Marianne by Elizabeth Hammer (best books to read in life TXT) 📕

that combination always reminded Marianne of a Roman gladiator arena. If you go into that place, you’ll come out either victorious or dead.

Sally pulled out her pack of cloves and lit one with a green lighter. “What time does Patrick get in?”

Marianne shivered and rubbed her bare arms. “Midnight, or around then.”

Sally nodded and extended the lit brown-papered clove toward Marianne.

“No, thanks.” Marianne was surprised by the offer. Sally knew she didn’t smoke.

Sally held the cigarette between two fingers and lit another one. She puffed hard and tried to hand the extra to Marianne again. “I’m just trying to make this easier.”

“Make what easier?”

Sally rested her elbow on her knee so that the cigarette would hang permanently between them. “I need to talk to you.”

This night seemed to be taking a strange turn, and Marianne didn’t like it. “Go ahead.”

“It’s about you,” said Sally, blowing out smoke.

“No thanks, then.” Marianne would rather talk taxes with Dad.

Sally looked at the extra clove and sighed. “So... when was the last time you purged?”

“Excuse me?” gasped Marianne. No one was allowed to know about her fake ED. No one.

“I’m not stupid, Marianne.”

“Uh... Yeah, I think you might be.” This could not be happening. Marianne shifted uncomfortably on the concrete. She could feel the fishnet digging into the skin underneath her.

“I eat lunch with you every day,” said Sally sternly. “Or rather, I eat and you pick.”

Marianne snatched the clove out of Sally’s hand and laid it on the ground between them. “I don’t have an eating disorder.”

Sally looked at her serenely. “Sure, you don’t.”

Marianne knew that Sally was being stupid, but she still felt strangely panicked, as if Sally had put a gun to her head. “I’m not bulimic.”

Sally picked up the clove from the ground and held it out again. “Of course, you’re not. You’re ana.”

“What the hell is ana?” said Marianne, her tone harsher than was necessary.

Sally shrugged. “Never mind.” She inched the clove closer to Marianne.

Marianne took it. Sally watched as Marianne stared at the cigarette. Why had she taken it? It felt wrong to have it in her hand. Illegal or something, even though she was old enough. Marianne had no desire to try it. “What will happen to me if I smoke this?” she asked Sally. No desire at all.

“You’ll calm down a little,” she said. “Maybe you could even hold a rational conversation about difficult subjects for once in your life.”

Marianne moved the cigarette to her other hand. “I think just fine.”

“You’re a mess.”

“What are you talking about?” mumbled Marianne.

“What do you think? You’re anxious and depressed. Starvation is just an outlet for you.”

That was a load of crap, and Marianne told her so. “That’s a load of crap. I’m not depressed.”

Sally took another puff off her death-stick and ashed on the ground. “And you’re not hungry either, right?”

Marianne leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. “Honestly,” she laughed, “I don’t know. I can’t really tell, anymore.”

She was hungry; she was hungry all the time, but she only wanted to eat every other day or so. If she’d learned anything over the last few weeks, it was that hunger is not the same as the desire to eat. Hunger isn’t anything other than an ache in the stomach, a twitch in the jaw, a slight burning in the throat. It is not, however, an unbearable pain if one thinks of it for what it is. Evidence that the body is reducing its mass. With the proper perspective, it is not only bearable, but almost enjoyable. Why is it okay for a runner to glory in the burning muscles of their legs, but wrong for Marianne to glory in the burning in her throat?

And it wasn’t as if she was starving herself, for goodness’ sake. She’d eat seven or eight hundred calories a day to keep steady. The only real problem with any of it came if she went under that; if she became so hungry that she lost control and overate. But, even then, it wasn’t a real problem in the medical sense. She was not anorexic, that was for sure. She’d looked up bulimia, though, just to be sure, but her behavior didn’t fit any of the molds on the web. She didn’t throw up often enough... She didn’t have feeding frenzies... She wasn’t fifteen percent below normal weight...

Marianne sat up, realizing how defensive her thoughts sounded. Sally was wrong about a lot of things, but labeling Marianne as anxious and stressed obviously wasn’t one of them. She reached down and picked up the lighter off the pavement. She put the clove in her mouth and relit it. Then she took the clove out again. “Does smoking make your teeth yellow?”

“Yes.”

Marianne nodded and smoked the clove.

15

First Loser

Marianne reached out blindly for more shampoo. What the hell had she been thinking? She wasn’t some cigarette-smoking loser. She was stronger than that. Cleaner than that. And Patrick would be home soon. She grated her teeth every time she thought about it. Marianne had every intention of letting him kiss her again tonight, but she’d smoked a frigging clove. Even though she had already brushed her teeth four times, she was still afraid that the smell might come up from her lungs or something. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

By eleven o’clock, Marianne had her hair blown out and her makeup reapplied. She had just finished plucking her eyebrows when Dad came in. He leaned against the bedroom door. “You look dressed up.”

Was that supposed to be a question or something? “I am dressed up.”

“Are you going out?”

Marianne got her flip-flops out of the closet where she kept them. Not really—she grabbed one off the bed and one from under the window. “Patrick is coming home tonight.” She wiggled the shoes in between her toes. “But it’s too late to go anywhere. I’m just going to say hi and go to bed.”

Dad shook his head at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders, looking mopey. “I just thought