"Get a grip, Bella. You have got. To get. A grip."

Alice was right. I was acting insane. Unhinged. Psychotic. I hadn't left my duplex apartment for six days. I hadn't showered, changed my clothes, or groomed myself in any way, shape, or form. I'd lived off of water and Malibu for the first three days, until I noticed that I was getting winded just dragging my ass out of bed to stumble to the bathroom. At that point I had bounced myself off the hallway walls as I staggered to the kitchen and found some stale cereal. Note to self: Malibu does not double as a substitute for milk in a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Not at ALL.

Alice's calls had come at an increasingly rapid pace as the days passed and I had yet to emerge from my own private Self Pity Sanctuary. She had understood when I didn't want to do our usual Friday night dinner-movie-barhop with Rose, considering. If there's one good excuse for bailing on Girly Fun Night, it's a breakup. She'd even offered to skip it herself to come perch her tiny little frame on the edge of my bathtub and listen and look sympathetic while I blathered on about how awful my life was and how could he do this and I'll never feel this way about anyone ever again. But I'd told her I needed to grieve in private.

So I'd spent Friday night poring over every picture I had of the two of us together -- "us" being me and him -- and trying not to let my endless tears fall onto and thus ruin the photos. I signed into Myspace and read and reread every message I had from him in my inbox. They were mostly from the Beginning, the getting-to-know-you phase. Over the weeks they'd come less frequently, and in the last month I didn't have any at all.

"I mean, you had to have seen this coming, Bell. Tell me you saw this coming." Alice was squinting her eyes at me expectantly. When I said nothing and avoided her searching gaze, she gasped audibly. "Bella! Please! When's the last time he took you out? When's the last time you did anything together?" She was practically shouting, flailing her arms wildly through the air.

I opened my mouth to matter of factly inform her that I had seen him just two days ago when I-- "And going to see him at work doesn't count!"

"But we--"

"I don't care if you went home with him when he got off work. That's not a relationship, Bella. That's sex."

I huffed. But I must have looked more hurt than annoyed because next thing I knew Alice had my face in her hands and was shaking me gently. "Oh Bell," There were tears in her huge honey-colored eyes. "You gotta pull yourself together. Breaking up with Mike Newton is not the end of the world."

Hearing his name was like a knife to the heart. I crumpled physically, my head falling into my hands, my body shaking with loud, wet sobs. I felt Alice's dainty hand patting my shoulder awkwardly.

I felt bad. Poor Al had no idea what to say, what to do. Because there wasn't anything she could do. This is why I hadn't wanted company. Saturday and Sunday had gone much like Friday night had. Alice had called around noon on Saturday and asked if I wanted to do some therapeutic shopping. For Alice, there were two cure-alls in life: Shopping and parties. Throwing parties, that is. Alice was an event planner extraordinaire.

I had politely declined, and Alice had left it alone, but had called again on Sunday to offer to take me to lunch and an afternoon movie. "It would have to be a comedy, of course," she reasoned. "The more brainless, the better."

"Thanks Al," I had sighed dramatically into the phone, "But I think I need a little more time to deal with this. I just don't feel like getting dressed and acting like a human being. I can't go out in public. I can't even keep it together long enough to walk to my mailbox!" Sad, but true. I had tried it Saturday afternoon, wearing sweatpants with my fluffy blue robe and dark sunglasses. But halfway to the mailbox I had seen a red car parked a few houses down. Mike's car is red. Of course, this car looked nothing like Mike's, aside from the red. But that had been enough. My poorly muffled sobs earned a look somewhere between concern and apprehension from my middle-aged neighbor as I passed him heading back to my front door.

"Fine, Bella. But you're going to have to pull it together eventually. Weekends don't last forever. You have work tomorrow." Oh, shit. Work. How the hell was I going to work?! I couldn't face people. I just couldn't. And concentrate on something other than my private world of hurt? Absolutely not.

So I didn't go. I called in and told them I needed a few days off. A whole week, actually. Family emergency. I had to go see my mom in Jacksonville. Her baseball player boyfriend had been injured and had to have surgery.

