In Body I Trust Read online

  Amelia scoffed at herself.

  I put in so much work…made so much progress. Then he leaves and it all comes crumbling down.

  It pained her to think about relapsing. She had removed the people from her life that aided in her setbacks. She finished the lease of the apartment that reminded her every day of being abandoned and lied to. She even quit smoking for three months and started an extremely regimented routine. She was ready to start the next chapter and do it completely on her own.

  Miranda often tried to shift Amelia’s perspective when it came to being alone. “Think of this as an opportunity.”

  Amelia knew therapists were supposed to be helpful, but sometimes she wanted to sit with being pissed off.

  “Being alone doesn’t have to be the end of the world. It doesn’t have to be a permanent means of living. Being alone could mean not having to appease anyone but yourself. It could mean the potential for rediscovering your creativity. Alone doesn’t have to mean isolation. It could mean solitude.”

  Although few and far between, these glimpses of clarity and self-love raised her high above the inner demons. Amelia could escape them and see with her own two eyes that she was more than the voices were telling her. As her fragile self continued to deteriorate, these moments would become shorter and shorter.

  Just survive these next twenty-four hours. You’ll see Miranda less than a day from now. You’ve got this.

  Therapy Thursdays were every other week. She paid out of pocket since she lost her job. If she could afford to continue therapy, maybe she could blossom and be healthy again. Healthy meant happy, and happy meant she’d have the ability to live, not just survive.

  At least I get to see Emmett today.

  Like a telepathic force, Amelia looked down towards the sidewalk and saw Emmett standing there, looking up towards her balcony at seven in the morning, smoking his cigarette. He waved and said hello. Amelia waved and said hello back.

  “Would you like to come downstairs?” Emmett shouted from below. “I have a gift for you.”

  Amelia was overly concerned about waking her neighbors so she took a drag of her cigarette and put her index finger up to indicate that she’d be right down. Luna voraciously whined with excitement to see her new friend. The two girls went outside to welcome Emmett and Kerrin at the front gate so the dogs and their parents could walk around the neighborhood.

  Emmett extended his arms in an open invitation for a hug and Amelia graciously accepted.

  “Happy Birthday, Amelia.” He handed her a cardboard box that had been colored with markers to look like a monster. At first she thought it was supposed to be a crude joke since she told Emmett about calling her eating disorder her “little monster.” But the longer she stared at it, the more she saw how much it looked like a character from one of her favorite movies as a kid.

  When she was five, her mom would take Amelia on weekly trips to the local video rental store, the only one in their small town of Brookline on the southern border of New Hampshire. Each time, Amelia would return her VHS copy of The Pagemaster into the slot, walk inside, and grab another copy of the same movie for the millionth time. It was a ritual that had been long forgotten.

  “I know what you’re thinking, it’s a work of art.” Emmett’s remark made Amelia laugh. “But I figured since you and I both have our own monsters, I could repurpose this old, recycled cardboard box that used to hold coffee grounds. Now your monster isn’t as scary, maybe it’s even kind of cute. And it smells like a dark roast from Costa Rica, so that’s a bonus.”

  She liked this notion better than creating a fictitious story about an ulterior motive Emmett certainly didn’t have. Amelia named her new little monster Horror, her favorite character from her favorite childhood movie.

  “Thank you,” Amelia responded, cradling the newest cardboard addition to her family.

  “You’re welcome. Have you by chance started reading my book?”

  “I have. I started reading it last night and couldn’t stop until I fell asleep. I actually managed to sleep through the night. Props to you for help with that.”

  “Ya, I figured it was boring enough to put someone to sleep. That’s why I gave it to you. I knew you were having trouble and realized my novel was just what the doctor ordered.”

  “No way.” Amelia refused to let him talk about his work like that. “I feel like I’m studying you. Like I’m discovering you in a way I haven’t done with anyone else. I wish I could learn about every human in my life this way, but I know it doesn’t work like that. That’s why this is so special to me.” She looked down towards her cardboard monster. “Why you are so special to me.”

