Fighting Weight Read online

  “What’s going on Ali? You know you can always talk to us,” Paisley says, once I invite them inside. Again, I had managed to finagle taking the single-occupancy hotel room. Knowing it was time, I decided to open up about my battle with bulimia.

  “You’re right,” I admit, the four of us curled up on my queen-sized bed.

  “What happened back there?” Shiv asks, her face reflecting concern. “I saw you crying but by the time I could make it back to the table, you and Rox were already headed out the door. And then we got her text, so we came here.”

  “I had a moment of weakness today,” I blurt. “I took some laxatives, and I regretted it immediately. I freaked. I was so pissed at myself for it, and I sort of lost it.”

  “Why would taking laxatives upset you—” Paisley cuts herself off, then covers her mouth. I see her eyes start to water. “Oh Alina, no.”

  “Yeah,” I say, letting my shoulders sag in defeat with the admission.

  “I wondered, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to pry or accuse, although maybe I should have?” Paisley adds, and I feel awful she’d think that.

  “No,” I place my hand on her knee.

  “I knew something was going on, too,” Roxie says. “I wasn’t sure though, and after our talk at the photoshoot, I guess I figured you were working on things and I didn’t want to make things worse or argue. I’m so sorry, Ali. I should have asked outright, too.”

  “Don’t apologize, please. Trust me, there was nothing you guys could have done. I became very good at hiding it, and I would have just denied it, anyway. It took me a long time to get to where I am today, to be able to admit that I’m having issues.” I pause thinking of my next words.

  “You can trust us, Ali,” Roxie says, encouraging me, and I nod.

  “I know.” I laugh nervously. “I’m stupid for waiting this long.” I let out a deep breath, and continue. “I’ve been fighting my weight off and on since I was thirteen. At first, I’d eat then throw up if I was too full and wanted a dessert or something, but then one day it changed. It wasn’t just a trick I could do to make room for seconds anymore. It became about the high, the feeling of control I had for once in my life. I had a shitty childhood, but I don’t want to get into that tonight…”

  “No pressure. You tell us whatever you’re ready to, when you’re ready to tell it, and how or if we can help,” Roxie says, and I smile, knowing it’s true. My friends would do anything for me, just as I would for them.

  In the end, we somehow wound up sitting side by side on my bed, talking for hours. I opened up about my battle and my recovery, as well as my relapses. We talked about the tools I’m using to help myself, and why tonight felt like such a major setback. I wanted them to know and understand the person I was, and the healthier person I’m becoming, and how having them in my life has helped, and continues to. I wanted them to know that I was still—and always would be—a work in progress, but how I would always keep fighting, even times like tonight when I fucked up. I assured them I will fuck up, but I’ll also always work my hardest to bounce back. Tears were shed, as well as laughter, as admissions and revelations were made from each of us about lives, our own hang-ups, how we see ourselves, and—best of all—how important we are to each other. By the time I insisted they go join the others, I had to smile to myself. Because Kristie was right. It felt really, really good to open up.

  The conversation, however, left me feeling overwhelmed and reflective, too, familiar feelings that I always have after therapy. So, with no treehouse and no Lucky, I find myself up on the roof of the Hotel Saskatchewan, staring up at the stars, reconnecting, and grounding myself.

  Lucky: I’m proud of you for opening up to the girls, Squirt. I think it will help.

  Me: Yeah, it was time.

  Yet at the same time, a feeling of uneasiness washes over me, especially about the fact that I wasn’t able to open up about everything, like my parents or my aunt. One day, I hope I’m confident enough to trust the band with that. I just worry they’ll pity me, and that’s the last thing I want.

  Lucky: I hate to say it, but I think you either need to learn a way not to let social media get to you, or not look at it. I know it’s hard, but it’s obviously a trigger. I’m worried about you.

  Me: I know. I need to fix that. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.

  I want so much to believe my own words.

  Lucky: You will, I have faith. Maybe you need to find a group to drop into.

  Me: I know. But I’m proud of you for getting asked to help up at Borden. That’s huge!