The lies came fairly easily. I struggled to keep the tears out of my voice, but in the end they just helped my case. "You sound upset, Isabella," my boss had remarked. "You must be very close with your stepfather." I wanted to bite back that Phil wasn't my step anything, but I didn't have the energy. I'd mumbled some kind of thank-you and got off the phone, promptly bursting into tears, exhausted from keeping them in for so long.

After that I'd crawled into my bed, drank a quarter of a bottle of Malibu, took two sleeping pills, and passed out. I woke up somewhere around noon on Tuesday to my cell phone ringing incessantly. I checked the display: seven missed calls. Three from Alice last night. One from Rose. Three from Alice today. I groaned and rolled back over, falling back asleep.

Around three or four I got up for some cereal (dry this time). I crunched on the stale squares, not really tasting them, plopping my fluffy blue self onto the couch and grabbing the remote control. I pointed it at the tv and started flipping through channels. Oprah was having a house built for an African refugee and her five children. People were crying. I was crying. But I wasn't really paying attention to Oprah. I mashed the Channel Up button. Crap. Infomercials. News. Crap. Lifetime (No way). I turned the tv off. I buried my face in one of the pillows decorating my couch and briefly considered smothering myself to death. About thirty seconds passed before I emerged, gasping for air. I staggered to my feet and snatched the bottle of Malibu off the coffee table. Once in my bedroom, I collapsed face up. I studied the patterns of paint on my ceiling. I noticed a cobweb up in the corner. A paint flake on the wall.

The sudden blaring of "You Shook Me All Night Long" from my cell phone made me jump so high I darn near fell off the bed. Once I had caught my breath, I checked the caller display. Alice. I hit the button to silence the ring. I didn't need to talk to Alice today.

By Thursday I'd turned my phone off. I was tired of feeling guilty for ignoring Alice and Rose's calls. I was grossly disappointed with myself for texting Mike in a drunken stupor the day before. I didn't know if he would respond or not, and wasn't sure which was worse.

It was Friday morning. Alice had knocked quietly on my door for ten minutes before the pounding grew harder and louder. Eventually I had to let her in, lest my neighbors get cranky.

And here we were. I was slumped dejectedly on my sofa, she was sitting on my coffee table, facing me. A large meat lover's pizza was growing cold on my kitchen counter, untouched. A pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream was melting through the brown paper bag it came in. Alice's eyebrows were drawn together as she studied me. I had stopped sobbing and just lay on my side, half sitting.

"I don't--" I hiccupped. "Know what t--" Hiccup. "To d-do. I lo-hic. Love him."

"Bella," Alice sounded kind of menacing, and her eyes were narrowed. "Do you think it's possible that you…that you might have…um…attachment issues?"

"Bah," I grunted. "Yes. Of course. You're right, Alice. I don't really love Mike. This doesn't actually hurt at all." I could hear the acid in my voice, and I knew I was overreacting, but this actually felt good. For once I wasn't on the verge of tears. I was just…angry. "No. It has nothing to do with Mike himself. I just like to get myself attached to every man I meet. Then when they dump me, it's the end of the world. But not because I actually care about them. It's just because I'm helplessly attached." I spit out the last word bitterly. Alice rolled her eyes and stood up, crossing to the kitchen to stuff the ice cream in my freezer.

"For God's sake, Bell. You know that's not what I meant. I just mean…Well, were you ever really happy with him? Honestly, he's never seemed very interesting. He can't hold a job. He's a bartender for Christ's sake. That doesn't exactly scream 'mature and together.' He's practically an alcoholic -- and you're practically an alcoholic when you're with him -- and I mean, come on, Bella. You said so yourself the sex isn't even very good."

I scowled at her. So the sex wasn't earth shattering. Sex shouldn't be the most important thing in a relationship. Besides, it wasn't like it was lousy, per se. And we certainly had enough of it. In fact, it's practically all we did when we were alone together.

I groaned aloud. Maybe Alice had a point about the quality of our relationship. But it wasn't Mike's fault. He worked a lot. And always opposite hours from me. And could I really expect him to want to spend all his time with me on the few nights he didn't work? Of course he would want to see his friends, have boys' nights. And I could understand why he wouldn't want me tagging along. None of his friends brought their girlfriends.

