A/N: Trigger warning for eating disorders.
...
"You're not eating," is what her mom says so suddenly and so out of the blue that she actually jumps and hits her knee on the underside of the table before stuttering out a pathetic, "E-excuse me?"
"You – " Her mom takes a deep breath and then straightens her shoulders and then fixes Lucy with a hard look that looks very surprisingly sober despite the very large glass of wine in front of her. "You. Are not. Eating."
"I am."
"You're not!" Judy's palms smack the table angrily, and whether she's trying to get her point across or keep herself from breaking down and screaming at the dinner table, Lucy doesn't know.
She chances a glance at her father and is startled to see him paying attention, glancing between her and Judy with an almost nervous expression on his face.
Which is strange, because usually his sharp, distinguished Fabray features are devoid of all emotion.
"You're not eating, Lucy, and you haven't been for a while and you're – you're getting thinner, I can see that – "
"Isn't that a good thing?" Lucy wonders, and she doesn't realize she's said it out loud until she notices the not-so-slight look of pain on her parents faces. She doesn't know what makes her press on. Maybe it's a nasty sense of satisfaction at finally seeing something resembling worry and care and love on her parent's faces. "That's what I'm supposed to be right?"
"You're supposed to be healthy, and this isn't – " The hitch in her father's voice is so foreign to her that her mind doesn't even register it. "It isn't."
"I'm fine." Lucy says, and she gets up, pushing her untouched plate towards the middle of the table.
"You didn't even touch your dinner."
"Stomach ache."
"Lucy – "
"I'm gonna go to bed. I'm fine."
Everyone says lying is hard, that you'll get tangled up in them and have to keep changing your story and remembering which lie you told to this person and which lie you told to the other person.
But in Lucy's experience, lying is one of the easiest things she's ever done in her life.
A well-placed "I'm not hungry," or "I'm alright," here, and she's home free, really.
…
Her mom doesn't bring it up anymore, and sometimes she wonders why she even answers the call for dinner, because all she does anyway is sit there and stare at her plate and sip her water while her mother shoots her worried glances over her salad/pasta/steak. Her dad keeps his head down, and doesn't talk besides answering Judy when she asks if he wants a refill of if he wants more mashed potatoes or if Lucy asks to be excused after her food's gone cold.
…
Lunch is awkward, and she doesn't know why.
She's wiping at her face subconsciously, wondering if there's some toothpaste on the side of her lip or if she has a really bad pimple that she hasn't noticed yet.
"What?" She finally asks when Sam's eyes flit up to her for what seems like the millionth time in the last five minutes. "Do I have something on my face?"
"No." He say to his food, and Lucy frowns before her eyebrows jump into her hairline when he suddenly looks up and sternly demands, "Where's your lunch?"
She starts to answer when he cuts in with, "And don't tell me you fucking forgot it, either," and that makes her pause and move he mouth wordlessly for a second because a.) that is actually what she was going to tell him and b.) she doesn't think she's ever heard Sam cuss like that without it being a part of the punchline of a joke or one of his impressions. She's never heard him do it with purpose.
"We're...worried, Lucy." Rachel says, gently, but her soft tone screams in Lucy's ears.
Her "Why?" comes out harsher and higher than expected, and both Sam's and Rachel's faces are ideal expressions of shock while some people at nearby tables twist around to find the source of the outburst.
"I mean, why." She's at a reasonable volume, now. "I'm fine."
"Don't lie to me, Luce – "
"You're not eating." Is what Rachel finally spits in a whisper, like it's something dirty that needs to be kept a secret, and Lucy feels some unreasonable anger flair up in her chest.
She's tired of it, that phrase, because that's all people seem to notice.
Not the fact that she's dropping pounds like a clumsy person drops valuable vases and that her jeans don't look like they're suffocating her anymore and that she's finally getting some semblance of the self-confidence back that she seemed to have lost when she started middle school.
