“Oh, Chloe…” Megan sings from the bathroom.
“What?” I question in a high-pitched, annoyed tone.
“Come see this!” She calls. “You’ll hate me!”
My brows knit together as I walk down the hallway, into the bathroom. I find Megan standing on the digital scale, with nothing but a towel around her.
She smiles at me mischievously before leaning to one side. I step towards the scale.
The glowing number reads 97 pounds. She’s finally gotten past the 100 mark. I glare at her because I’m still 101.
“Why do you need me to see this?” I hiss.
“So I could rub it in your face.”
“Fuck off.” I snap venomously, before stomping out of the room.
I roll my eyes as I inch down the stairs, into the kitchen. Mom is cooking some kind of noodle.
Yuck. It’s probably spaghetti. Like she’s going to shove a plate of that down my throat!
I stand in the middle of the kitchen, as Megan comes in.
“Dinner’s ready…” Mom says as she pours noodles onto three ceramic plates.
Megan and I gingerly take a plate each and let the steam curl around our faces. I stab a noodle with a fork and force it into my mouth. I let the noodle burn down my throat without even tasting it.
Megan shovels some food into her mouth. She crams it in her face, making sure some of the sauce spills back onto the plate. She gulps it all down with some milk. I glance at her again. Megan hates milk…
She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Excuse me…” She pushes herself out of the chair and bolts for the stairs.
“I forgot something,” I lie, discretely following her.
I lean next to the bathroom door and can hear noises – like someone’s gagging. I tap on the door, “Megan?”
I push the door and it swings open. Megan is leaning over the toilet, with her finger down her throat.
Tears spill down her cheek. She looks at me and freezes, slumping against the wall. “Please… don’t…” She sputters.
The food she’d eaten is in the toilet bowl. She was purging to get rid of it.
“Are you…?” I ask.
“Yes. Don’t make a big deal out of it. I want to be skinnier. I need to be.” She explains, “I’m a waste.”
I sigh and go back into our room, slamming the door behind me.
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I want to be skinnier, I need to be… Megan’s haunting words ring through my head.
I flop onto my bed and stare at the swirling patterns in the ceiling.
I suddenly bolt upright, feeling that someone’s standing over me. I look up to find Megan standing between our beds, glaring at me.
“What did I do?” I ask, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“You just don’t get it, do you, Chloe?” She sighs, planting her hands on her hips.
“Tell me!” I protest, “What did I do?”
In a few sweeping strides, she’s standing over me, breathing down my neck. My eyes dart around the room, she’s closed the door tight, and the window is too high up for me to jump.
She reaches out and grabs my wrists, binding them together. “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe…” She shakes her head in disapproval.
“What the hell?” I shriek, struggling against her tight grip.
“You want me dead, don’t you? You want everything for yourself; the adoration from everyone, a room to yourself, and of course, size zero,” Her voice is low and steady, “News flash, honey, I’m still here.”
I clamp my mouth shut. I don’t exactly want her dead, just away from me, so I can be the adored daughter, and of course, I wouldn’t mind a room to myself.
“Megan… just stop,” I whisper, “None of it’s true! The way you word everything – it’s all insane!”
Her laugh is loud and tinny, “Yes it is. All of it’s true – you wish that I didn’t get out of the facility. You wish I’d just die.”
“Whatever… Say what you want,” I throw my hands up, “I just can’t win with you!”
“Well, Chloe, you might just get you’re wish.” She snaps, striding into the bathroom, and locking the door behind her.
Irritated, I hop off the bed and chase after her. I twist the doorknob, which is useless because it’s locked.
“Megan!” I call, knocking on the door. I press my ear to the door and can hear a bottle being opened, then running water.
“Shit…” I mutter, clambering downstairs.
I peel into the kitchen, skidding on the slippery floor. “Mom!”
“What’s the matter, honey?” She looks up from the vegetables that she’s chopping.