"He's not even that good looking," Alice was saying. I scoffed.

"You are absolutely insane. He's adorable!" I would stand by that point. Mike was just a little taller than me, blond hair, blue eyes--

"He's a boy. A manchild. You know, you should try an actual man for once." I opened my mouth to protest, but Alice had switched tracks. She had an evil glint in her eye. "And need I remind you about Eric?"

I groaned. Eric Yorkie. Gross. "That was a total lapse in judgment, and you know it. I have no idea what I was thinking."

"But that's not the point. Do you remember what you did when he broke up with you? Jesus, did you get robbed?" She was poking through my pantry, where there was decidedly little to poke through. "Bella." She had stopped poking and was pointing a peanut-butter covered finger at me. "Don't tell me you don't remember sending him that letter."

I groaned and pulled a pillow over my face. Yes. I had mailed a bare-all letter to Eric after a week of unreturned phone calls. A this-is-how-you-changed-my-life-and-it's-okay-I-forgive-you letter. Ugh. Maybe I did have a bit of an attachment issue. But I'd be damned before I admitted that to Alice. She just loved being right.

"That was different. I was just a kid. I was…stupid. This is…it's just different. I j-just." My voice had grown sullen. "It's different with Mike," I said quietly. "I-I…L-l-love him. And he loved me too…once." My voice broke on the last word, and I was fighting not to start crying again. Alice ignored me and continued inspecting what was left of my bread for mold.

"Eric was two years ago, Bella." She was neatly cutting the moldy bits off of my last two slices of bread. "And you were just as devastated then as you are now."

"Pfft. You don't know what you're talking about. I was upset about it. Of course I was. For like two weeks. And then…I got over it." I shrugged. "Eric was such a loser anyway. I don't know what I saw in him. It's embarrassing, really."

"Oh, and crying on your couch for six days isn't? Not to mention trying to drown yourself in cheap coconut rum. By the way, I think it's completely unacceptable that you even have a week's supply of Malibu hanging out, but no freakin' food. And," She stopped slathering peanut butter on the bread and threw a look over her shoulder at me, her nose wrinkled. "Bella, you stink. And you look like hell. If this--" she waved her arms, indicating my sorry state, "isn't embarrassing, I don't know what is."

I sighed. She was right. Of course she was right. She was Alice. "Besides," she was saying, "this can't be apocalyptic. You only dated for…what?"

"Three months," I mumbled.

"Three?! Right. And you haven't seen him outside of a bar or a bedroom for the last month at least, right?" She took a bite of her sandwich and continued talking with her mouth full. "Don't argue with me," she said, putting a hand up, even though I'd made no move to interrupt. "You'll get over this, just like you got over Eric Dorkie, and two years from now you'll laugh at this absurd behavior. Hey," she stopped chewing, her gaze moving from the sandwich in her hand across the kitchen to the pizza still chilling on the counter. "Why did I make this? I bought a huge fucking pizza." She tossed the remains of her sandwich in the trash and lifted the lid on the pizza box. "Cheese is congealed." She wrinkled her nose.

"Microwave." I stood and took a minute to regain my balance. I blinked hard a couple times to clear my vision, and scowled at the bottle of Malibu on the table.

"Where are you going?" Alice demanded, her mouth full of cold pizza.

"You win. I'm taking a shower."

"Oh, thank god. I can smell you from here. And when you're done, you're eating. Hot food. And I'm chucking your little crutch there." She gestured at the Malibu. "It's unbecoming."

I sighed and shook my head, too woozy to argue. I closed the door of the bathroom behind me and began running the water. I undressed slowly. It felt strange not to be covered in thick fluff. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and did a double take. I did look like hell. My eyes were sunken, dark circles under them, my face pale in some places, red and puffy from crying in others. I looked sickly. And drunk. My eyes were bright from the constant sheen of tears and glassy from the constant flow of booze. My hair was matted thickly, and looked almost wet, it was so dirty.