  Lucky: I know. I’m stoked. But if you need me, Al, I’m there.

  Lucky’s texts refer to the once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity he’s accepted at Base Borden, where they want him to serve as a guest instructor for the next month at one of their upcoming field technical training units. It’s an offer I’m not entirely sure he would have accepted so readily had I still been home. So there’s no way I’m about to let him second-guess his decision. I love my brother, but sometimes I worry he doesn’t always give me enough credit. The only way I’d let him fly out here is for a vacation.

  Me: No way. I promise I’m all right. Talking to Kristie helped, and I’m going to a group in Vancouver next week. If I need you, I’ll ask. Promise.

  Lucky: You better, Squirt. You are more important than anything, and I mean it.

  Me: That means everything. I better go.

  Lucky: Love you, sis. You should be able to see Antares from where you are. It’s the brightest star in Scorpius. Look it up. Then text me all about it.

  Me: I’ll be sure to check it out. Thanks, Lucky.

  Lucky: I’m always here.

  I sigh, placing my phone down on the roof ledge. A wave of guilt hits me in the chest like a freight train, knowing that I’ve made Lucky worry. But with my behaviour tonight, he’s right to be worried. Hell, I’m worried. Or I was, at least, until I spoke to Kristie.

  After leaving the restaurant, once Rox and I got back to the hotel, I had called her cell using the card she gave me at my last session, the one listing her personal number. I ended up leaving a message at first, but thankfully she called me back fairly quickly. She told me, with all things considered, I needed to give myself a pass on this one. Four laxatives wasn’t the end of the world, and I shouldn’t see it as the beginning of the end. After a good forty-five minute session, we hung up, and I felt better about the whole situation.

  Picking up my phone, I connect to the hotel’s Wi-Fi before pulling up a star chart for Regina to help me find where Scorpius should be at this time of night. Looking up and squinting my eyes, I’m able to see what I think might be it, a scorpion with two arm-like pinchers and a tail with a stinger. After a few seconds, I feel myself relax when I spot Antares—the gleaming heart of the scorpion.

  I also shoot Lucky another quick text, letting him know I found them both, and thank him for the distraction.

  34

  Alina

  I’m hiding among the stars

  Where nobody can see me

  And I know you’re there waiting

  To catch me when I fall.

  ’Cause we both know, I’ll fall

  I always fall…

  “Ali?”

  My hand lifts the pen from my notebook where I’ve been writing either a poem or a song, I haven’t decided yet. Looking up, I feel a rush of nerves as I see Slater approach. I’m wrapped in a blanket on one of the rooftop patio’s chaise lounges, sprawled out with my self-soothe box open beside me.

  “I’m over here,” I croak, my voice still rough from crying earlier, and I see him looking concerned. His eyes are intense, taking me in. I must look a mess, no makeup, hair dishevelled from the breeze up here, hair I can’t bring myself to tie up off my face because I’m just not there yet.

  “Hey. You okay?” he asks, leaning down and wiping away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. He sits down at the end of the chaise and lifts my feet onto his lap.

 
“I will be.” I offer a small smile.

  “I know you will.” He pauses. “I can tell you’re a fighter, Ali.”

  I want to ask what makes him say that, but I don’t want to be that girl who comes across as fishing for compliments. Especially when it’s the last thing I could really appreciate right now, because it’s not as if I’m in the right frame of mind to gracefully accept or believe it.

  “What are you doing up here?” I ask, leaning up and slipping my feet off his lap, giving us both more room to get comfortable. At least, I hope he sees that’s my intention.

  “A bunch of us are heading out to a club. I went to your room and you weren’t there, so I knocked on Paisley’s, and they were all there getting ready except you,” he says, looking at me. “Shiv said you weren’t coming out tonight. I didn’t like that,” he shrugs, “so I managed to smooth-talk myself into finding out your whereabouts. And now I’m here.”

  I nod, failing miserably to hide the smile his admission brings. God, he’s perfect.

  “I’m glad you found me,” I admit, surprising myself.

