Page 36 of Impossible

“Hello?” a light feminine voice calls out.

“Hold on one sec,” I rasp. I get to my feet slowly, the headrush refusing to clear even when I crouch. I’ve been such a wreck, I realize that all I’ve eaten since Saturday is a bag of fruit snacks and a cup of applesauce from the little bag of snacks Leon grabbed for me on Friday. And it’s now Monday night. Victory lances through the dizziness.

When it becomes clear I won’t be able to stand upright without passing out, I walk hunched over. I don’t want to keep whoever it is waiting for my stupid brain to start working right. I open the door and stand back.

“Sorry, wicked headrush,” I mumble.

“Oh. Um. Hi.”

I look up and see that it’s a tiny omega with fiery red hair and plump, freckled cheeks. She smells of fresh cut apples and smiles awkwardly, revealing crooked teeth. She’s holding a tray.

“Hi. Come in, I guess?” I straighten slowly, my vision going entirely grey static. I cling to the bed, hoping I look at least semi-normal.

“I’m Cecilia, and um, this is dinner. This was also outside your door. I don’t know what it is.”

I squint to see what she’s offering. A white envelope.

I take it and pull out the paper inside, struggling to focus on the black printed characters swimming across the white page. I think I must be hallucinating because it’s filled with strange things. Alpha/omega Nutrition, Pack Bonds and Behaviors,andHormonal and Heat Studiesare mixed in with things like Calculus and Physics and English.

“What the fuck?” I whisper. “This is so bogus.”

“What do you have? Maybe we have a class together.”

I realize I’ve totally ignored the girl. She hovers next to the tray.

“Here,” I shove the paper towards her. “But it’s a mistake. I’m graduated, I shouldn’t be in any classes.”

“They probably want to help you meet people, a lot of graduates still take classes. Helps with college apps too, if you go that route. Oh, we have nutrition and heat studies!” she chirps. “Thank god. Nutrition sucks, it’s all pack-princesses. You’re beta-born, right?”

I nod mutely.Pack princesses?My eyes are stuck on the tray she set down—it’s covered in plates with little lids on them. They can’t seriously expect me to eat all that.

“Oh, um, that’s both of our dinners. We’re going to eat together.”

I look at her again. She’s younger than me, I think. Unsure of herself.

“I don’t eat in front of people actually,” I say. I can smell something sweet coming from one of the covered bowls—fruit, definitely melon, maybe strawberries too? I could get used to this heightened sense of smell. I can’t wait for this girl—she said her name was Cecilia?—to leave so I can dig in. “Sorry they sent you, but you can just leave the food and go.”

She shuffles back and forth. She is tiny—barely scratching five feet tall. We probably weigh the same, but she’s got the curves she’s supposed to where I’m all bones. I can’t help but feel superior, and then immediately guilty and angry at myself for comparing.

“Um, I can’t go,” she hesitates. “I’m sorry, I know this sucks; I actually, um, was in your shoes once. I mean, I had an ED. Not anorexia, but um, yeah. I get it.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I don’t know why. Like I’m the only one allowed to have an eating disorder? Like I’m somehow special for being broken? I’m probably just hungry. Iwantto eat that food. After two full days of fasting, I deserve it. I just don’t wantherto watch me doing it. I shuffle back and forth, mirroring her discomfort. The headrushes will probably get better if I eat. What I would give to not have the fog of war perpetually haunting the edges of my vision.

“This is kind of a tradition,” she half-smiles, reading my silence as encouragement to go on. “When mine got really bad, they stopped making me eat in the cafeteria and sent another omega to eat with me instead. Her name was Cora. She was my best friend, actually. She had an ED too, way back, and she ate with me while I figured out how to not upchuck everything I put in my mouth. She uh, just bonded a few months ago. It’s been kind of sucky without her.”

So that’s it. She thinks this is her legacy or something. That I’ll become the next happy healed omega to indoctrinate another broken girl into the order. I bite back my bitterness. I can see the hope in her eyes now—I thought before that it was pity, but it isn’t. She’s lonely.

Her cheeks are rosy and round and she is cute as a button. She has to have other friends, friends of her own. Or some pack waiting in the wings for her first heat, if she hasn’t had it yet.

Bulimia. Ugh. The thought of glutting myself only to then spew it all back up? Gross. I can’t imagine her on her knees in a bathroom, sticking her fingers down her throat. God. I always felt superior to the girls who vomited instead of starving. They didn’t have the self-control to stop themselves. I did.

Looking at Cecilia now, I don’t feel superior. I feel shitty.

I still haven’t said anything, and she’s really squirming now. “They didn’t even give you much to eat. Just some fruit salad and half a sandwich. The rest is mine.”

I look at the tray. Five covered plates and bowls. The room really isn’t big enough for two people to eat comfortably.

“How do you feel about eating outside?” I ask.

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