Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
On Wednesday morning Doctor Loftin looks up from the scale and beams at me. “You’ve gained almost the whole pound back. Well done, Lacey.”
I get off the scale and concentrate on putting my shoes on, not looking at her. We go through to the armchairs we sit and talk in. While the results with the scales may have deflected the worst of what Doctor Loftin can do to me, this part is going to be almost as challenging.
“How have you been this week?”
There’s no point in lying. I look like shit. “I haven’t been sleeping. The cake and ice-cream were stressful, and so are men, you know?” I give her a tired half-smile. Inviting her to share in that sisterhood thing I’ve heard about. Men, am I right?
She doesn’t play along.
“Has Mr. Blomqvist been having a negative impact on your recovery?”
Oh, you know. He’s just standing on the other side of a door I can never go through, and realizing that was one of the worst moments of my life.
I’m so hungry that this doesn’t even make me sad anymore. “It’s challenging dealing with these new feelings, but I’m grateful for this opportunity for growth.”
I sound like I’m reading from my list of affirmations, but Doctor Lofton doesn’t seem to notice. She just nods and waits for me to go on.
“He’s asked me to call him Stian. I’m trying to get used to that.” The weight of what I’m missing out on is crushing the life out of me. She’s shredding my heart with her black fingernails. Help me, please.
Doctor Loftin peers at me, her head on one side. “Lacey, I’m going to need you to go into a little more detail.”
“Look, like I’ve been saying, it’s difficult for me to talk about this stuff when it’s so personal. I’m not ready to go into it with you yet.”
I get away with this because while I seem off, the scales have told Doctor Loftin that there’s no urgent cause for worry. We finish the appointment by talking about other things. She wants me to continue the weight gain diet for another week, and I agree without argument.
An hour later, in the bathroom at the office, I remove the two one-pound strap weights that I’ve Velcroed just above my knees and stash them in the bottom of my bag.
I’m fucking up so bad. I know I’m falling victim to that voice again, but the allure of what she’s doing for me is too powerful. If I eat, then I feel, and I’m so frightened of what might crash over me.
I’ll be ready to eat and deal with it all soon. Maybe tomorrow. At lunchtime, I eat one piece of broccoli, bag up the rest, and throw it into the trash on another floor.
That night I tell Stian that I have a dentist appointment and leave the museum at five-thirty.
The next I day I email him at three when he’s in a meeting, saying I’m not feeling well, and I leave. I’ve lost count of how many lies I’ve told this week.
Then it’s Friday, my final day, and it’s all over. I stand in his office instead of kneeling on the floor, and he comes out from behind his desk, his hands pushed into his pockets and arms so tense that I’m certain they’re balled into fists.
I can sense him wanting to offer to take me out to dinner or for a drink, or ask if I’ve thought about seeing him outside of work, but those are invitations for other girls. I don’t know what to say, and I’m so deadened by hunger that I don’t have the energy to think of anything.
In the end, we fall into well-worn phrases that sound strange in our mouths.
“You’ve been an amazing help. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“Thank you for this opportunity. It’s been a great summer.”
I was happy working here. Within these four walls, he allowed me to be free for one whole hour every day. I’m going to miss him so much.
I turn and hurry toward the elevator, unable to bear it any longer.
“Lacey, wait.”
I pretend not to hear him and press the close doors button. Down in the entrance hall, I run out of the building and make a sharp right because he’ll be expecting me to cross the square to the Tube station. I head toward Goodge Street Tube instead.
At the top of the stairs, I turn and glance behind me, expecting to see six-feet-something of angry Viking bearing down on me, ready to blast me for running off while he was talking to me. Demanding to know what’s wrong and why I’m taking another route home. Ready to grab hold of me, kiss me fiercely, make me sorry for all the lies I’ve told and stupid things I’ve done.