I tore my gaze away from myself and my eyes fell on the toothbrush holder next to the sink. There were two toothbrushes. One purple, one green. I picked up the green one and climbed into the shower, clutching it to me as I shook with pathetic sobs.

**

When I emerged from the shower, I felt decidedly better. I had chucked Mike's toothbrush out of my sight and willed myself to stop crying, for the moment at least. I was clean for the first time in days, and toward the end of the shower I'd turned off some of the heat and let the cool water sober me up a bit. I wrapped myself in a clean towel, picking my robe up between my thumb and forefinger and holding it at arm's length as I carried it into my bedroom and dropped it in my hamper. My gaze settled upon my bed, sheets rumpled and disarrayed, and decided to toss those in the hamper, too. I needed to let some basic hygiene back into my life. Alice was right. This was just absurd.

When I came out of my bedroom I was still sporting the towel. Alice gave me a slow once-over and shook her head. "You can't leave this house looking like that." She shoved a plate of pizza at me. "But it's an improvement."

I stared down at the pizza glumly. "I don't think my stomach is ready for pizza, Al."

"Eat it," she snapped. "We'll hold off on the ice cream 'til later. But I insist that you eat that pizza. Trust me," she grinned, taking a bite of her own slice, "it's amazing."

"Jesus, how much have you eaten?" She giggled and held up four fingers. I couldn't help but smile. For someone as tiny as she was, Alice had the appetite of a small sumo wrestler.

I took a tentative bite and chewed it slowly. After six days of washing down cinnamon covered cardboard squares with syrupy coconut rum, the pizza really did taste amazing.

"See," Alice said pointedly, her mouth full. "Ish delicioush."

I nodded, grimacing a little. "It is. But I don't think I can manage a whole slice." Alice shrugged.

"We'll work on it."

When Alice was satisfied that I'd eaten enough, she grabbed my hands and dragged me into my bedroom. "Now," she said as I plunked down on my bed. She turned to my closet and pulled the sliding doors open. "What to wear, what to wear?"

"Wear where? I mean, what are we doing?"

"It's Friday. Girly Fun Night." Alice flashed a dimpled grin. Sometimes I just wanted to flick her in her cute button nose.

"Alice. You really can't be serious. You expect me to go out like this?!" She eyed me up and down.

"Well. You're in much better shape than you were an hour ago. The liquid diet really hasn't done much for you, but you're not completely hopeless. And it's probably a good idea you stay dry tonight. You've already got so much liquor in your system it's leaking out your pores." As Alice rambled on she was digging through my closet, pulling out various dresses and skirts, eyeing them appraisingly, then tossing them aside.

"Al, geez. You could at least put them back." She waved a hand at me and disappeared inside my closet again. I fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering what she and Rosalie had in store for me tonight. Suddenly, Alice let out a triumphant shriek and emerged from my closet holding a slinky blue tube dress. She waved it at me, a brilliant grin on her face. "Alice," I eyed the dress warily. "That's yours."

She nodded excitedly. "I know this. I gifted it to you last spring, with the hopes that it would convince you to dress more like a girl. But I've never, ever seen you wear it." Her eyes lit up. "Until tonight!"

I gritted my teeth. So I liked jeans. A lot. I still dressed like a girl. Sometimes. Perhaps my personal style was a little bland, but it's not like I was traipsing around in flannel shirts and hiking boots. I much preferred baseball tees and Converse Chuck Taylor's. But just because I didn't know Kate Spade from Kate Moss, Alice considered me some kind of a fashion pariah. I considered this opinion inaccurate. Besides, "Alice, how does it always seem to slip your mind that not all of us were blessed with your--" I eyed her waistline skeptically. "--lack of…curves? There's no way any dress of yours will ever fit these child bearing hips." I looked down at my lap. I had always been thin, but Alice had the kind of lithe dancer's body that made the Olsen twins look a little on the chubby side.

Alice tossed the dress at me. "It'll fit." She tapped her head at her temple. "I know this."

Alice had a way of knowing a lot of things. It was absolutely fascinating and completely annoying. I rolled my eyes and stood up with the dress. There was no use arguing with her. Once she had made up her mind about something, there was little that could turn Alice off of it.

