The Unity of Denial

Cell-mates in hell understand.

The dinner part of the evening was ending, and Catherine was becoming uneasy. It was the same dilemma every time, the one that kept her at home most weekends and had made her a terribly good maker of excuses. She was only really here because she'd known Julia, the birthday girl, since the second grade, and Julia was the type of person who took that to mean the same as sisterhood. Catherine had stared at the wall of her bedroom for ages looking for a way out of it that wouldn't put that kicked-puppy expression on Julia's face, but in vain. So she was here, at Juliet's house, with twenty other girls all stuck together in a monstrous amalgam of hormones and mascara, feeling the painfully familiar slimy, greasy sensation creeping over her skin. 

Feeling the sensation that, she knew, would not go away until she'd... taken care of things.

All in all, she'd not done too awfully bad. It was always easier to eat less in front of all those catty, over-lined eyes, eyes she was sure were following every forkful. By careful maneuvering, she was sure she'd be able to avoid having a piece of cake pressed on her, a trick of which she always felt particularly proud when successful. Well, as proud as she could ever be these days.

She waited until the table had been cleared away, big, mournful eyes following the remains of a lasagna until they disappeared into the kitchen. Stop that, she scolded. No pity, no exceptions, not ever. No matter how weak she was with hunger, no matter how her throat hurt and her eyes burned and her mind raged, it had to be this way. The girls were sitting in a tight ring around Julia, prattling and giggling and not seeming to care in the slightest about what they'd just eaten, about how all that starch and cheese and meat would weigh down their skinny little bodies.

Catty s***s, she fumed. Fumed, but without heat. It was not with them that she was really angry...  If it wouldn't have left an ostentatious bruise, Catherine would gladly have decked herself. As it was, she had to settle with a severe lecture. What had she been thinking? Lasagna?

Oh, good... the bathroom's upstairs. Harder to hear, that way. She crept up the stairs, heart bursting with fear and anger and pain and... something else. A savage, cruel joy, not even so much joy as triumph, but the only thing left. She could feel her stomach start to twist and retch. The relief was almost palpable.

But the bathroom door was closed. Upon inspection, it was also locked, and the light was definitely on inside. Damn...

Catherine froze. She was certain she could hear gagging. She leaned into the door, shuddering with terror lest someone see her and question her behavior.

Yes, it was definitely gagging. 

So, either someone is getting sick... Or they have the same idea I do.

It seemed an age before the door finally swung back open, revealing a rather ragged-looking girl, tall and, under ordinary circumstances, obviously quite pretty. Rachel, was it? A good friend of Julia's. 

"Oh... I... I'm sorry for taking so long... I'll just, eh..." She looked as jumpy as Catherine felt. No way. This is definitely not happening.

"Oh no... Not a problem...Just... are you okay? Your face looks a bit... puffy..

"No, I'm fine. Totally fine. You? Are you ... are you okay? I mean... have you been here long, or...?

"Only a couple minutes. Totally all right. I promise. Well... as all right as you, anyway."

Rachel's face froze. "Whaddaya mean? Are you... are you sick?

"No." Ah, what the hell.  "And neither are you."

"You heard me. Dang , you heard me! This is so embarrassing... How do you know?"

"Oh, believe me.  I know the signs." Very, very well.

"Then you were waiting so you could..." And Rachel began to laugh. There wasn't much joy in it.

"Oh, this is fantastic. What are the odds?"

"I know... Man, this is really awkward." They stood, staring at nothing in particular. 

"So... erm... Catherine, isn't it? How long have you been..."

"Eight months." Bitterness radiated from her words. "Tomorrow's my... anniversary, if you want to call it that. I was thinking of getting flowers. No chocolate, though. Hell no." Unbidden, tears welled up in her eyes.

"Two years for me. Two years, and I can't get out. I've tried... Tried so hard... Failed every time..." 

"And those people don't have a clue... I just hate them sometimes!"

"Now, that's not fair... Darkness hates light, but it's not the light's fault it shines."

"Oh, very philosophical. But you know what I mean! I tried to get out of this... First lasagna, now a cake to refuse... And everyone else gets to eat it and smile and laugh..."

"Everyone?" Rachel's tone was sad, but there was no bitterness in it. It was the tone of a woman resigned to whatever hell she made for herself.

"But doesn't it just kill you sometimes?"

"It used to. Now I'm good at it."

"That's a lie."

"I have to tell it, then. Otherwise..." Otherwise, how was she supposed to stay alive. Catherine nodded in understanding.

"Does Julia know?"

"And break her puppy-dog heart? No... She may be one of my best friends, but she can't know. In fact, it's only my cousin and... and, well, you." Rachel looked at her a moment. "You're sweating."

"I do that. I feel sick. It's like my stomach knows what I need to do."

"Tell you what... Do what you need to, and I'll go tell Julia you're sick and I'm taking you home. We'll go for a drive."

Catherine nodded dumbly, then dragged herself into the bathroom.

***

The road stretched before them, dark and quiet and nearly empty. Neither said anything until they'd been driving for a while. It was Rachel that broke the silence:

"So? What's your story?"

"My story? I don't have a story... Not a real one, anyway."

"That's a lie." Rachel smiled as she echoed the words.

"Damn. Well, I dunno... I mean, how does anyone even start this hell? Just... because I had to. Because I was... am... so fat..."

Rachel shook her head, but said nothing. Of course she knew. Say what she might about Catherine's razor collarbones and sunken eyes, she wouldn't believe a word.

"Thanks for not lecturing me."

"Not a problem... Cat?"

"I go by Cathy, usually."

"Cathy.... I have an aunt Cathy... Anyway, you were saying? Your story?"

