Page 337 of Face Off

BLISS: You both said you liked him.

CHARM: I lied because you love him, and I wanted you to be happy.

BLISS: That is weirdly sweet.

AURA: It is also why we have attended eleven terrible concerts.

CHARM: I’m not attending number twelve.

BLISS: Fine. Who do you want to see?

I send the name of an artist they both hate.

AURA: This experiment has become abusive.

I laugh hard enough to frighten a customer browsing near the window.

By Thursday, the week stops feeling like an experiment and starts feeling like I have been released into society without adequate supervision.

I return my coffee when the barista gives me sugar-free syrup instead of caramel. I tell a supplier his fabric looks inexpensive instead of claiming it doesn’t suit the current collection. When a woman at lunch compliments my recovery by saying she wishes she possessed enough discipline to become as thin as I had been, I look directly at her and say, “I was dying. Don’t romanticize it.”

She apologizes.

I don’t tell her it’s fine.

That evening, I order pizza because I want pizza. I sit on the floor with the box open in front of me and eat while watching a terrible reality show and drinking light beer because I am still a lady. My mind still counts without permission. It notices the oil on the cheese, calculates what I ate for lunch, and suggests I stop before my body changes into something unlovable.

The thoughts come as I eat another slice anyway. Nothing terrible happens. I sleep for eight uninterrupted hours.

On Friday, I return to therapy.

My therapist smiles when I enter. “I thought you were finished with me.”

“I was.”

“What changed?”

“I got drunk and discovered I’m a controlling asshole.”

She waits for me to elaborate. “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Sit silently until I become uncomfortable enough to fill the room.”

“That’s useful information.”

“I also hate when you bring every conversation back to Charlie.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Why?”

“Because I already know what happened to me. I don’t want another explanation that allows me to turn the damage I cause into an inevitable symptom of my childhood.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to tell me when I’m being selfish. I want tools for staying inside fear without turning everyone around me into something I manage. I want to learn how to hear no without treating it like abandonment, and I want to understand loyalty when protecting someone requires me to tolerate their anger.”

My therapist leans back. “That’s the most direct you have ever been with me.”