WARNING: POSSIBLE ED TRIGGER
REID'S POV
It was the day of Amity's discharge, and she was coming to stay with me. I'd barely seen her these last few days because of the paperwork and meetings I had to have in order to allow her to come home with me.
I even had my doubts, so only God knows what these people I was trying to convince were feeling. I knew we'd get on well, I knew we'd probably even enjoy living together. I had a spare room and she had… no one, nothing. That was what cured any doubts, the fact she had no one.
I've been out during the day and coming back at night, sleeping here mostly. It would start off in the chair, Amity would wake up screaming, I'd climb up onto the bed with her and she'd cry into my chest as I stroked her hair. She'd fall asleep again and I'd sleep there with her.
I'd had girlfriends in the past, well; I've had three girlfriends in the past, but we never spoke as easily as I do with Amity. I didn't feel as awkward around her, she didn't mind my babbling or my facts that I have for pretty much any subject. She seemed to enjoy it; she told me that when her and her dad used to sit down for dinner they had to have a 'fact of the day'. If one of them didn't have one then they'd have to do the dishes for the week. She's starting to talk more and more about her parents; I think it's helping her.
I walked up into Amity's room and knocked on the door.
"Come in," she called. Her voice sounded the strongest I've heard it. I opened the door and she smiled at me and continued to pack the rest of her things away. She was standing up; the first time I'd seen her standing on her own.
She'd get in a wheelchair and wheel herself out the front of the hospital to smoke her cigarettes, no matter how many facts I told her about smoking related deaths and diseases.
She'd requested for someone to go into her parent's house and sort through their stuff. She said there's no way that she could go in there. She said to donate most of their clothes, keep their jewellery, their trinkets, but considering they sold most of their assets to start their life here, there wasn't that much to keep or giveaway.
Amity got some money from the house, but it's in her parents' wills that she wasn't to get the majority of it until she was 21.
The funeral was next week; she'd been planning it whilst I was away. Every time a nurse would ask what she was doing, you saw it break their heart. An eighteen-year-old girl planning both her parent' funerals. When I spoke to her on the phone yesterday she was angry that she was the only one going to her parents funeral. They were good people. I was going to work on that.
The stuff she was keeping was piled up in boxes in the spare room. Garcia, who was actually very excited to meet Amity, had gone to my house and did a bit of redecorating. She set out buying bedclothes and cushions and little boxes and glass bottles that girls always seem to have on shelves.
I watched her pack the last of her things. She wore a pair of light blue jeans and a white top with a picture of Kurt Cobain on the front with an open shirt that I was sure belonged to her dad. I smiled. I loved Nirvana. She also wore white converse and her arms were covered in bangles. Her hair was pulled in a messy topknot on the top of her head and she had put make up on for the first time. She did look pretty with it on, she had thin black eyeliner lining her eyes and mascara that made her long lashes even longer, that was the only make up she wore.
"You ready?" I ask. She looks up and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She nods and the strand comes loose again. I don't think about it as I lean forward and tuck it behind her ear again. It's only afterwards that I realise what I've done. I blush and pull my hand back. She looks momentarily shocked before she smiles and thanks me quietly. I smile and shuffle my weight from one foot to the other nervously. She stood up straight and grabbed her bag. I took it off her and shook my head.
"You have to leave in a wheelchair."
"What, why?"
"Rules are rules Miss Lucas, its just outside, come on." I grin at her, opening the door for her. She rolls her eyes at me but follows me out. She begrudgingly sits in the chair and I push her out to the car.
We both thank the nurse as she takes the wheelchair back. I go to help her into the car but she shakes her head, pulling out a cigarette from her pocket.
"You know-" she cuts me off by holding her hand up in my face.
"I know,"
"You don't even know what I'm about to say."
"I've heard them all, and," she takes a drag of her cigarette "I don't care." I shrug and wait patiently as she smokes it. Afterwards I help her into the passenger seat, put her bag in the trunk and climb behind the wheel.
"Is it far?" She asks, rolling up the sleeves of the shirt that was far too big for her.
'No, about ten minutes." I glance at her and she looks nervous, biting the nail of her thumb. "Are you ok?"