  He didn’t seem like the type to be at a loss for words, but Amelia had managed to say something that caught him off guard. She was pleased with herself. Making a published author and wordsmith speechless, even if it was momentary. Another small victory.

  “Yeah? I’m glad I get to learn more about the girl who serenades the neighborhood from her balcony.”

  “Say what?” Amelia’s nerves kicked in.

  “I’ve walked by your house a million times over the last seven years, and it wasn’t until you moved in that I started to hear music. So I’d walk Kerrin by your place and you’d be there, singing quietly to yourself, but I could still hear you if I tried hard enough. The Beach Boys, right?”

  “Ya, that’s right.” She had a soft spot for The Beach Boys. “Fun, Fun, Fun” was Amelia and her dad’s song when she was growing up.

  It was her first time feeling embarrassed in front of Emmett. Her music wasn’t something she typically shared with other people. At the same time, she realized that they both recognized the other before they even met.

  “I’m excited to get to know you,” said Emmett. “You don’t seem like a one-layer cake either. Or even a three tier. Or whatever is the maximum number of tiers one is legally allowed to have on a cake. Be whatever kind of cake you want, today and for always. Birthday cake, red velvet, chocolate, whatever.”

  Her cup was overflowing. Amelia didn’t need permission from anyone to be a red velvet cake if that’s what she desired. Emmett only reaffirmed that she hadn’t been giving herself the permission she needed.

  “I think today I’ll be a red velvet cake. Mostly because I haven’t had cake in two years and red velvet sounds amazing.” She wasn’t lying. Food really did sound appealing to her. It was a complex far deeper than that.

  The four of them started on a long walk around the neighborhood. They walked down 14th Street and cut across onto Emmerson, pretending to be old people wreaking havoc amongst the retirement homes. Amelia opened up about Gwen’s biopsy and what that might mean for her future. Emmett confided in Amelia about how he didn’t want children because he never wanted to pass down his mental illness. They bantered about nothing and everything all at once. It was all so normal. She could finally talk to someone other than her therapist and not have to articulate exactly what it meant to be depressed. For once, she could just be instead of feeling the constant need to be better.

  “Do you think it’ll ever get better? Growing up with heads like ours?” Amelia wasn’t sure if what she said was offensive or not, but he didn’t seem to mind either way.

  “It’s absolutely going to get better. Might get worse before it does, but it always gets better. I know it from experience.”

  “I really hope so. I feel like every day I fall even deeper into it. You know, the dark. No matter what I do, I just keep sinking lower.”

  Emmett pulled out a bag of tobacco from his pocket and rolled a cigarette while they walked. Amelia couldn’t imagine multitasking like that.

  “Long term, it’s going to. Things will feel like we’re at the very bottom of the well. But like my therapist says, ‘Life is a beautiful suffering, and you’ll make beautiful things with it.’”

  Amelia didn’t know what to say. She got flustered when she started feeling like a burden.

  “Listen,” Emmett continued, sensi
ng she was speaking negatively to her inner self. “I have faith in you. You’ll find dignity in your suffering and you will indeed make beautiful things with it.”

  She had but only one response.

  “I’m really happy I met you, Emmett.”

  “Me too.”

  They turned the corner of 13th and Pennsylvania and arrived at Emmett’s stoop. He invited Amelia in for one more hug before they parted ways.

  “Here is your second of many daily reminders that you’re a wonderful human being,” he said.

  “You’re wonderful, too. Thank you again for the gift.”

  Amelia called on Luna to follow her home, Horror in one hand and Luna’s leash in the other. It was already a better birthday than the last.

  On her twenty-ninth birthday, Dominic took her to a speakeasy. A quaint little ice cream shop called Frozen Matter was the front for a hidden bar you could only get to if the attendants would let you into the freezer. Retrograde, the name of the speakeasy beyond the frigid doors, served artisanal handcrafted cocktails at way too high a price. Images of space and astronauts flying into the great big beyond flashed across the multiple television screens hanging on the walls.

