Later on that evening, I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I undressed and put each foot on the scale. The zeros flashed on the screen, and then I saw 188. That was three pounds heavier than I had been recently. I cringed because I knew it meant I had to purge. I was so mad at myself for letting a scale control me.

If I hadn’t started purging, I’d probably still be with Mel. But I just wanted to look and feel normal, and there was always a cost. I got on my knees in front of the toilet seat and did what I had to.

Afterward I sat leaning against the door. It was shortly after three in the afternoon and I heard my cell phone begin to ring. I ignored it. It rang again. I ignored it. It rang again, and finally I grabbed it furiously, answering with, “What!?”

“Hey, man,” I heard from the other end. It was Mel’s voice. “I thought . . . maybe we could talk. Can I pick you up, or something? Do you wanna come to my place?”

“I can just meet you there,” I said without thinking. Maybe it was a stupid idea, but maybe I could get some clarity and take away some of the pain. I got up, brushed my teeth, and chewed some gum to get rid of the smell of vomit, then made my way to Mel’s.

During the walk there my mind was flooded with feelings of relief and distress. I was relieved because she wanted to see me, but I was very upset at everything that had happened — her leaving me because of my eating disorder, her making out with Desmond, and her still pretending to care. It was a chilly journey there, but I saw her basement light on. I didn’t bother going to knock on her front door. By the time I got to the back door, she was already waiting.

“Hey, come in.” She opened the door wider.

Her room was the same. It was very neat. It had more band posters than before, but it had been a while since I was there. She sat down on her bed, palms in her lap, while I pulled up a chair. We sat in silence for a few moments. Then she just spoke.

“Hey, Adrian. I’m sorry. The concert was a bad idea.”

“It was.”

“I think we need to talk . . . about a lot of things.”

“I think so, too.” I was a bit blunt.

“Listen, Desmond and I kinda had a small fling for a bit. I thought he was nice, but it was all an act. He’s not a nice guy.”

“You don’t think?”

Mel let out a breath. “Listen, you don’t have to be an asshole right now.”

She was right. I didn’t have to be rude to her. But I wanted to be.

“I thought . . . I thought I should have tried to get you out of the house at the time. Desmond didn’t care that you were my ex. He doesn’t get bent out of shape over stuff like that,” she continued. “It was dumb, and I don’t know what else to say, besides sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”