She doesn't know what they expect her to do. They don't have to live like she does. Their parents love them regardless, whereas hers only pay attention to her if she's perfect. Skinny is perfect, and she's not perfect, so she equates herself as the imperfection of her family. The blemish on the otherwise flawless face of the Fabray clan.
It hurts, and it's a hurt they can't understand, no matter how hard they'll try, and no matter how hard they'll will her to get better. It doesn't work like that. And yeah, she's always dizzy, and yes, her stomach still does growl like a bitch sometimes, and yes, there have been times where she stares up at the ceiling at night, tears rolling silently down her face while her stomach feels like it's eating itself alive.
She takes comfort in that pain, because she weighs 149 pounds and her stomach is nearly flat and her jeans hang off her hips a bit loosely, now.
She scoffs as she gets up. "I've gotta go study for something." It's a shitty excuse, and she knows that they can tell, because Rachel furrows her brow and Sam frowns so hard she's worried his mouth might cramp up.
"Lucy, come on, we've gotta talk about this - "
She doesn't even flinch when he grips her upper arm; instead she gives him a hard glare and rips it out of his hand. "No, we don't."
They don't.
...
Halloween used to be her favorite holiday when she was younger.
She was able to dress up like a pretty little princess and all the parents would always tell her how pretty she looked and how much they liked her dress. Then she would walk around her neighborhood and get candy and when she got home, she'd eat it. (Her parents limited her to five pieces per night, but still.)
Maybe it's just the thought of even dressing up at all that makes her a little apprehensive to Halloween these days, or maybe it's the fact that now that she's older, however she dresses someone is going to recognize her one way or another. It's a small town, and she's lived here all her life, so of course they would.
And that's sort of the whole point of Halloween; it's a day for you to dress up and have fun and TP people's houses because no one knows it's you. It could be any one of the little kids disguised as the skeleton masked deviant who left a bag of flaming dog shit on your porch.
For the past couple years, all she's really done is handed out candy to all the little kids that rang the door bell and shouted "Trick or Treat!" in her face while her mom and dad were out at his annual company party.
She tosses the last Tootsie Roll into a Tinker Bell's bag and smiles when she spits a "Thanks!" between her buckteeth. Lucy switches off the porch light with a sigh, half-sad-that-it's-over and half-relieved.
She's just pushed the plastic bowl onto the kitchen counter when the doorbell rings.
"We're out of can...dy." She says, and then pauses before she guffaws.
She's seen a lot of Captain America's tonight, but Sam's definitely wins. Maybe it's the absence of the foam muscles, or how ridiculous Sam looks in that mask.
"I – well."
"That's about what I said." Rachel comments.
"You guys are no fun." Sam says, and Lucy steps back to let them into the house, shutting and locking the door behind her. "Where's your Halloween spirit?"
"In seventh grade." Rachel giggles and Lucy smiles lightly at her before leading them into the kitchen. "I have apple cider?"
"Sure."
"Is it vegan?"
Lucy flips over the packet. "I think so." She reaches for two cups.
"Do you not drink, either?"
She gives Sam a hard look, and she can tell by the way his lips clamp closed that he really didn't mean to say anything, but at the same time he's not going to take it back.
"If we're going to talk about that again – "
"No, no." He pulls the mask off of his head and runs a hand through his visibly sweaty hair. "I didn't – "
"Let's just not."
For a second, he's quiet, and Lucy is almost scared that he's going to say something regardless.
But he doesn't. "Okay."
"We're just – " She looks at Rachel and makes her falter a bit, but she continues. " – worried about you, is all. I've – look, Lucy, eating disorders are scary things – "
Eating disorders. She screws her eyes shut, tries to focus on the steady hum of the microwave, the smell of cinnamon and apples that's beginning to circulate around the room.
"Don't."
She has an eating disorder. Something about thinking it and hearing it out loud makes her want to vomit.
But she can't, because then they'll really want to talk about it, and she really doesn't.
"It's hot, be careful."
Sam sips at it seconds after she says it, and waves his arms in the air in exaggerated motions while he tries not to spit hot cider everywhere.