  The gesture was kind but was another clear indication that Dom didn’t know her at all. Amelia loved hidden gems like that. But on her birthday, all she wanted was to have quality time with him, not to spend an entire night listening to Dominic chat up the bartender about hiking in Peru and driving across the country. He bragged about their life of travel prior to living in Denver, alluding to the resentment he still held towards Amelia for taking the nomadic life away from him.

  This year, Emmett gave her exactly what she wanted. A chance to make a moment about herself, even if it didn’t necessarily look pretty. She was able to vent.

  Emmett taught her the difference between venting and complaining.

  “Complaining is whining about something you know how to change. Venting is…having soul farts. Sometimes people need to say something over and over again until they know what to do about it.”

  For her birthday, he gave her a book, a handmade monster, and a valuable life lesson on soul farts. She’d take that over an artisanal cocktail any day.

  Chapter 6

  Amelia paced around her apartment. She bit her nails while power walking from the door to her balcony, through the dining room, straight down the hallway towards the bedroom, and back again. The bells from The Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, two blocks away, echoed loudly enough for everyone within a mile radius to hear. On the hour, every hour.

  This meant it was one o’clock. Time for nothing, because in Amelia’s life, time meant nothing. She lived at home, played at home, and survived at home. The only thing time meant for her was that there were about eight hours left before she could crawl under the covers to repeat the vicious cycle. It was also a reminder that it had now been five days since she’d eaten a real meal. Back at it with the competition.

  Being with Dominic brought her competitive spirit to life. Amelia didn’t like to win because she’d rather cheer others on. Plus, it meant the spotlight wouldn’t be on her. Dominic was born with a brain that worked in a way she’d never seen before. He went to a Montessori school in his elementary years. It was a method of teaching for students who excelled beyond what a public school could provide. The self-directed learning meant he could finish the work at his own pace—and have the rest of the time to do whatever he wanted.

  In this new life they created in Denver, Dom became obsessed with fitness—a clear coping mechanism for his addiction with opioids. He worked out for at least two hours a day followed by a ten-mile bike ride. He hiked as many days of the week as he could, but only if the trail was more than eight miles long.

  Dom gave her grief if she didn’t at least try to follow suit, despite her eating disorder. In his eyes, no one was ever smart enough, clever enough, fast enough, funny enough, good enough. Amelia wasn’t enough. He was constantly sizing her up against a fabricated character she couldn’t compete against.

  This wasn’t a trait he was necessarily born with, but the genetics of an addict rang true within him. He spent years of his life wandering the earth in a fog, snorting lines of pills through his nose and into his bloodstream. But being an addict didn’t mean six months or even two years sober and a person was miraculously cured. Like Amelia’s eating disorders, it was about management and daily practice.

  There was always the possibility of him relapsing after they got back to the United States. What she didn’t know was that he would translate his manipulative tactics from seeking drugs onto “improving” her.

  Leila had to work harder to prove her worth and value to him. If she wasn’t up to Dominic’s standards, she’d lose him. It was a tale he told her time and time again, always having one foot out the door.

  Their last fight was a testament to that.

  “I’m selfish, Amelia,” Dominic yelled, throwing his arms into the air. “I don’t want you to get better for yourself. I want you to get better because it will make my life easier.” He prolonged the word more than Amelia felt comfortable with.

  Easier? Because I’m too difficult to love as I am?

  He planted seeds in her to ensure she’d always do whatever it took to make him happy, even if that meant internalizing her thoughts. Amelia had to be someone she wasn’t—and try to become someone she could never amount to since the bar was set too high for any person to reach. It stared her right in the face, yet she didn’t take his painful words as a sign to leave. She took them as a reason to get better. To be better.

