A/N: I realize this might be kind of confusing to read, so I'll try to sort it out as best I can. The stuff in italics are flashbacks. The other stuff is what he's thinking.

Looking back, it was all so obvious. Every little detail fits in somewhere. Maybe if I had paid more attention, tried to talk to her, something. Maybe, I could have helped. I try not to dwell on that thought so much. Or the thought that this was all Marissa's fault. God, Marissa with her perfect model-like figure. I suppose if someone, anyone, had looked a little deeper, they would have noticed that constant underlying pressure that was placed on her. I assume that anyone who had Marissa Cooper as a best friend would feel that pressure. But I can't blame Marissa. At least, not out loud. Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, I believe she was partly responsible. I hope the absence of her best friend is weighing as heavily on her heart as it is on mine.

Thinking back to that day, the first day I should have noticed something was wrong, I feel horribly guilty that I didn't.

"So, do you wanna go to the Crab Shack or what? I think Ryan and Marissa are gonna be there." I looked at her from my spot in my desk chair. She looked slightly angelic, with her skirt spread out all around her and her hair highlighted by the patch of the setting sun streaming through the window.

"I don't feel like going to the Crab Shack."

"Alright, do you wanna eat here?" The Crab Shack was one of our favorite hang outs during the summer, so it was surprising that she didn't want to go. I figured she was in one of her moods and let it go.

"I guess." Any worries I'd had before quickly dissipated.

I headed down to the kitchen with her following closely behind. Rummaging through the cupboards, I found some boxed macaroni and cheese. I held it out to her and she took it. "Where are the pots?"

"Um, check that cupboard." I pointed towards one of the lower cabinets on the island.

"Got it," she said pulling out a silver pot and placing it on the stove. "Do you have any chicken or anything?"

"There might be some leftovers in the fridge."

She walked over to the double doors and opened the side for the refrigerator. Upon finding the chicken she took it, and unwrapped the foil around it. She then proceeded to heat it up in the microwave.

We sat down to eat our dinner of macaroni and chicken mixed with bits of small talk. I watched as she cut her chicken in the tiniest pieces possible. "Are you worried about choking? Cause I know the Heimlich."

"What are you talking about, Cohen?" Apparently she wasn't in the mood for my smartass remarks. Then again, no one ever is.

"Nothing, you're just cutting your chicken into awfully small pieces. I wasn't sure if you were going to, like, feed wild rodents or something."

"Shut up." She sent a patented glare in my direction.

"Shutting up."

I didn't realize that she didn't actually eat any of those tiny chicken pieces that night. And that she only had a few spirals of macaroni. I was concentrating on my food, not hers. Now though, whenever she eats, there's always someone watching. She hates it, I can tell. She won't admit it though. She lies and says it's comforting. She's always been a liar though. I think it's pathological, but I'm not going to dump that on her. Not on top of this.

She was looking thinner. Not enough to notice, though. Not at the time. She walked toward me and planted a quick kiss on my cheek. "Hey," she said.

"Hi." We mingled with the people there, all celebrating my grandfather and his accomplishment of being Riviera magazine's Man Of The Year. "You wanna go get something to eat?" I motioned towards the table piled high with fruits and crackers and gourmet cheeses.

"No thanks. I'm not hungry now. I'll eat later." She turned back to Marissa and continued her conversation. There was a look in her eyes, one I hadn't seen then. But now it's clear. It was a mixture of resentment and longing.

Later never came though, and she never ate. There was so much going on that night that I never realized it. I was too focused on Anna. My ex-girlfriend. I feel so guilty when I think about nights like that. The nights I was so absorbed with myself and my problems, that I couldn't even see what was right in front of me. I feel even guiltier though, when I think of nights where absolutely nothing was going on. Surely I should have seen the signs then. But I didn't.

Her clothes were much looser lately. I told myself it was because she was doing that yogalates. She looked paler too, but I blamed it on the lack of sun. Anyway, we were having the Seder tonight. And there's no way you can't eat during a Seder.

Well I was wrong about that statement. Apparently there is a way to not eat. And she had it down to an art. I watched her as she cut her food into tiny pieces again. And then she moved them around a whole lot, nibbling a little bit here and there.

"You should try some…um…some of that stuff," I pointed to something on her plate. "It's really good." It was my feeble attempt at getting her to eat without being obvious. After all, I didn't even know if she had a problem.

"I know. I tasted it." She went back to moving things around on her plate.

I'm pretty sure I saw her put some food in the fold of her napkin. I wondered how to confront her about this. I couldn't. My fear of her (and her rage blackouts) got in the way. My next option was Marissa. But I couldn't ask her tonight. She was still dealing with the whole thing between her mom and Luke. I wasn't going to pile my empty suspicions about her best friend on top of that. Knowing Marissa, she might break under such a heavy load. So I'll just have to wait.

What I didn't know then was that time was critical. With every passing second, things were becoming more and more serious. I was starting to take notice now, but there was never any right time to talk to her about it. Or Marissa for that matter. And there was no point in talking to Ryan. It's not like she was a main focus point in his life, so he wouldn't notice the weight loss or her sudden dislike of eating with others.

"You wanna go out to eat?" We were lounging on the couch in my family room. I wondered if she could tell that I saw her shirt was hanging loosely around her upper body while her pants practically slipped right off when she stood up.

"Nah, not really." She continued to concentrate on something under nail.

"You used to love going out to eat. And now you, like, don't."

