A/N So it's my birthday and I couldn't sleep and I don't know, maybe this will be good maybe it won't… We'll see. This is a continuation after getting out of treatment a third time. However some of these details may be slightly AU because I'm rereading it and haven't read it in four years. Bear with me please. I know most is accurate from what I'm pulling from.
It has also come to my attention FF does not allow strikethroughs. I will be using () to indicate those.
LIA POV
"I am Lia Marrigan Overbrook. I (am,) was someone who self-harmed. I am, was anorexic. I (think), am, better now." I repeat these words every morning while I look at myself in the mirror. "I'm thawing." Is one thing I can say before I leave the bathroom without any words of discouragement. Things have changed; I still live with my father though my relationship with my mother has gotten better. I got my GED and I'm attending college at my dad's college. My grades have improved. Ironically I'm looking to be a counselor for those who have eating disorders. Maybe ironically isn't the best word for this, maybe the wording should have been in a twist of fate. Either way, I've decided as someone who's experienced a disorder I can be better than the psychologists people dump money into who never solve the problems, and actually help. I've come to terms that I had and have a problem. Jennifer hides the scale from me; she lets me weigh myself every week and makes sure I do it in clothing I can't hide extra weight in. I'm up to a (disgusting) healthy weight of 118.40 pounds, good for a five foot five woman. "I'm leaving!" I call as I fix my uniform for work, letting Jennifer know I'm going out. 'I am a beautiful, healthy, twenty year old.' I think to myself, not bothering to listen to the words the woman had to say. My words trump hers.
I work at a rinky dink diner in town, cheap, inexpensive, a good place to work. My psychologist said it was more helpful than harmful to work around food, in that way I'd be able to see that food wasn't 'scary'. On the drive I think of Cassie, who hasn't vanished over the two years but who will visit me. She holds no spite anymore, there are no more nightmares, she watches me knit and notices how I'm looking healthy. I no longer think of the Cassie I made a bet with, the Cassie I worked so hard to be skinnier than (which I won in the end). I think about the Cassie when she had just moved here at nine years old, the slightly spoiled but welcoming, and independent, little girl. She should have stayed like that. (We should have never made that bet). My thoughts waver, I was told to keep a journal when I think about her or have an urge to not eat, I do it occasionally.
When I park my car I take a breath, reminding myself to keep a positive attitude. After counting calories for so many years it was hard to suppress it, but I'm getting better. I get out of the car and numbly walk to my job, something I was told I needed. I needed something besides school to focus on and in this town that meant get a job. I walk in with a smile plastered onto my face, one that doesn't raise any eyes, one that I had(perfected) hidden behind for longer than I should have. It was a slow day, some people I served I knew. A few times I had seen Cassie's parents, before they moved away. They had to move out of the house once Cassie died, they couldn't deal with the haunted memories of their beloved daughter, (neither could I). They moved further, on the edge of town, and then one day the Parrish's were no more, well, at least in this town.
I had made friends, some, with people in my major group at school and I made some friends from a support group I wanted was forced to join. I was doing better. It was nearing the end of my shift, I couldn't wait to go home and hear what the eleven year old Emma had to say. Jennifer had let up on the young girl, I think after seeing what pressure was built onto me she decided to let some things go. Emma stopped with French but she rejoined soccer and she has improved a tremendous amount. (She also doesn't have to tell her coach I have cancer anymore.) Emma kept me going when I was in hell treatment, even though they didn't let her visit too often. Jennifer or dad would give her my letters and I'd get small notes in return, sometimes small trinkets she's made for me. The days I got to see her made living bearable. It made it bearable in the days where they made me open up about things I swore I never would. It made it bearable in the days I had to relearn how to eat, when I had to force myself to eat food that weighed itself down in my stomach and expanded my size. I no longer feel that way; I am no longer at war with food.
Someone came in a few minutes before my shift was over. This was my last customer before I went home and actually started on homework, something I no longer lied about just so I could lie in bed. I still have scars where I used to cut marks into my skin and I miss it sometimes, a cool sharp blade reminding me of my mistakes. It was toxic though, I know it, so I don't do it. It's too complex to explain my want and dis-wants, even in my own head. This is one of the days I will go home and write in my journal, I don't usually ponder on the past so much. It's the anniversary of Cassie's death though. Many people had forgotten what today is, she was just another teenager that passed, another numbered death, funeral, in this town, another person whose friends no longer do anything to remember her and whose family has moved away with too much sorrow and resentment for the community, only coming to visit around this time and pay their respects at her grave. This will be the first year I go to the grave. Last year, I was still in the treatment center. I got out nine months ago and have had a lot accomplished since then, I'm in school and actually go which is a plus. I want to go this year. I'll have to call Jennifer and tell her I'll be home late with, of course, an explanation. They treat me like a child, but I don't blame them after the things I've put everyone through. I don't think too much on the guilt part, I instead go over to the customer.