  The church bells chimed again, indicating it was time for Amelia to do something, anything to take her mind off of her insistent need to pace. She checked everything off of her to-do list. Clean the dishes. Do her laundry. Make sure Luna didn’t die. Spend time with her new friend.

  April 23 marked thirty years of living on planet Earth. A quintessential milestone for people who’ve reached the end of their outlandish twenties. Amelia had assumed she’d be drinking beachside with strangers from other countries she’d met at a hostel, having them sing “Cumpleaños Feliz” in Central America. She wanted to stop reliving her past travel experiences and create new ones.

  Instead, she was home alone with Luna pacing her apartment. She got a video call from her sister and nieces living far on the other end of the country. They made brownies with candles on top and sang to her. She was the recipient of quick, obligatory check-ins from her parents who cordially shared their sentiments. All that was left was for her to make her birthday wish.

  She wished she could teleport and suddenly appear in Gwen’s kitchen, wearing a sequined dress ready to tear up the town. She wished she could move mountains and part seas to bring the ones she loved closer to her.

  Amelia walked into her bedroom and opened the drawer of her nightstand to pull out her weed. All she found was her journal and a few pens. She forgot that she’d smoked the last of it the day before. Another thing she loved about the beautiful state of Colorado, where recreational marijuana was like going to CVS or ordering at Chipotle. She could get exactly what she wanted from a menu of items, slowly scanning the aisles of different strains, equipment, and edibles—like staring at jewelry behind a glass case without the sparkle and shine.

  She grabbed her necessary belongings and left for the dispensary, only a five-minute walk from her apartment. A birthday treat for herself. For $23.61, she could legally buy an eighth of a hybrid and be back at home, smoking in fifteen to twenty minutes tops. It was so much different than having to do an illicit drug deal with a brother of a friend of a friend in high school.

  Five minutes later, she was standing at the front desk, handing her I.D. to the man at the counter. He said, “Thank you,” without acknowledging it was her birthday.

  He obviously didn’t look hard enough.

  Only a certain number of people could be inside of a dispensary at once, so Amelia quietly sat in the waiting ro
om with her palms on her lap, feet uncontrollably tapping the floor until her name was called.

  Within a few minutes, they shouted her name and Amelia made her purchase of Super Sour Alien flower. She was welcomed home by Lunatic licking her feet.

  “It’s like you haven’t seen me in months!” Amelia said to Luna in a high pitch voice only meant for dogs and babies. Even when Amelia was gone for twenty minutes, Luna always gave her one of those big hellos where her entire body wiggled. Unconditional love from a canine, regardless of how terrible of a human she made herself out to be.

  She packed herself a bowl in the kitchen, brought it to the balcony, and took a hit, filling her lungs to maximum capacity.

  One hit, two hits, three hits, four. She found herself on the bathroom floor.

  The usual song and dance.

  Her clouded state of mind made her want to be wrapped up in something warm. She decided to treat herself to a long bath. It was her birthday after all. She walked back inside and made her way into the bathroom. A little bit of Epsom salt, hot water, and Mary Jane would knock her off of her anxiety pedestal. She got in the tub and averted her eyes from the mirror to ensure there was no chance of seeing her naked body. Pulling her knees into her chest, she watched the water slowly rise to the tub’s edge.

  Her hair was wrapped in a bun, barely held together by a broken clip. She reached back and untangled her mess of a mane, letting her hair slowly fall down and brush against her back. The heat of the water held her like a blanket. She slid down and immersed herself. Her chest, then her shoulders, then her neck, until finally she held her breath and allowed her head to fall beneath her reflection.

  She was light and small, protected by the water’s embrace. The muted silence of the water pressure pushed against her ear drums. She wondered if this is what it felt like to be dead. A perfect state of nothingness. In the water, she felt like she was in her own living Purgatory. Nothing good, nothing bad. Just…nothing. Enough of nothing in someone’s life could make them go insane. Amelia was used to the nothingness. Maybe she could get used to living in Purgatory, or the northwest.