crash&burn.

“Hold me close,

I'm falling faster.

Tell me this could last forever.

Hold me close,

I'm falling faster.”

.A Winter's Day Monologue - Saturday at The Apollo.

I've been at The Friend's for two days with Samantha, and Dakota.

The Friend isn't there most of the time, she's at the theater, so it's just me and Dakota spread out on the bed watching Disney movies.

I love being with her. We flirt and hug and cuddle.

When she arrived and saw me, she ran down the hallway, throwing her stuff in The Friend's room beyond the open door, and knocked into me. I was smothered into a hug.

I laughed, saying "Oh my god, I thought you were about to throw your stuff at me."

She grinned. "I missed yooooou!" She squealed, and I jumped away into The Friend's room, emerging with chocolate and a bear.

"Are those for ME?"

"Yes, silly."

She squealed again, and grabbed the bear and chocolate out of my arms.

"Thank you soooo much!"

She offers me to have some of the chocolate, and I refuse, shaking my head back and forth slowly.

Later, at dinner we go to a friend's house. The details are a blur.

I know we sat in the back room and played with boxes, I know we laughed, and I know at some pointed I was lying on the floor, laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, and Dakota half-sprawled ontop of me, her lungs dying with lack of air too.

Then we're eating. My plate is half salad, half scallop potatoes. I nervously push the scalloped potatoes away from my vegetables. My eyes dart from side to side. People are watching me. I can feel their eyes, and then I see them.

I wipe the cheese sauce from the potatoes I shoved to the polar opposite side of the plate, stab a forkful of lettuce, and raise it to my mouth. The bite is a little big, and I'm afraid I'll have to stretch my mouth open to eat it. I might get some of the 1/2 tablespoon of Italian on my chin, or....horrors of horrors, pieces might stick out of my mouth. I drop the fork, scrape off the lettuce, cut it all into little pieces, separate the untouching potatoes and lettuce again, wipe my fork, and take a smaller stab at my salad.

After the lettuce dwindles, I separate the tomatoes and cucumbers and carrots from it in different piles, and eat the remaining leaves.

Dakota nudges my arm. "Eat your potatoes."

I spread them around their half of the plate.

Ten minutes later, I scoop half of them onto her plate. "Here, you should have these," I tell her.

She stares at me. "Fine, but you better eat what's left."

I shook my head. "I don't like potatoes."

"You ate a buttload of potato at my house just a couple months ago."

I don't have the heart-or the courage-to tell her I hid what I 'ate' that night.

At this dinner, she catches me dropping food into my shoe, and spitting out the potato bite she forced into my mouth into my napkin. I swallow a gulp of my drink, swish it, and spit it back into my cup. None of the cheese sauce would stay that way.

After dinner, I'm throwing away napkins in the garbage in the laundry room when she comes up next to me.

"You spit it out, didn't you." It's not a question.

"What?" I asked as if I didn't know.

When everyone is having dessert, I hide in the kitchen washing the dishes. Everyone gloats about "what a perfect child" I am.

A perfect child would've eaten nothing that day, not 217 slimy, greasy, harmful, disgusting calories.

The next day, it's Valentine's Day, and I survive dinner again with Dakota staring me down through my lies. 'I don't like the rice-it's spicy.' 'I'm allergic to the dyes in that.' 'That's roasted in chicken when it's made, so it has meat. ....Sorry.' 'No...I only like ______ dressing, so green salad is fine. Thank you!' 'Haha, no. I poured the regular kind. Diet is grooooss.'

I'm all smiles and laughs and 'please's and 'thank you's. Sara puts the bag of salad next to my plate when I finish what I consider my meal. She always does that when I don't eat enough. She doesn't look at me, or say anything. Just picks up whatever vegetables I'm tolerating that night, and places them next to me. After 198 of vegetables, I'm scared and standing in the mirror, looking at my stomach. I measure. 27. 27 inches. That's two inches more than The Friend-who is a size 0.

After dinner, we're laughing, and joking, and suddenly it goes quiet. I slowly realize she's staring at something.

"Can I see?"

I push down the pant leg of my sweaties that had gone up.

"...See what?"

"The cuts."

I shook my head. "I don't have cuts, only scars."

It's quiet for a minute and I know my lie failed.

So I nod to her and reluctantly push up the hem.

"Oh my god, what did you DO?"

She leans forward to see closer as I shove the fabric back down.

She grabs my wrists. I'm sure she can feel my pulse quicken underneath her finger tips, because I'm afraid.

"Let me see, Ari."

"No...."

"Let. Me. See."

My fingers slip away from what they're protecting, and she looks.

I don't dare tell her they've been healing for a few days.

My eyes widen when she reaches for her bag, fumbles around, and brings out a brown bottle and green bandage.

I scoot back, realizing she must have brought those for me. "Come back here," she says in the way that means it's not an option.

"They're not that bad, Dak...They're not that bad. They really aren't."

"Yes. They. Are. Hold still, this is going to sting."

"They're not that bad."

"Me, or hospital."

I offer her my leg, and brace when she spreads something burning across them.

After burny-whatever-it-is dries, she wraps my leg around in bandages.

After more minutes of silence, I look up. "Dak..."

I pulled up my pant leg farther to show more.

My eyes are down. It's a confession that I'm worse than I seem.

Before she has a chance to react, I grab the bottle myself and spread burny-stingy-deathliquid across, staring her straight in the eye without wincing.

I'm not helpless. I can take care of myself.

"I'm okay. I promise."

There's more laughing, there's more silence, there's more hugging and grabbing each other's hands, more turning out of lights and staring at each other. We undecided on what to do about each other. Last time we tried to kiss, I was so nervous that I talked nonstop to prevent it.

We lay side by side in the bed in the living room, watch movies until blue light is in the windows.

I almost faint in front of her. The Friend just got home in time to sleep, and I'm standing and talking when all of the sudden...it hurts. I teetered, i can vaguely see my face going blank in the wall that's made of mirror.

Dakota blinks, leans forward and takes a step towards me. “Are you okay?”

“....yeah.” I cling to the walls, leaning on them to the bathroom.

I lock myself in, cling to the sink, breathing heavily. My heart is slow, slow, slow. Then it's fast, winning whatever race we're running. go, go, go.

She's outside the door asking if I'm alright.

Yesterday, when she leaves, and The Friend is back for the rest of the three day weekend, I feel a little fake. I feel realer around Dak, like I'm not just 3-D illusion, but solid and breathing.

I want to cling to her. I want to grab her so I don't drown, but I can't do that to her. Before, I was selfish. I let everyone know who I was and what was happening to me. People were hurt. People were lost. People were crying. It was a war zone caused by a common enemy/ally I can't let that happen now. I can't do it to Dakota, either. I can't hurt her.

we bundle up, put on a brave face. smile.

I stayed in bed for hours this morning, huddled in blankets.

at the end, we just learn to go home frozen.

I'm okay after some water, though. I go home to my family, turn on the heaters, and laugh.

/