"Christina, are you okay?" My producer looked at me with a confused expression, which deepened the wrinkles in his face.
"Uh, why would I not be okay?" I replied quickly, staring at him, backing away from the microphone in front of me.
"Your voice...." He scratched his bald head, and sat back down on his chair. "It's all...raspy and cracking. You can't even hit those high notes anymore. We can't record today. I think you need to go see a doctor, I mean, about your voice. Maybe you have something in your throat."
I sighed. I knew what was wrong with my voice. It was all fucked up from all the vomiting I had to do every time I ate. My throat was sore and I could hardly speak.
"I'm sure it will be fine in a few days." I assured my producer, and he gave me an uncertain look as he raised his bushy eyebrows.
"I think you need to see a doctor."
Seeing a doctor? That was the last thing I would do. A doctor could probably tell what was wrong with me. "No, that's okay. I'll be fine. Alright?"
My producer gave me a worried look before he returned his eyes to the sheet of paper he was writing on, probably composing music.
I shrugged and saw Britney come through the door, smiling and waving at me as she did. I smiled back, and glanced back at my producer. "Can I go then? If we can't record today?"
Nodding, he turned away and walked over to the other room, leaving me and Britney alone in the room.
She came up to me and gave me a hug, holding me tight until I said something. "Brit? Are you okay?"
Britney giggled softly, the voice of a little school girl. "I'm glad to see you. That's all." She pulled away and smiled at me, still holding onto my hands. "You going home now?"
I nodded, and pulled my arms away from her grasp, then walked out of the door followed by her. She kept trailing a few feet behind me, and I could feel her eyes on my back. Watching me. I really have no idea why, I was only walking. Not vomiting up in the bathroom. I guess she really was worried about me.
When we got home, I sat down on the couch, tired as hell since I was hardly eating. Britney went roaming the kitchen, probably finding something for me to eat.
She came out, holding up a bottle of laxatives. "Christina, what the fuck are you doing with this?" Britney looked hurt and betrayed, and her eyes were red and sore with tears.
"Um...that's not mine," I lied, hoping she would believe me. "Those belong to my mom."
Britney shot me a dirty look. Now I had betrayed her twice, lying the second. "Why do you lie to me?!"
Speechless, I turned my eyes away from her and stared down at the floor. Not looking at it, but staring without seeing, hypnotized by it.
"Christina, I know what you do. And you can't even bother to tell me the truth?! That's the least thing you can do for me! I'm so worried about you -- you have no idea. And you can't even tell me the fucking truth."
I burst into tears, crying over my life, what I had done to myself, and her. Her. She was so right. She did everything for me and I couldn't even tell her the truth. Suddenly, she looked sorry, and she sat down beside me and pulled me into a hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to cry." She whispered into my ear, sending chills down my spine.
I tried to sputter out words, and I did, weakly, as I pushed her away from me. "You don't understand, Britney! You don't understand what fucking shit I've had to go through all my life! And ugh...I'm so fat, aren't I? Tell the truth. You know I am."
Britney pulled away from me, and looked at me, surprised. "Fat?! Chrissy, you're anything but fat!"
"Now who's the one that's lying?"
She stared at me, completely confused as why I would think that about myself. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
I didn't say anything. I just looked at her and stared into her eyes. They looked so sad and hurt. I actually felt bad about what I did to myself. It was my fault that she was sad. My fault that she worried about me.
"Chrissy, please. Don't do this to yourself. If in fact you were fat, which you're definetely not, why do you chose to take bulimia as the road out? Why not a normal diet? Fuck, Chrissy, you're messing yourself up." Britney was almost begging now, almost enough for me to stop. I couldn't though.
I sighed deeply before replying. "Do you think I have the fucking patience and the fucking time to go through a normal diet?"
Britney looked at me with an even deeper sadness. She knew I had problems. "You're beautiful, Chrissy. You don't need to change."
Her eyes looked so comforting and caring, I felt like crying right then and there. All I did, though, was lean forward and wrap my arms around her tightly, not wanting to let her go. Wanting to hold onto her forever. She was all I needed in life, not a better body or anything. She was it.
"Are you going to eat?" Britney whispered into my ear, making me feel like butterflies were circling around in my stomach.
She pulled back , still holding onto me, and looked into my eyes. Her eyes looked so sad and I knew she was hoping I would say yes. But I couldn't. I was too fucking tired to even eat. "I'm going to sleep." I whispered back, wondering if I had enough energy to even wake up again.