Page 5 of Toxic Wishes

She clears her throat, catching the sour expression on Blake’s face. “I would have brought more, but-”

“No worries, Ma’am, I just got my stomach pumped. It was full of drugs. Food is the last thing on my mind.”

My mom blinked at Blake, and I shut my eyes tight before opening them again.

“Okay. Abigail, let me get you a slice.” She walks over to the pizza box, takes a slice, and places it on a paper towel. Handing it to me, I take the pizza and look down at it. For the first time, I’m not so scared to eat some cheesy bread that’s staring right back at me.

2

Abigail

“Music can heal the wounds in which medicine cannot touch”-Debasish Mridha

“One, two, three.” The maestro waves his hands in the air, and his wild, curly hair bounces along with his body's motions. I’m pretty sure we all paid attention to the instructor because it was hard not to. He was so eccentric and passionate that it almost was comical to watch. Getting ready for the Christmas concert coming up, accented his attributes that much more. My mind drifts off as we play along to the notes that stood before us.

It has been two weeks since I’ve been back in school. When the doctor let me go, I wasn’t near the weight I was supposed to be, but my vitals were good and stabilized, and I couldn’t miss any more school without it raising a major red flag. Plus, I think they were tired of my mom complaining every time she visited me at the hospital. It felt good to return to life, even though I didn’t have much of one. I needed to regain all the weight I lost, about thirty pounds, so I’m taking this as a chance to feel like I'm on vacation. And not give a fuck.

At first, I was mad when the doctor ordered my mom to ensure I ate every meal. It gave me anxiety like I was out of control since I’ve been in such a routine. I wouldn’t be able to work out like I usually did, but I could walk, and once I reached a healthy weight, I could get back to jogging and lifting weights. The beauty is that I can eat what I want and slowly get back to a healthy weight. Since I was only 5'3”, that would be around 115-120 lbs.

I stopped going to counseling because dad told mom it was unnecessary, and she lost the argument because she didn’t make the money. I told her the sessions helped, I even begged her to let me continue and to try and find a way to convince Dad the money was worth spending. She said she tried, but the conclusion was that the sessions were too expensive. Which made me believe she didn’t put up much of a fight, but I’m sure if the fight pertained to mom getting a job, she would put on fighting gloves to battle that argument. I wasn’t even shocked by their rejection. It wasn’t the first time they had denied me something I truly wanted or needed.

Honestly, I expected this to happen sooner or later. A part of me blames myself for being an academy actress, making my parents believe I was all better now that I was home, but the truth was, I wasn’t. This was a long-life problem, and I will have to help myself with it.

Abby, you are tough. You aren't a girl who relies on image. You’re Tough.

I knew I was fucked up, but in the short amount of time I saw my therapist, she verified that. Not only did I have a dad who treated me differently than my older sister, he was harder on me. On top of it, I knew the real reason for the difference in treatment: I was the uglier one. Okay, I’m not unattractive, but sometimes it feels that way when your sister and cousins are drop-dead gorgeous. And they weren’t just pretty, they were perfect. You know, the picture-perfect pretty, the kind you don’t even have to try at. Growing up, I hated taking pictures with them. I couldn’t stand looking at myself. To this day, I still still avoid it as much as I can. I got used to not looking in the mirror, which explained why I didn’t notice how much weight I lost.

“Okay, that’s enough for today. We’ll start at the top of Jingle Bells tomorrow. Remember, practice, practice, practice,” my orchestra teacher says, breaking me away from my thoughts. Everyone starts to pack up their instruments. “That’s the only way you get better. And don’t just play the notes; feel them,” our orchestra teacher shouts as we all start to head out the door.

It was lunch time, and I usually ended up eating in the bathroom or snuck outside and ate by myself next to the door with a rock next to it. I used it to prop the door open, allowing me to get back in without anyone noticing.

I made one friend at this school during freshman year, but she was absent today. So I had no choice but to eat in my usual spot. My mom packed me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with chips, cottage cheese, and an applesauce pouch like I was still in second grade. I’m not sure if she packed applesauce and cottage cheese to make me feel better or as a reminder of what I ate every morning for the past six months, but I gave her a C-minus for trying.

I left my violin in the classroom then I retrieved it before my mom came to pick me up from school, so no one saw me walking around with it. I loved music, because it helped me to perfect my singing, but being in Orchestra as your extracurricular activity was considered a notch down from playing in band during your high school career. The kids in the band got made fun of, but once the popular kids found out you were in the Orchestra, they shunned you as an outcast. To some athletes, the band kids were even considered cool since they went to the football games and got to socialize with the football players. Some even ranked them high up there, like the cheerleaders, since the band members would put on a show for their parents, friends, and family as well.

I took my time so no one would notice me as everyone rushed to the cafeteria. As I washed my hands, I avoided looking in the mirror. But when I did, I noticed my ponytail was slipping, so I re-tied it. I almost always wore my hair up to school. My hair was curly, another thing about me that stood out. I envied girls with straight blonde hair and blue eyes. They had no idea how blessed they were. Like my cousins, they all looked like the all-American sweetheart every guy dreamed about.

On the other hand, I had a dirty blond color that could be considered a light brown or a dark blonde, kinky curls, and greenish-hazel eyes that looked more brown when I wore neutral colors and more green when I wore blue undertones. I pulled out a chapstick and applied some to my lips. I grabbed my backpack and headed out of the bathroom. I looked to my left and saw no one, then to my right. The coast was clear. The cafeteria was loud, with chattering noises behind me, so I’m sure the teachers and faculty had joined the students by now. I quickly tiptoed to the exit door and opened it, moving fast to the other side, finding my usual spot on the bench. I slipped my backpack off, pulled out my lunch bag and grabbed my apple. Taking a bite, I savored the juices, closing my eyes as I chewed. I didn’t have time to eat breakfast today. Okay, I had time to eat something, but since my teachers monitored me, I had to eat my lunch. And I would rather save all my calories for lunch and dinner when I was being watched like a criminal.

And I know I can dump it all in the trash since no one would know, but if I don’t gain weight, my teachers would catch on to that game.

I silently eat by myself and start to scroll through my phone. Not that I have anyone to text back or talk to, which is fine, it gives me more time to listen to my music. I open my iTunes app and press play. Dancing in the Moonlight starts glaring through my tiny phone speakers. I tap my foot gently as I take another bite of my apple. This song always puts me in a good mood. How could it not, with the catchy beat and tune? I moved my head side to side as I closed my eyes, once more, singing along with the lyrics, but another voice came out when I was about to sing to the chorus.

“Get it Abs.” A boy’s voice says. Turning my head, I accidentally drop my apple to the ground.

“Jesus Christ, Blake.” I place my free hand on my chest. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Besides, to be discreet, you’ll have to try harder than letting a rock hold a door open. It’s a dead giveaway.” he sits beside me and continues smoking whatever is in his hand.

I cough as he blows it out. A cigarette? It shouldn’t surprise me that he smokes, but for some reason, it bothered me. He was way too young to be doing half the stuff he was doing. I started coughing as the smoke traveled in my direction, waving a hand in the air.

“Blake, are you seriously smoking on school grounds?”

“It’s a plant, not a toxic stick killer. Besides, it’s my medicine. It calms me. I had to detox after they let me go from the hospital, which was the worst. I swear to God I thought that was going to kill me more than the drugs themself.”

I continued to cough as he smoked. “Will you let that thing out? I’m going to go back inside smelling like a bong.”

He pulls a bottle out of his pocket. “Gotchu covered, sweetheart.” He holds up the cologne bottle.

---