She looked and smiled at me but didn't answer. I choose to let her sit in silence. I switched the radio on and let the music fill the silence. She leant over fiddling with the dials until she found something acceptable.
"God, I love this song." She said as she looked at me.
"I haven't heard it before, what is it?"
"People Say by Portugal. The Man."
I let her listen it and find my hand tapping along to the rhythm. It's a rather good song. We pull up just as the commercial break on the radio ends. I'm suddenly hyperaware of my little one floor house. Amity went to open her door but I rushed out of mine and helped her out.
"I can open a door," she said but let me help her out. I grabbed her bag and walked to the door and opened it. I felt nervous and embarrassed as we step inside. We step straight into my living room-cum-kitchen, it was quite large, there were shelves and shelves of books, books and records in piles on the floor, but my place wasn't messy. It was organised in my own way.
She smiled as she saw the books and records. Her eyes moved around the walls. They were plain white; my couch was black, but just as simple. There weren't many personal touches, like all my other rooms, because I didn't spend much time here. The kitchen was tucked away in the corner with a breakfast-bar and a small dining table.
"How long have you lived here?" She asked as she walked down the hall, opening the first door and finding a cupboard.
"Um, three years." I answer, following her into the hall. She pops her head in the next door. She see's it's the bathroom, all white again, and moves on to the next room.
"This is your room." She opens the door and smiles. The walls are still white but Garcia has put a bed covers with the London skyline printed on it, the wardrobes had been filled with her clothes and her books, CD's and records were on the shelves I'd managed to put up. The boxes from her house were piled up in the corner.
"Where's your room?" she asked, turning to look at me.
"Literally across the hall" I motioned at the door opposite hers.
She opened the top box and looked inside. She pulled out two shoeboxes and placed them on the bed, followed by two massive sketchpads and then another box. I watched her as she opened the boxes, one containing loads of pencils, both drawing and coloured, the next box was filled with tubes of paint and the last was paintbrushes. She also had a tin of watercolours that looked almost brand new.
"You paint? You never told me that." She looked up at me and grinned.
"I didn't?" She put the lids back on the boxes and put them back in the bigger box, moving on to the next one.
"I'll let you get on, I've gotta get some work done, and then I'm gonna sort dinner out."
"Ok, want any help?"
"No, do you?" I ask my question quietly.
"No, not at the moment, maybe in a bit?"
"Ok, I'll be right out here if you need me."
"Okay, thanks Spence."
I walk out of the room and sit on the couch, fanning out the paperwork I had to do across the coffee table. I switched my iPod dock in and selected The World Won't Listen by The Smiths.
I finished the work fairly quickly, before the album had finished even. I walked over to the fridge and opened it, frowning at the emptiness of it. I hadn't thought about food. It was gonna have to be pizza, unless Amity's favourite meal was ketchup and cereal.
I was just about to head to her room when I heard a scraping. I looked into the hall and saw her attempting to pull a box across he floor.
"Stop!" I shouted, running and picking up the box. "Your ribs are still healing."
She sighs but doesn't argue. I move the box into the living room.
"Where do you want this?"
"Wherever," she seems distracted. "Is this Asleep by The Smiths?"
"Yeah."
"My favourite song by them," she says, she pauses, biting her lip. "Could you grab the other box of photos, it's the ones nearest to the door."
"Of course." I go and grab the box and when I return she's sat cross-legged on the rug, pulling out the photos. I put the box down next to her.
"There's no food in the house, do you like pizza?"
"I thought you were a genius, surely you'd know everyone likes pizza" she said matter-of-factly. I laughed and her eyes met mine. "I'd love pizza."
"What kind?"
"I don't mind, just nothing spicy or fishy, preferably with bacon."
"Ok, chicken and bacon pizza it is." I picked up the phone and ordered our dinner. After I'm done I sit on the couch, turn my iPod off and turn on the television, but I don't see what on because I'm watching her. She puts the photos into an album, pausing to look at every photo, some she took longer looking at. She suddenly looks up and I feel the blood rush to my face as I quickly look away.
"Do you want to see some photos?" She asks, I look at her again.
"You sure?"
She doesn't answer, just sits on the couch next to me and pulls the album she'd just finished and set the large book over our laps. She opened the first page.