Dropping my towel to the floor, I stepped into the dress and pulled it up over my chest, twisting around to zip it halfway, and allowing Alice to zip it the rest of the way for me. There was a brief moment when I was sure the dress was going to burst open at the seams, but after only a slight catch, the zipper closed quite smoothly. Alice looked smug. She took me by the shoulders and turned me toward the full length mirror on the back of my bedroom door.

I gawked at myself for a moment. "I look like a hooker." Alice gasped.

"Like hell you do! You look fantastic." I twisted to first one side, then the other. Then I turned around and inspected myself over my shoulder.

"I look…skinny!" My waist had definitely shrunk during my six day hunger strike. "Heh. How 'bout that."

"I told you it would fit." I glared at her. She'd gone back to rummaging around in my closet, but this time she was on all fours. I sat down on the edge of the bed very carefully. I was still waiting for the telling tearing sound the dress would make when it realized I'm not Alice and I have an ass and it does not fit in this dress.

Alice threw something over her shoulder and it landed loudly on the floor in front of me. "Oh, I don't think so, Alice Brandon." The offending object was a shoe. If you could call it that. Why this shoe had flown out of my closet was a mystery that could only involve Alice and her tendency to "gift" me various articles of clothing that she thought would benefit my wardrobe.

"Where the crap is the other one?" She turned to glare at me accusingly. "What did you do with it?"

"I didn't even know those shoes existed until this one flew across my bedroom." I was holding some kind of strappy silver torture device with an open toe and a four inch heel. "But if you think my feet are going in these shoes, you're sorely mistaken." What was Alice thinking? It was a well known fact that I struggled to walk without falling in normal shoes.

"You will wear them, and you will look hot. If I can find the other one." I had a feeling Alice would find the other one, and would somehow coerce me into wearing them. I looked in the mirror again, turning this way and that. She was right about the dress. It was a little on the slutty side and totally not me, but damn if I didn't look good in it. I held the shoe up and inspected it warily. Nothing good could come from this. Nothing good at all.

**

Alice did indeed find the other shoe. Then she made me change back into normal clothes so we could run to Walmart. I did as she told me without protest, knowing Alice would have her way in the end regardless. "You just have to trust me, Bell," was all she kept saying. And I was trying. Alice was an amazing friend who would do anything to help me out of my slump. She'd always been there to cheer me up in some way or another. It was usually something extravagant and obnoxious, but it always did the trick.

I balked, however, when she led me down an aisle in the store, gave a little wave reminiscent of Barker's Beauties, and told me to take my pick. My jaw dropped visibly as I stared at the wall of boxes before me. "Alice," I breathed. "You can't be serious."

We were in the hair dye aisle. There were boxes and boxes of hair dye, every shade imaginable. She had stopped me in front of the blondes. "Oh yes, Bella. Don't you think it's time for a change?" She fingered a strand of my mousy brown hair with a disgusted look on her face. "Pleeeeease? I promise it'll look great. Once we take some of the length off and add some shape to it--"

I gasped. "No. Way. You are NOT cutting my hair, Alice. Absolutely not." I crossed my arms stubbornly. I had quite an attachment to my hair. Sure, it lacked a certain amount of…style. But it was my HAIR. This was one battle Alice would NOT win.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, then shrugged. "Hmph. Well, I tried." She grabbed a box off the shelf so quickly I couldn't see which one it was and traipsed past me. I stood there for a moment, then turned to follow her, shaking my head in confusion. It wasn't like Alice to give in that easily.

"You're not gonna fight me?" I asked, catching up to her.

"Nope," she said cheerfully. Too cheerfully. Alice NEVER went down without a fight.

"But…I don't understand." We had reached the front of the store and were stopped in line to check out. She turned to me with a distinctively knowing look in her eyes and winked.

"You might just change your mind." I stared at her dumbly for a moment. Her eyes twinkled annoyingly.

My gaze shifted to the package of dye on the conveyor, and I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "What's that for?"

She grinned. "Like I said…You might just change your mind."

Sometimes Alice was creepy like that.

**