She leaves, also leaving a nice tip for me. I leave for the day and call Jennifer, getting permission. It wasn't dark yet, I worked a morning shift, and so she thought it would be okay. I stop by the florist and buy a small bouquet of what is was Cassie's favorite flowers before I drive to the cemetery. There are a few people there, visiting other graves. Cassie's parents must have been here recently, there were fresh flowers on the grave. They didn't stop in and say hi. They probably made a drive, visited, and left. They don't want to be here to remember what had happened. (I don't want to remember what happened). I don't know what to do as I approach the grave. I know under the ground her body was decaying, no longer looking like Sleeping Beauty and now bugs were crawling around her. She was no longer there; the important part of Cassie had been long gone. (Maybe from me too). Her soul was gone, she could not detect I was there.
Neither of us believed in Heaven, but I want to believe that we were wrong and she's somewhere happy and healthy. I place the flowers at the grave, trembling. I have so many regrets. I'm not supposed to voice then and yet I'm not supposed to keep things bottled up. I think what they mean is talk to someone who is alive, not someone who is no longer there. I don't listen. I need to talk to her. "I miss you." Those were the first words spoken to my best friend; my mother was right when she said just because we stopped talking for a few months didn't mean we weren't best friends anymore. "I should have been there for you." I hear myself say, letting the guilt over come me as tears sting my eyes that would soon ruin the makeup I was wearing. Not important. "I should have known with that many calls, with thirty three, you needed me." I say acid in my voice that was aimed at me. If words could kill it would have been suicide. "But, I wasn't. And the actions were yours and yours alone. I don't think I actually could have stopped you." I continued in a somber tone, running my hand over the tombstone. "I would have gone with you but this… Life experience I have gained from our mess, it's not just mine or yours but ours, is going to help other teenage girls. I'm going to be better one day, and I'm going to help girls like you. Like me. Like both of us. I'm going to remember you by helping a Cassie or a Lia later through the years. I think if you could signal to me, you'd want something in remembrance of you. I think you'd like this, if you could send me a signal." I say, my voice breaking. I didn't want to help girls like her; I wanted her back so I could help her. I had to get help. She should have had to too. We could have gone through it together if only I answered.
Too many conflictions ran through my head, too many memories, and too many bad things. I should go. "I miss you Cassie. I'm sorry I didn't go with you two years ago, and in that way leaving you alone, but I'm not sorry I'm still here." There was truth in that statement. I wanted to be with her, but I was glad I was alive. "I'm going to go. I hope you like the flowers." I say through my sobs, my chest heaving, hurting in the bitter air. "I love you." I say, and not in a romantic way. In the way that you love a best friend, in a way I'm growing to love myself. In the way that you'll always be there for someone, though in my case she was far gone and not coming back, again, another complex thing I could not even explain to myself.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and I tensed, whipping around in a state of shock and panic, ready to attack. Something stopped me; a range of emotions over taking me as I study the person I once thought was an attacker. He wasn't. "Emma." He said in an affectionate and teasing tone, something I would look back on to find most inappropriate. "Lia." I corrected in confusion, it being obvious who I was. The two of us came to know each other so well in such a short time, and then he disappeared. "This is about the time she died. I'm back in town, kind of, for now. Since I found her I feel like I have some sort of connection to her." He said, my head starting to swirl. "I have to go." I say numbly and take one last look of Cassie, her tombstone, before I walked away. I sat in my car for fifteen minutes before I felt calm enough to leave for home.
It was a rainy weekend the next time I saw Elijah, after I had an emergency appointment with my therapist. I had to discuss this. I was in such a state of panic when I knew him the feelings I had were false and a need for a connection, but it was still fucking weird to see him. He looked different, much cleaner. His dark hair was at a manageable length, nipping just an inch before the bottom of his neck. He had some stubble but not an idiotic beard. He was still tall and lanky, most don't shrink in height and he was, even crouched down to my level, a foot or so taller. He had new tattoos, maybe, or possibly I had imagined them. I was working by myself besides the cook, another slow day. I figured no one else would come in so I could sit for a moment and work on school stuff, ironically psychology reading. I thought I'd detest psychology and I would change my major in a week, I wasn't the only one, but it's something I needed and something that made, more or less, sense.
"Would you like the leftovers from the customer who left not too long ago? I could dig it out of the trash for you." Harsh. I was attacking him. He didn't have glasses this time, he must have invested in contacts. He did have knew tattoos, on his knuckles. "No thanks I'd like to buy the two of us a meal and chat, I do owe you one." He said. I gritted my teeth together, he owed more than just one meal. "Fine."I say dryly, not taking his order. I tell the chef to make waffles. They were Cassie's favorites, I was still missing her a week later. I wish he hadn't seen me that weak. Although the last time he saw me I was stronger, a lot weaker mentally, emotionally, and physically. The waffles were done soon after and I sat by him, bringing my school work along. The meal was on him, but I didn't have to chat with him.