"This is my parents wedding." She pointed to a photo of two people standing on the steps of a church. The man was dressed in a white button up shirt and black bowtie, but with red braces attached to black rolled up jeans and black Doc Martens. The man was bald and clearly a 'skinhead'. His new wife beamed from a step bellow his; she wore a short white wedding dress and white Doc Martens. Her hair was dyed bubble-gum pink and was shaved off apart from the bangs in the front.
"That's got to be the coolest wedding I've ever seen."
"I know, my parents met when they were thirteen, were best friends and as soon as they were eighteen they got hitched, they were still just as in love as they were. My grandparents, both sides, didn't agree with the marriage, I met my mums mum once, but she wouldn't look at me, she still felt the same, after all them years."
I don't know how to respond but it doesn't matter because now she's pointing to the next photo.
"This is me when I was first born, I was an ugly thing for the first few weeks." On the page was a red faced, wrinkled little baby. I chuckled a little and she turned the page. Here's me when I started to get cute." Sure enough was a little fat baby with bright blue eyes and a mop of blonde hair on top of her head. We flicked through her baby and child photos until the pizza came.
"God that smells amazing." She picked up a slice and took a huge bite. "The size of the slices here are ridiculous."
"It can't be that much difference." She didn't say anything, just snorted. "Good topping choice?"
"Mmmmhmm, I think this might be the best pizza I've ever had"
"I'm glad." I turned back to the TV and started flicking through the channels, landing on The Walking Dead. "This ok?" I motioned towards the screen.
"Yes, I love this show." She pauses. "The comics are better."
"Agreed" I watched her as she finished her second slice of pizza and handful of curly fries. She went to pick up another fry but stopped, frowned and stopped.
"What's wrong?" I ask, she looks at me and opens her mouth to say something then shakes her head. "You can tell me, you know that"
"When you have an eating disorder there's part of you that never really recovers. Its still there inside your head." She taps her temple. "I don't think I could ever go back to how I was, I could never go back to how big I was, and I could never go back to how small I was."
I didn't' know what to say, what was I meant to say? I didn't want her to think I was judging her or thinking bad things. I felt proud of her, I obviously could never know the struggle that people who have eating disorders go through, but I'd battled with an addiction and knew how much support from other people means.
I rested my hand on hers and squeezed it gently. She looks up at me from under her lashes and my heart gave a little leap. She then looks down at my hand, still holding hers and I begin to pull it back, but she moves her hand and laces her fingers through mine. My skin tingles where mine touches hers.
Without untangling our hands she leans forward, rifles through the box and pulls out two photos. She places them in her lap, one on top of the other so I can't see the bottom one. It's a picture of her in a swimsuit, she was a very curvy girl, her hair dyed dark was thick and shiny and she was smiling at the camera.
"This was before I got ill," She moves the picture and reveals the one underneath. "This is me at my worst."
I can't stop the gasp that escapes my mouth. I've never seen someone to thin, this person is not Amity, it's a shadow of her. She had black hair that was thin and straw looking. She was wearing a baggy t-shirt but you could still see how tiny her frame was. Her arms were drastically thin, her veins protruding from her skin. She had dark smudges under her eyes and her legs were so thin that her thigh gap looked bigger than the thighs themselves.
"I'll never get that thin again," she put the photos down, lifted the hand she was holding, pulling my arm up, and wrapped it around her. I kissed the top of her head.
"Don't worry, I'm going to look after you." I whispered.
We stayed like that for a while, watching The Walking Dead and soon she was asleep. I manoeuvred carefully until I was standing up. I put the rest of the food in the fridge and turned the TV and lights off, I went and pulled back her covers before going back to her and sliding my hands under her body and carrying her to her room. I placed her gently on the bed and went to pull back but she suddenly grabbed me.
"Stay" she whispers. "Please."
"I'll be right back, promise." I walk into my room and pull on some sweats and a t-shirt, when I return Amity has moved to the other side of the bed. I slide into the new sheets beside her, and like a magnet she is drawn to me, she places her head on my chest and I wrap my arm around her.
"Thank you Spencer," and before I ask what she's thankful for I see she's asleep.
