I moved into the kitchen. The kitchen was pretty standard for apartments in the area—plain oak cabinets with a light grade laminate countertop—but it was the one place in the apartment that felt like me. It was the only thing that I’d stocked myself.
Mother wanted to have a meal service drop off a bag of food at the security desk in the lobby of the building every morning. I went along with it for the first few weeks I’d lived here. Using them made sure that I ate a specific number of calories a day, which meant I never underrate, but I was hungry all the time.
It took a bit, but I finally got her to let me make my own food. If I’d been a good cook before the accident, I didn’t remember any of it. So, I started from scratch. I watched a ton of cooking shows, and I bought dishes and pans as I needed them over the last year. Now I could make a bunch of things, but today, I wanted some simple comfort.
I grabbed my favorite pan and pulled out the ingredients I needed—butter, bread, and cheese. As the scent of warm butter and bread filled the room, I knew a grilled cheese was just the ticket for the crazy day I’d had.
My mind kept going back to my neighbor. I hadn’t been interested in a guy in a long time. Maybe my reaction to him meant that I was ready to try dating again. It’d been maybe a year, and I’d only been on those four dates. Maybe it was time to sign up for one of those apps. Most of them sounded like a meat market, but I overheard a few girls in my lit class talking about one. It matched people based on a personality test. I’d have to search the margins of my notes for the name of it. I knew I’d written it down somewhere.
Tomorrow. I’d add it to my list for tomorrow.
While I waited for the bread to finish browning, I walked to the living room and flipped on the TV, turning on The Returned. It was my favorite French show. Not only was it good, but the sound of the French language being spoken always soothed me when I was stressed.
I went back to the kitchen and flipped the sandwich. Nearly done. I grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge, a plate from the cabinet, and then my phone started buzzing.
Damn it.
I checked the readout. Georgine was calling, and I would’ve rather smashed it against the counter than answer.
The phone kept vibrating. I seriously thought about not answering, but delaying would only make things worse.
Georgine cared about me. She was an asshole in the way she showed it, but I should be grateful to have someone in my life that cared about me.
Which meant I should answer. I swiped my finger against the button and popped it on speakerphone. “Hi, Georgine.”
“You made it home okay?”
I put the sandwich on a plate. “Yes.” After the way she freaked out about me running into the crazy girl, I’d done my best to downplay how I collapsed, but it didn’t work very well. I shouldn’t have told her anything about the hospital. That was my bad. I was too honest sometimes.
I took a bite and moaned. I was totally going to need another one.
“Are you eating right now?”
“Yes.” I took another bite. “They think it might have been hunger that made me collapse.”
“You’d just gotten two sandwiches. There was no way you were that hungry.” She was quiet for a minute. “Are you not telling me something? I can try to find your mother if—”
Mother was the last person I needed right now. “No. I’m fine now. There’s no reason to worry her.”
“No?” Her voice had an icy edge. “Did the girl show up again? The one you—”
I rolled my eyes. “No. I told you that was a mistake. She thought I was someone else.” Another thing I should’ve kept to myself.
“Fine. Did you email—”
“Yes, I emailed Dr. Richmond. I’m an adult, Georgine. I can take care of myself.” I took another bite of my sandwich.
“Apparently not if you’re passing out from hunger. I can’t have you dying on me. Your mother would kill me.” She was so overly dramatic.
I doubted Mother would care enough to commit murder. She didn’t love me, at least not how other parents seemed to care for their kids. Mother seemed to care that I was alive and safe, and if those two needs were met, then she didn’t really check in on me much. At least not anymore. Who knew what she was like before the accident?
“Why don’t you meet me before class tomorrow? You are going to class, right? I could come by in the morning and—”
“No, you don’t need to do that.” She lived a block away, and I saw her way too often. I didn’t have the patience to deal with her for longer than I already had to.
“Fine. The coffee shop, then? Nine?”
I took a sip of my soda before talking. “I’ll see if I can meet up before class, but I’m not making any promises. I don’t want to push myself too hard, and I might just sleep until I have to get to class.”
“Fine. Text me if you’re awake and will be there.” With that, Georgine hung up.
I stared at the phone for a second. “Goodbye to you, too.”
I put my phone on the counter and turned back to the pan. Time for sandwich number two. I tossed a hunk of butter in the pan and grabbed more bread and cheese. As I waited for the bread to brown, I rubbed my hand along my side and felt each rib.
Something was wrong with me. I knew it, but I didn’t know what. I’d had every test that my doctor could think of, but he never found anything.
But I was always hungry. Worse than that, I was always losing weight. But I counted my calories. Not to cut them, but to make sure that I was eating enough. I ate nearly double what a girl my size and age should eat, but it never seemed to sate my hunger. This anxious feeling in my soul told me something was really wrong, but I didn’t have answers. Every time I asked about my past, I either ended up in the hospital or my mother flipped out on me. Neither were pleasant.
There was nothing else for me to do but keep eating and hope that one day I remembered whatever it was that I’d forgotten.
I’d figure out what was wrong with me eventually. Until then, I’d make another sandwich, and hope the hunger wouldn’t kill me before I had any answers.