"You're in school?" He questioned, as though it was a shock. "Yes." I answer flatly as I pour a small portion of syrup on the side of my dish so I can dip the waffles. I'll go home and exercise to work this off. I will be healthy. "For what?" He asked, as though we were old pals who were playing catch up. "Psychology. I want to be a counselor who deals with those with eating disorders." I answer, not looking at him. He left.( I wish he would have stayed gone). Upbringings from the past made me think of when I was anorexic. When I was thin, too thin. "Good for you. You'll be good at that." He said and I snort. "How do you know?" I snap. "Visions." He answers and my lips instinctively quirk up. His tattoo covered by his sleeve comes to mind, right, visions. He may have changed how he looked but he was still Elijah. I suppose I was the same. I grew out my dark brunette hair, it's to my mid back. It's nice. I like it better than my shoulder length hair. Not a lot has changed, I look healthy now. I still have hazel eyes. He has brown eyes.
"I hitchhiked for a while across the states. I did a lot of odd jobs, painter, landscaper, delivery man. If there's a job you don't need a specialization in, I was it. I had a vision though, and I felt like it meant I had unfinished business here but we'll see. I don't know what, with who, or where, but I have some loose ends to tie up in this vicinity." He talks with his hands a lot, motioning with wide arms when he says vicinity. He talks while eating. He looks thinner. Odd jobs and strange living places probably aren't good for a person. "I didn't ask." I say finally, not commenting on the little differences I remember. I can tell when a person has gained or lost weight as long as it's more than a pound, it's something I have to live with.
"I'm the assistant librarian at the city library. It's a nice job, I guess. I'm sure I'll move on to something else when I get tired with it." He continued, as though I didn't say one rude thing to him that day. "You aren't eating." His tone changed. Everyone's voice changes at that topic. (I want to go somewhere no one knows me). I look at my plate, a few bites of waffles gone. "I don't like to talk and eat at the same time." I chide, taking a large bite to prove a point. They're firm, which I like, albeit cool. I missed being able to enjoy how things tasted. "I'm assuming everything turned out well?" He asked, obviously wanting me to explain what had happened since that morning I woke up and he wasn't there. "I'm here." I reply coyly. We share a look. That wasn't what he wanted to know.
"I went back into treatment. My parents and I are on better footing now, we're working on mending our relationship. I live with my dad and my step mother again. I'm not anorexic. I eat." I say, not mentioning I tend to eat one meal a day and snack through the rest of the day. I sometimes ate two meals, I haven't worked up to eating three good meals a day. "You look better this way, healthier. You kind of scared me with how thin and tired you always looked. You look normal." I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. "It's a compliment." That answers that. Then uncomfortable silence settled between us.
"I'm sorry I took off with your money. I'm sorry I just left you." Elijah said, his fingers running through his hair. The elephant in the room has made itself front and center. "That was two years ago." It was a fact, a meaningless fact with no meaning of forgiveness or any other emotion behind it. "It doesn't make it acceptable. I feel guilty about it every day." He continued. I silently wish for something to come up that would make me have to leave. "I was told not to dwell on the past. So I'm not. I'm getting better." I tell him. I never say I'm better, I will never be completely 'better'. Not ten minutes later the cook comes out and tells me the owner says to close up, this rain is going to freeze over soon." He said. "I have to clean up and you have to leave." I say, glad to have a reason to usher him out.
He was there waiting, and smoking, when we got out twenty minutes later. He had an umbrella. He must have gotten it from his car. "Thank you." I say as I point to my car, him walking me over. "If you ever want to talk you know where to find me, I work at the library, and I'm usually there. I'm a handy librarian if you ever need help finding something." He told me as I opened my door and started the car to warm it up. "Thank you." I repeat with a strained smile. I could tell by the look on his face that he was not pleased.
"I'm Elijah." He said, thrusting his free hand out at me. "What?" I'm lost, I know who he is. "What's your name?" He asked. I blink, had I imagined this whole thing? "Lia." I repeat slowly, deciding to go along with it and shake his hand. "That's a nice name. I knew a Lia in the past. She was very different, very tired looking and very sad. You remind me somewhat of her, but truth be told I don't miss her too much. I think I'll like to have you around much more." He said in a warm tone. "What's going on?" I question, almost frustrated. "You said not to think much on the past. I'm introducing myself as the new Elijah, to the new Lia." He explained and an odd thing happened, a smile graced my lips.
This was new. I had never had a fresh start with someone, not from the beginning. I nod my head, removing my hand from his. "Well, I used to know this Elijah, very strange and flaky. He left me and stole things from me. He was very strange but he helped me in the end at least that's what I decided when I was in treatment. He helped me reconcile with my family, too bad he'll never know that. I'm looking forward to getting to know you." I say and he smiles back at me. "Likewise, and if it's not too much on you I'd like to hear about your treatment. But for now the weather's getting worse and you need to get home I'm sure. Goodbye Lia, it was a pleasure." He said, his eyes moving from my face to my hand as if wondering if he should make some sort of motion. I say my farewell and get in the car, the inside already warm. I hadn't realized how cold I was until the warm breeze coming from the air conditioner hit my cool cheeks.
I'm thawing.