“It’s Megan! She’s locked herself in the bathroom, and she won’t come out… we argued earlier, after I caught her getting sick in the bathroom. She blew up at me and then locked herself in the bathroom!” The words spill out of my mouth.
“Oh!” She puts the knife down and strides up the stairs. I follow her, keeping at her heels.
She stops at the bathroom door and beats on it, “Megan, are you okay? Do you want to come out and tell Mom what’s wrong?”
All she gets is silence.
“Megan!” She screams, straining her quiet voice.
“She won’t come out, Mom,” I say, leaning next to the door.
Frustrated, Mom bangs on the door before disappearing into her room. She comes out, carrying a heavy chair.
She charges at the door until it flies open. She gasps and drops the chair.
I step beside her and my mouth drops. Megan is lying on the floor, with pill bottles scattered all around her.
“Megan!” Mom cries, falling to the floor, “Wake up, honey!”
I dash out of the room, grabbing the phone. I blindly dial 911 and an operator picks up immediately.
“What’s your emergency?” The woman asks.
“My – my sister was just found in the bathroom… she’s unconscious, we don’t know if she’s dead… Please, please send someone.” I babble, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Okay, sweetie, calm down. What’s your address?”
I give her address and she puts me on hold for a few seconds.
“An emergency team is on the way.” She informs me, before the line goes dead.
Before I bustle out of the house, I notice a pink slip of paper clutched in Megan’s hand.
I pry it free and read it.
It’s over. I couldn’t hang on any longer. I had to do it. My disease was becoming too much for me – I looked fine, but really, I was cracking under pressure.
I’m sorry. Please forgive me.
To Chloe: You won. I lost and you FINALLY won.
I won. I finally bet Megan at something – I was skinnier. I should be happy, but a sinking feeling keeps coming over me.
Then I realize: In order for me to win at our vicious game, Megan had to die.
The tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.
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Less than an hour later, Megan Kara Wilson is pronounced dead. The attending doctor checked her unrecognizable pulse once more, before declaring her dead.
Mom crumples into a pile on the floor as a white sheet is put over the dead girl and she’s wheeled out into the hallway, to the morgue.
I refuse to cry. I can’t cry with people here. They’ll think I’m weak.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand attending her funeral – because a part of me might become buried with her.
------------------------------------
It is a few days after Megan’s death and funeral. My mom is sitting in the kitchen, staring at a phone book, with the house phone clutched in her hand.
She furiously flips through it and dials a number. “Hello, this is Catherine Wilson. I’m calling to schedule an appointment for my daughter, Chloe Wilson.”
I walk into the kitchen and open the fridge. Mom presses a manicured finger to her lips.
I close the fridge door. I don’t need any fruit, or milk, or meal replacements.
“Yes, that’s correct. An appointment at the earliest time, if that’s possible.”
I listen to my mom, who nods and speaks again. “Thank you, that’s fine.”
She hangs up the phone and walks out of the kitchen, standing tall on her high heels.
I roll my eyes and walk into my room. The air in it feels different, though, chilled, or empty… I don’t know.
Mom knocks on my door. “Chloe, can we talk?”
“Um, sure…” I sit down on my bed. Mom comes in and daintily sits on the bed that Megan will never sleep in again.
“I think that Megan’s death may trigger you… That’s why I’ve set up an appointment for you.” Mom speaks slowly.
“An appointment…?” Okay, now I’m confused.
“A meeting with a psychologist, her name’s Dr. Hayward. She’s one of the best psychologist’s in town.” Mom says.
“NO. Forget it!” I jump off the bed. My heart pounds in my ears and I claw at the wall, trying to keep myself upright.
“Honey…” Mom murmurs. She walks towards me and grabs my wrists.
“Let me go!” I shriek, trying to break free from her grip.
She holds tight, “It’s for the best.”
It’s for the best… it’s for the best… it’s for the best… Her words ring in my head before I black out.
I know that I can personally relate to how Chloe to some degree.