Lucy crosses her arms on the island and leans forward, resting her weight on her forearms. "Why didn't you dress up?" She nods at Rachel, who's blowing into her mug as she laughs lightly at Sam. "I figured you would be a Halloween-y person." Rachel shrugs.
"I am, kind of. It's just, not many people want to give out candy to the little girl with two dads."
"They can't just, refuse you candy." Leaning back, Sam rests his arm on the back of his chair. "I'm pretty sure that's rule number one in the rulebook."
"What rulebook?"
"The Halloween one." He's able to take a sip without burning the roof of his mouth, now. "Duh."
Rachel shrugs, and Lucy gives her a sympathetic half-smile that Rachel returns.
"Where's your parents?"
Lucy drums her fingers on the island in an unsteady pattern, her nails making a small ticking sound. "Uh, dad's Halloween party thing."
"You didn't go?"
She snorts, and then shakes her head. "No."
Sam nods, and Rachel looks at her curiously, but Lucy stares down at the table.
"Do you know when they're coming back?" is what Sam wonders, and Lucy is about to raise her shoulders in a shrug when she hears the front door open.
"Lucy? You home?"
"I – " She looks at Sam and Rachel, sitting at the counter, hands curled around their cups and then shout back, slowly and drawn out, "...yeah."
"Oh, good." She hears her mom say as her footsteps get closer. "You got rid of all the candy, right?"
"Yeah."
If her mom is surprised to see two other teenagers in her kitchen, she doesn't really show it; just a slight raise of the eyebrows and a happy, "Oh, hello."
"Hey, Mrs. Fabray." Sam gives her a polite nod.
"Sam. And who's your other friend, Lucy?"
Rachel smiles, and then walks over to her mom and sticks her hand out. "Rachel Berry."
Judy laughs, and then takes her hand. "Nice to meet you."
"You, too."
Her dad walks around the corner then, and his eyebrows shoot up in question at the two unexpected people in his home. "...good evening."
"Um, hi Mr. Fabray." Sam says, and Lucy watches as he averts his eyes quickly, staring down into his rapidly emptying cup.
"Sam. How are you?"
"Good, and you?"
"Fine."
It's so painfully awkward and formal that Lucy feels like she's actually suffocating on something in the air. It's nothing like when she goes over to Sam's house and his parents wrap her in hugs and ask her how she's doing and how school went and if she wants to stay for dinner.
Before Russell has a chance to ask, Rachel's holding her hand out with a, "Rachel Berry. Nice to meet you."
He takes her hand and gives is a small shake. "Berry?"
"I – yes, sir."
"Oh." And then something like realization washes over his face and he discreetly wipes his hand on his slacks. "You're the girl with two fathers, correct."
"I'm –" Rachel frowns. "Yes."
Lucy watches Sam turn in his stool out of the corner of her eye and she stands up straight. "Dad – "
"I'm sorry."
Rachel blinks, confused. "Why?"
Russell shakes his head. "You're a lovely girl, I'm sure, but having to live with that filth – "
"Excuse me – "
"Dad!"
It's almost a shout, and everyone quiets and looks at her when she tugs Sam off the stool by his sleeve and moves to stand halfway between Russell and Rachel.
"Let's go." It's quiet, so only Rachel can hear, and she prays that Rachel will listen to her.
Rachel's fist uncurl and her shoulders slump and she murmurs back, "Okay."
…
"I'm sorry." Is all Lucy can really think to say once they're out of the house and at the end of the driveway. "I'm just – wow, I'm sorry."
"It's fine." Rachel says plainly. "It's not your fault."
Except Lucy feels like it kind of is, because those are her parents and that's her family. She is connected to them, after all, so she thinks she should take some of the blame.
"I'm still sorry."
Rachel smiles. "It's okay."
"You probably shouldn't come over again." Lucy says, and not because she doesn't want her over but because she knows it wouldn't be good for pretty much anyone if that ever happened again.
"Probably not."
…
A/N: Read, review, favorite, all that stuff. It's makes me happy.