“What am I supposed to do here? I stick to my word, and save myself a whole lot of misery by getting you and Ryan out of my life, and you fall apart. I stick around and help you, I go crazy watching you live your real life with Ryan.”
“I'll leave you alone,” I say, but, instead, I take a step closer to him.
He slings the T-shirt over his shoulder. I feel his arms around my waist, pulling my tank top over my head.
“Don't give me any ideas,” I say. He offers the T-shirt again, and, this time, I take it. I turn around to take off my bra and shorts.
“Do you often fuck right after purging?” he asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “But there's always next time, right?” I laugh.
“That's not funny.”
“Do you have a dryer in here?” I ask. He nods, yeah, and picks up my clothes from the floor. “Don't put my sports bra in the dryer,” I say. “That'll ruin it.”
He opens a hidden closet and loads the dryer inside it. His hands linger on the buttons, his shoulders and back tense. Because of me. He's a tense, miserable mess because of me. How can I even consider being with him? All I do is hurt him. And I'm too busy in my ever advancing quest to destroy myself to ever help him. I came here, to his apartment, without even considering his feelings.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I'm sorry,” I say again. “I haven't been thinking. I've been selfish. I've been awful.”
“I can't watch you destroy yourself,” Luke says.
“I'm not.”
“It's not fair to me, Alyssa. You can't make me watch you destroy yourself because you're so miserable with Ryan. You can't.”
“I know.”
“I've seen this too many times. My mom was so miserable with my dad. And Samantha…” he says. “I'm only trying to survive here. I thought you'd understand that. Isn't that why you're with him?”
“I'm sorry I'm ruining your life,” I say.
“I can't be this person for you anymore. Not if you're going to be with him.”
“I get it, okay? I won't bother you again. I promise.”
He reaches for my hand. His touch is still electric, but it makes me sicker than anything else. What the fuck am I doing?
“Please, get some help. You deserve it.”
I nod as if I agree, but I don't. I don't deserve help. I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve to see Luke again. I made him light up for a while. I made him happy for a while, but now I'm only making him miserable.
“Listen, Alyssa,” he says. “Ryan is throwing himself, well, the firm is throwing him a birthday party next weekend. He'll try to bring you, but I don't want you to be there.”
“I understand,” I say. There's really only one way to interpret this.
He goes to his bedroom to change and he doesn't come out. I sit on the couch until my clothes are dry. Then, I change into them, collect my bag and shoes, and leave.
***
Relief floods my body when Ryan isn't home. I am a tired, dehydrated mess. I am miserable, more miserable than I have ever been, but I am relieved, because he isn't home, and I don't have to deal with the tension my lies created.
Is this really how you want to live your life? You really want to hide out from your future husband for the rest of your life?
I brush my teeth. I drink a Pedialyte. I try to eat something mild—applesauce and bananas—but I can only stomach a few bites.
I don't love Ryan. It's never been more obvious that I don't love Ryan. It's never been more obvious that I don't like what's between us. But he's perfect for me. We're both perfectly miserable for each other. We're both perfectly miserable.