  “Good. Me too. Listen,” he clears his throat, “I’m not the best at this kind of thing, Ali. It’s obvious you’re going through some stuff. I want to be here if you ever need me. Okay? Despite thinking you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, I want to be friends.” He pauses, and my heart sinks. Of course. He wants to be friends. Why would he want anything more than that with you? “I want you to know you can trust me,” he confesses, stealing my breath. Somehow, while we’ve been talking, our lips have become no less than a whisper’s breath away from each other. A feeling of hope unfurls in my stomach. Maybe I’m wrong? Maybe he does want more than friendship? Maybe we can be both, friends and more…

  “That means a lot, Slater, thank you,” I say, closing my eyes and feeling his thumb brushing along my cheek. Without hesitation, I start to lean into his touch. It feels right.

  “Alina,” he groans. I open my eyes, and within an instant I make a monumental mistake.

  Rather than lean in more, I turn my cheek when Slater Jenkins moves in to kiss me. Internally, I’m confused and freaking out.

  “Right,” he says, before I can fix it. He bolts up and repeats, “Friends,” letting out a forced laugh. “What the fuck am I doing?” he asks himself, gripping the back of his neck. “I can’t do this…” I think I hear him mutter as he starts to walk towards the door leading back into the hotel.

  “Slater,” I call, panicked. No. Please. “Slater, wait.”

  “And this is why I don’t bother…What a jackass—I don’t need this shit. The music world already had one Yoko…” I hear him muttering to himself. I’m not sure what any of it means, but I know it hurts. My heart sinks, knowing I’ve put a huge wedge between myself and the one person I want more than anyone else.

  “I’ll see you around, Alina,” Slater calls over his shoulder, slamming the rooftop door as he exits.

  “Slater, please! Come back,” I call. “Noooooo. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I bang my fists on my thighs, and throw my notebook and pen somewhere across the patio. “I’m sorry…” I mutter at the now-empty rooftop space.

  Will it always be like this?

  Will I ever be normal?

  I lay down on the chaise, curled up in a ball, my hands unable to keep up with wiping the tears as they escape. They cascade down my cheeks, down my chin, and soak the cushion beneath me.

  You’re such a fuckup…

  You are not worth the effort…

  You will never be enough…

  Her voice wrestles me to sleep, tarnishing the one place I’ve always felt safe…outside under the stars.

  35

  Alina

  I’m sitting on an airplane headed to Vancouver, British Columbia, from Regina, Saskatchewan, and for the first time since the start of the tour, Slater and I are each sitting alone. I don’t know who let it happen, him or me or both of us.

  Neither of us has said a word to each other in the four days since the rooftop.

  Since the night I let us both down.

  Truth is, I can’t blame him for reacting the way he did or for distancing himself from me. Maybe I need to let him go? Maybe having him upset with me is for the best? Lord knows. My head’s a mess.

  The last four days have been hard. So many times I looked his way, hoping I’d see a hint on his face that we were all right, or catch him stealing a glance at me. But he didn’t, and all I could see was a mask of indifference where I was concerned.

  In spite of that, the last three nights of shows have been amazing for Happenstance as a band. We seem to have found our groove, and we’re finally getting the recognition we’ve worked so hard for. The audiences loved us, and last night we performed our first encore. Emotionally, though, it’s been brutal. Slater and I have both been ignoring each other, him from anger and hurt, me from embarrassment and the lack of knowing what the hell I’m doing.

  All I know is, I did this.

  Not Slater, me, and I have no clue how to fix this—us.

  All I know is, I’m losing him. If I haven’t already lost him.

  For the first time in almost four weeks, Slater didn’t stand in the wings cheering us on as he watched our performance, and I left to go backstage before Sicken Union took the stage to headline.

  And we stopped going out with the others, where we had always previously ended up spending the night with the just two of us off in our own little bubble. Instead, I hid in my room, alone.

  And now on the plane, I’m not sitting here watching a stupid inflight movie with the man who makes me feel like I might matter more than I deserve.

