Disclaimer: Though the story is my own, I do not own NBC, ER or its characters, etc etc.

Thank you to NaomiP for the review and for motivating me to choose my ship. :) Love always, gossamerthoughts xx

"So, what do you think about Mr. Cappadocia? Such a jerk, right? I mean, who assigns an essay right after summer break?"

I was caught off-guard once I realized that she had been talking to me. I had been staring absently into the bathroom mirror while the girl beside me fixed her hair and makeup. How was it that pregnant women were always advertised as 'glowing' and 'radiant'? Taking in my lank-haired, hollow-eyed reflection, I wondered if I was really pregnant at all, or just carrying some freakish disease.

Or Rosemary's Baby.

"Um…right," I answered belatedly, but the girl seemed to have forgotten already that she had struck up conversation with me.

"So," I tried again, "what topic did you choose?"

"Oh you know," she sighed through her lipgloss. "Michael Jordan? He retired last year, you know, I still can't believe it."

I fought the urge to snort. Of course, someone of her calibre would believe that that had been an event of major importance and greatest impact this century. More like, Michael Jordan was innately beautiful to her, likely staring down at her every day from some glossy poster on her bedroom wall—right beside Joey Lawrence. That, and writing about a sports legend would undoubtedly pique the interest of the guys that she had strategically sat beside in class.

"What about you?"

I shrugged, "Thalidomide."

Her face was vacant, and I didn't have the patience to explain. A wave of nausea had attacked me uninvited, and soon found myself bending over a toilet in the nearest bathroom stall, the taste of acid burning in my throat.

After I felt that the entire contents of my stomach must have been emptied against my will, I wedged myself between the toilet and the wall, and sat down on the cold concrete floor, hugging my knees to my chest.

I heard the sound of the bathroom door opening, and tilted my head slightly and watched another girl join the first at the sinks. I hadn't had the time to close the stall door properly and it sat slightly ajar, leaving me with a slivered view of them from behind and of their reflected faces in the mirror.

I watched as the girl I had been speaking to—Ray-Anne, I think that's what her name was—flipped her hair in the direction of my stall and pantomimed sticking a finger down her throat.

The other girl grimaced.

"Who?" she squeaked, too loudly, for Ray-Anne shushed her.

Though I couldn't hear her, I could see in her reflection her mouth forming my name.

"Ugh," the second girl answered, her voice quieter now but still barely managing her whisper. "No wonder she's so skinny. I mean…gross."

"I know, right?" Ray-Anne replied, raising her voice back to conversational tones.

"Are you okay in there, Sam?" she called cheerfully over her shoulder.

I pulled myself back up to my feet and pushed my hair behind my ears.

Great, I thought bitterly to myself. Now on top of everything else, I'm going to have to deal with people who think I'm Bulimia Girl.

"Fine," I told her. Whether I despised her or not, I needed the illusion that I blended into her world just as seamlessly as everyone else did.

-x-

As Sam carried the groceries up the steps, she couldn't help reflecting upon what Gracie had told her earlier. Should she really be distancing herself from Ben, when he was so obviously the nicest guy to come her way in a long while?

Why are you making this so much harder than this is? She told herself, as she carefully balanced the brown paper bag on her hip and reached for her keys in her coat pocket.

God, let yourself be happy for once, why don't you? People will start to wonder if you enjoy torturing yourself like this.

She pushed the door open and pulled the keys out of the lock.

"Well, speak of the devil!"

She tried to smile at Gracie's remark, but the sight of Ben sitting at her kitchen table sent her reeling. She could only wonder why he was there, and what kind of stories her grandmother had fed him. She only hoped that she didn't look as shocked as she felt.

You're so not ready for this, she thought to herself, but as she set the groceries down, she forced herself to think differently.

Just go for it, Sam. What relationship has never had any sense of risk involved, anyway?