"I'd just decided that I don't really have one... I mean, one day, it just sort of occurred to me..." Cathy squirmed. 

"...That maybe you ought to lose a few. Nothing major... just so your clothes'd fit better."

"Yeah... And then a couple more so you'll look like the skinny girls..."

"And then a couple more..." Rachel's tall frame, meant for curves, was barely covered with flesh. She knew what she was saying. "But there must've been something, Cat...thy..." She continued. I mean, stuff doesn't just happen in a vacuum."

"Well... I had a boyfriend... "

"Oh?" There was sympathy in Rachel's tone.

"Yeah... That was my first mistake. My second mistake was prom night, and my third mistake was telling Mom."

"Dang, man...." Rachel winced.

  "Yeah. She called him up... middle of the night, okay, 'cause we'd been watching a movie... anyway, she calls him and straight chews. Him. Out."

"Fantastic. I bet that felt great."

  "Then she puts the phone downs and gives me the same freaking lecture, like I didn't know I'd been wrong. She makes me dump him... "

"One of those Moms, eh?"

"You have no idea. But that's not even the worst part. So I go to call him up, right? And I have a text from him..."

Rachel's face was positively twisted in sympathy. "Bye bye, babycakes?"

"You know it. B*****d."

"You can say that again!"

"Oh, believe me, I have."

Silence fell, though not uncomfortably. 

"You know, Rachel, that may be the most normal conversation I've have in... well... eight months. Isn't that sad?"

"Well, it's what we've got."

"What about you? Do you have anyone?"

She smiled, fondness evident on her pinched features. "Dan. We've been together... what? Fourteen months, now?"

"He doesn't know, then?"

"He suspects, but he's afraid to say anything. He always tries to get me cake and cookies and stuff... He really thinks it could be helpful. He just doesn't get it, poor thing.... He still thinks I'm beautiful." Cathy noted without too much surprise that tears stood in Rachel's too-big eyes.

"He's right, you know..."

"I know you're not talking about my weight, so I'll assume you mean my hair and my face... Well, if you'll notice, my hair is quite a bit thinner that it really ought, being so curly, and my face is vaguely reminiscent of something in a morgue. Heaven knows how he can stand kissing me." She seemed to have regained enough composure to be flippant, at least. 

"He loves you?"

"Yes... I don't know how, I don't know why, but... I'd be dead right now if it weren't for him, and that's the truth."

"I've never really wanted to die, funnily enough... I've thought about it, sure, but... I dunno... It just seems too easy."

"Like the Konami code?"

"Yes! Exactly like that! So you're a gamer, then! I think I like you, Rachel!"

"I'm just excited you got the reference."

"Second normal conversation! Damn, we're on a roll!"

"No kidding! What a coincidence, right? Both of us throwing up at Julie's party... and without a single drop of alcohol."

Cathy giggled. "How can you stand to be so sarcastic about this?"

"I told you... I got good. Good at being quietly broken, only crying alone, looking at myself from the outside. All because of a single comment."

"A single comment? Damn. What happened?"

"Oh... you know how it goes... Your uncle, the one who was just a *tad* too fond of you when you were a kid, he comes visiting one summer when you're insecure already about your jeans feeling tighter than they used to, and by the way, you never told your mom because he was her angel baby brother who could do no wrong...

"Like my brother, then. Little demon gets away with murder."

"Yeah. Exactly like that. So he manages to find you when you're alone, and, apparently, somewhere in his sicko brain he thinks you have feelings for him. You tell him off, right, because he freaks the heck out of you, so he calls you a fat w***e and threatens you with... Well, suffice it to say that, when mummy finally listens, he's out on his hind end. But you can't get "fat w***e" out of your head, and eventually you don't care enough about the "w***e" for it to matter, and you see yourself every day getting fatter and fatter and fatter..."

"You told that whole story in second person."

"That's what my therapist said."

"You have a therapist, then?"

"Had. Until we found out she didn't actually have her license. Also, she spent a significant amount of time flirting with me."

"First your uncle, then this... How did Dan happen?"

"He saw me crying at lunch one day, and he sat with the whole period and told me about his lizard, Edmund. I was laughing by the end. Then he told me I was cute, and that if I didn't want to go out with him, he'd sacrifice a chicken every day until I did."

"That's not awkward at all."

"I see your point... But the way he said it... I knew there was more to it, y'know? Like, he was joking, but he'd really do whatever it took to get me. Really, all he had to do was suggest."

"You lucky, lucky duck. "

"Tell me about it. Like I said, if it weren't for Dan..."

"I'd kind of just be happy with a mother that didn't lecture me constantly. And... well... you know my luck with guys."

Rachel smiled. Cathy was struck at once by the glow in her eyes and the incongruous papery whiteness of her face, her hollow cheeks, her thin hair. She needed more... substance, more *body* about her. It was as if some innate "Rachel-ness" was dormant, awaiting the right conditions to come breathe life into her. What Rachel needed, Cathy was mildly shocked to hear herself think it, was weight.

And, if Rachel could eat... Then maybe... just maybe...

"Hey, Rachel? I have a crazy idea."

"What's your crazy idea?"

"There's an Italian restaurant right there... Let's split a lasagna."

"Are you sure, Cathy? I mean... You mean keep it eaten, right? No purging?"

"That's right. Let's leave one nail out of this coffin."

Rachel hesitated, then pulled into the parking lot.

Later, as they sat with forks poised, shaking, above the slab of meat and cheese and starch and satisfaction, Rachel looked Cathy in the eye, face set in determination.

"We're going to regret this, aren't we?"

"Like hell. Bon appetite!"

An hour later, the plate was empty and their hearts full.

Author's Note

The idea implored and demanded until I consented to writing it. Are Cathy and Rachel believable?