  I did this.

  I burst our bubble.

  The girls have been worried, but I’ve assured them I’ll be all right. I’ve accessed the online support group and Kristie a few times to keep my head afloat, and so far, other than feeling sad, I’ve managed to fight off Her voice from dragging me under.

  I attribute this to the fact that, despite mourning the loss of Slater’s presence, I’ve been doing well at focusing on the good. I have a lot of great things happening in my life right now, even if I don’t have Slater. I have my friends—and this amazing tour—to keep me busy, all of which I’m so very grateful for, and I refuse to let myself lose sight of that. So far, I’m still in control, and for that I’m proud of myself. Even though on the inside I’m hurting so fucking much, knowing I’ve driven a wedge between Slater and me. Not having a clue how to fix that is starting to weigh me down, but I’m fighting against it as best I can.

  There are so many things I want to say to Slater, yet I can’t seem to find the words to even start expressing how I feel about him, or to open up and admit I want to try for more with him.

  And to apologize for not kissing him like I’ve thought about doing so many times I’ve lost count.

  To confess all of my secrets and hope he’s willing to fight alongside me in my battle.

  To give him the chance to teach me, and continue to show me, that I’m worth it.

  I want back in our bubble. I just don’t have a clue how to get back in.

  I stare at the blank monitor on the seatback in front of me, counting the minutes until we land.

  36

  Slater

  I fucked up.

  I’ve gone about my relationship with Alina the wrong way. Being careful, not wanting to scare her, and working slowly to earn her trust. And I ended up putting myself in the friend zone.

  I thought she’d kiss me back.

  I was convinced she was feeling the same, feeling more.

  Fuck me, was I wrong.

  Not sitting on the plane together, laughing and feeling her close to me, was torture. It took everything for me to walk past her, but I wasn’t about to embarrass myself for a second time so I sat at the back of the plane where I couldn’t even see her. Then, about midway through the flight, I felt her presence beside me in the aisle when she made her way back to the washroom
. I pretended I was sleeping. Ignoring her like I did took willpower unlike anything I’ve ever had to use before. When she paused briefly beside my seat, I wanted so badly to pull her down and hold on to her, begging for forgiveness for overstepping. But I let her go, and it fucking killed me.

  We’ve been in Vancouver for two days now, and without Ali to hang around with, I find myself pissed off and bored. I guess it’s time to slip back into my old ways, to remind myself of the man I really am. It’s time to get back to being the guy who can have any girl he wants.

  Even if I still want Ali…

  I know I can’t give her what she deserves. A girl like her and a guy like me don’t belong together, despite the way she makes me feel. I’ve already become too soft where she’s concerned. Tonight my plan is to ensure we both know we’ll never be more than friends.

  “Just as she wants it,” I remind myself, walking deeper into the afterparty the label’s hosting tonight at the Roxy Cabaret, located on Vancouver’s famous Granville Street.

  Walking through the crowd of fans, groupies, and partygoers, I take a sip from my second beer, stopping for the obligatory fan photos, a couple of autographs—and a few shooters—while my eyes scan the room, looking for her in spite of my better judgment. A group of girls surrounds me, all vying for my attention. One goes so far as to tug on the sleeve of my black Incubus T-shirt, trying to get me to follow her, while a few other scantily clad groupies rub up against me, trying to get me to dance. Sure, they’re all pretty—and obviously more than willing to give me the release I seek. If it were any other tour, I’d be a more than willing participant. But my eyes are already set on one woman in particular. A flash of red appears in the distance, and immediately I know it’s her.

  Sasha.

  We’d met a few years back on Sicken Union’s first Western tour, and whenever we’ve passed this way since then, I’ve always made it a point to invite her to our shows when we’re in Vancouver. With long blonde hair and a round ass, Sasha’s a guaranteed no-strings-attached party girl who’s always down for a fuck. And that’s exactly what I’m in the mood for: sex. No strings, no feelings, just plain old dirty sex. For a while there, I lost sight of who I was, so tonight I’m going to let Sasha remind me.