Page 76 of Guy's Girl
But throughout it all, there’s one constant—Adrian. He never says so, but she can tell he’s watching. He sits close enough for her to know he’s there, to ask for help if she needs it, but far enough that she doesn’t feel him breathing down her neck.
Tonight, she finishes her whole plate, then is overcome with the urge to grab his grandparents’ plates out of their hands and dump them down her throat, too. Both urges scream at her at once:Don’t eat. Eat everything. Don’t eat. Eat everything.
As if he can read her mind, Adrian nudges his plate toward her. “Want it?”
She shakes her head.
“Are you sure? Because it’s okay if you do.”
Whatever she takes from his plate, she cannot give back. Whatever she puts in her body, she must keep down. She eats his potatoes. She eats Imre’s potatoes. Then she sits in her chair and wants to cry.
Tentatively, Adrian lowers his hand and places it over her fist, clenched so tight atop her napkin. Her eyes dart up, but he doesn’t look down at her. Doesn’t make a big deal of this small gesture of comfort.
He keeps his hand there until her fingers loosen, eventually coming apart altogether.
***
After dinner, they move into the living room. Adrian plays Snapszer with his grandparents. Ginny lies on the couch. She thinks that Imre and Eszter must believe there is something seriously wrong with her; all she ever does is lie around and scribble in her notebook.
Well, joke’s on them, she thinks.Thereissomething wrong with me. Many, many things.
Adrian glances at her several times. By the fourth or fifth glance, she raises her eyes and meets his gaze. Instead of acting embarrassed, he smiles. “It’s good to see you writing,” he says in English.
She looks down, cheeks burning.
She wonders what he would think if he knew she isn’t doing this for fun. That she’s writing because it feels like the only thing keeping her tethered to the face of the planet. That, if she doesn’t write, she will binge, or purge, or simply erupt in a cloud of smoke and float away, never to be seen again.
***
The next morning is different. After breakfast, Adrian asks if Ginny wants to go for a walk.
For the last two days, she hasn’t wanted to do much of anything. She’s been too exhausted. But this morning, she’s surprised to find a touch of energy buzzing through her body. She says yes.
There is just one issue: by now, the initial shock of her current situation has passed, and she’s started to feel the embarrassment she believes she should have felt since the very first day. She’s in a foreign country, intruding in the home of the grandparents of a boy with whom she used to have sex. Her common sense has finally caught up with her, and she’s humiliated.
All of that to say—she doesn’t want Adrian to feel like he has to babysit her.
“You don’t have to accompany me if you’re busy,” she says.
“That’s okay. I’d like to stretch my legs.” He pauses in tying his shoes. “Plus... Well. I don’t really want to leave you alone right now.”
Oh. Right. Because she could easily find a bush to throw up into on the side of the road.
She’s such a fucking liability.
***
On their walk, Adrian leads her down the hill through winding cobblestoned walkways flanked by alternately colorful or crumbling houses. He points out landmarks as they go: art galleries, famous homes, small statues done by famous artists. She tries to pay attention, but she can’t stop perseverating over her own guilt. Adrian’s words, chipper as they are, seem, in that moment, to be coated in a thick layer of pity.
It only gets worse when Adrian says, “I think it’s time we talk about treatment.”
She freezes on the cobblestones. “What?”
Adrian stops, too. “Getting you into recovery.Realrecovery, I mean, not just the low-grade version we’ve thrown together here.”
The thought of going into a treatment center, with its white walls and sterile bedsheets... “I don’t—”
“I know it’s scary, Gin.” He steps forward and takes her hands. “I know you don’t want to disrupt your life. But I’ve been reading about eating disorder recovery, and the thing is—treatment centers are the gold standard. They really are. If you’re serious about making a change...” He eyes her meaningfully.