"I just don't feel like eating in front of a lot of people." If she realized how weird this sounded, she pretended not to. "I'm really cold. Do you have like a sweatshirt or something?"

"Yeah. It's in my room. I'll go grab it."

Walking up the stairs to my bedroom, I remembered that it was noon in California. Noon in California meant it was, like, ninety degrees outside. How could she be cold?

"Here," I said, handing her the sweatshirt.

"Thanks." She slipped it over her head.

"What do you wanna eat?" I started rummaging through the refrigerator. I came up with some potato salad.

"That's fine."

"You want a sandwich to go with it?"

"Yeah, whatever."

Sitting down at the table with our food, we began to eat. Or at least, I began to eat. She made a bit of a disgusted face and pushed the plate away.

"What's wrong with it?"

"The potato salad is touching the sandwich."

I waited for her to continue. When she didn't, I said "Well you were gonna eat them both anyway, so what's the big deal?"

She made a huffy noise and pushed her chair away from the table. Standing up she announced she was tired. She then headed up to my bedroom to take a nap.

I knew something was going on, and if I had just said something, maybe things wouldn't be like they were. But I didn't say anything. Not yet. I mean, she was perfect. Things like this didn't happen to prefect people. And when she didn't eat dinner, she said she'd had a big lunch. At the time, it seemed believable. But I didn't take into consideration that she has that pathological liar in her.

"You guys want some cookies?" She poked her head into the family room where Ryan and I sat, playing PS2. "I just made them."

"Yeah bring um in here," I said, hardly taking my eyes from the screen.

"I'll help you," Marissa said getting up from her spot.

The girls emerged a few minutes later, a plate of peanut butter cookies in her hands. She set the plate in front of us and everyone grabbed a few cookies. Well, everyone but her.

"Aren't you gonna have any?" It was Marissa who asked.

"No. I'm not really that hungry."

"Are you sure? Maybe you should eat some. Your jeans look like they're gonna fall off."

In a way, it was reassuring to know that I wasn't the only one who saw this. In a bigger way, it was devastating. It meant that everything I saw, every little unnoticeable detail, was really there. It meant that she really did have a problem. This perfect girl had a serious problem.

"I'm fine," she practically bit out. And then she grabbed a handful of cookies and stuffed one in her mouth. She was doing this to prove a point and I could tell. I wondered if Marissa could, too.

It wasn't until later that day, when she excused herself to use the bathroom, that the seriousness of her condition hit me.

"I'm worried about her," Marissa announced to Ryan and me. "Have you seen how thin she is?"

"I noticed it, too." Finally I spoke up. Now maybe, we could end this thing. "I'm gonna go find her."

I got up and walked the path to bathroom. I stopped outside and listened. I could hear gagging noises and immediately knew what she was doing. I tried the door but of course, she had locked it.

"Hey," I called to her. Then I heard the toilet flush and the faucet was turned on. A minute later the knob on the door twisted and she appeared looking slightly flustered.

"God, can't a person pee in peace?" She brushed past me, just barely bumping her elbow on the doorframe.

"Wait." But she kept walking.

I know that I should have stopped her; made her talk about it. But it's times like those that I curse myself for being such a wuss. I didn't want to confront her about it because I knew it would upset her. It would make her angry. She would clam up, make excuses. She would lie, like she always does. Lying never fails her. Or so she thinks.

"Come on, I left it in the pool house." I got off the couch and swung my head for her to follow. She stood up but immediately sat back down. "Whoa, you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine. I just got a little dizzy." She stood up again and used the armrest for support. "What are you waiting for?" She shooed me out the door.

On our walk back from the pool house, I noticed a fairly big bruise on her arm. At first it was the bruise that surprised me, but I realized that I could actually see her arm for once. Lately she had been piling on the layers like it was winter in Ohio. "What happened there?" I asked taking a careful hold of her arm. I would have been careful even if there wasn't a bruise though. I was always cautious when I touched her lately. That is, if she let me touch her at all.

"Um, not sure," she said. So I let it go. I couldn't bring it up again without her getting suspicious.

It wasn't until I was popping the DVD in the player that she spoke about it. "I remember now. It was the other day, when I bumped into the doorframe. In your bathroom."

"Wait, you're saying you got that," I pointed to her elbow, "from that little bump on the door frame?"

"Yeah." She was putting on her defensive tone so I let it drop.

"I need some water or something," she said, slowly getting up from the couch.

"Are you okay? You look kinda pale."

"Yeah I'm fine." But she wasn't.

When she fainted in the kitchen, that's when it hit me full force. She was seriously sick, and she needed help.

Anorexia Nervosa of the binge-eating/purging type. That was the full definition of it. Of her disorder. It's still hard to say it. She was always so perfect. Perfect people don't have eating disorders. Or so I thought.

I felt so guilty as I watched her that day. I couldn't do anything for her. It wasn't a change though. That's what I had been doing all along. Nothing.

And these are the thoughts that run through my head every day on the drive to the Behavioral Health Center. The drive I take to visit her. Summer. My perfectly imperfect girlfriend.

At first, I was gonna do this in third person. Then I decided 'well why not try first person?' I was going to write Summer's point of view, but then I figured it's kinda obvious what she's thinking. What's not so obvious is what Seth is thinking. I realize that he might not be as witty or whatever in my story, but this is heavy stuff. I hope you guys liked this. Please leave me reviews!