by Vivian Wood
“So it’s about the money,” Sean said. It’s always about money.
“Of course not!” Ashton said. “What is it with you trust fund babies? Always on about the money. It’s about the principle, you fucking prick. You got off without a scratch, and I was in a coma for almost six fucking months! Six months I won’t get back. And you just got to prance back to your goddamned gilded life like nothing happened—”
“Is that how you think it went?” Sean asked. Harper flinched at the edge in his voice, but he couldn’t pull back now. “I was in fucking hell!” he screamed at the phone. “And, in case you weren’t informed of this, I spent quite a bit of time since then in jail.”
“And you should have! Fuck, Sean, you should be in prison right now! If it weren’t for your daddy’s money bailing you out—”
“You know what? Fuck you,” Sean said. “You want to keep going with the lawsuit, fine. And you want to see what money can really do? Let’s just see how your DA does against one of the best attorneys in town.”
“You’re going to fucking pay—”
Sean reached over and cut off the call before he could hear anything more.
“Are you okay?” Harper asked gently. She moved to get up, but he gestured for her to sit back down.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I just need to cool off. You mind if I just keep drawing?”
“I … I guess,” she said. “If that’ll help.”
“I need to keep my hands busy,” he said.
Harper leaned back against the couch and opened her book. He noticed that for several minutes, she didn’t turn the page. Her muscles were clenched and her jaw was clamped. Still, the meditative movement of his fingers and hands rocked him back to a soothing state.
What could Ashton really do? Would a judge or jury really buy the whole idea that Sean was some nefarious drug dealer? He shook his head. There was no context for him to gauge either way. But there was also no way Sean would just go ahead and plead guilty to something he hadn’t done.
He was already guilty enough, racked with it.
18
Harper
Harper pressed her lips together as she clicked “book.” There was no turning back now—at least not without forfeiting half the thousand-dollar booking fee. She’d spent the past week researching eating disorder rehabilitation options in the Hollywood area. Part of her thought she should go all in Girl, Interrupted style, though she wasn’t prone to hiding chicken carcasses under her bed.
More realistically, the outpatient options seemed like a better fit. There was no way she could afford inpatient, especially now that her insurance had lapsed, and she wasn’t about to let Sean pay for it. Besides, she wasn’t that bad. Am I?
She’d delved into the first-person accounts and binge-watched To the Bone on Netflix three times in the past five days. The feeding tubes, the insane roommates, the banding together to help each other hide the vomiting in the bathroom, it was just all too much. What Harper needed right now was structured support—and Sean. Their situation was already so delicate, and he needed her, too. What would he think if she just up and left for a stint in rehab?
Harper sighed. She’d have to tell him now. Fortunately, part of the therapy process at Golden Hills Rehabilitation was working with family and loved ones in group sessions to complement individual therapy. Although she loathed the idea of spilling her worst secrets in front of him, even filtered through a therapist, maybe that’s what they needed.
She peeked into the living room and saw him curled over one of his sketch pads. Harper shifted her weight from side to side and practiced her opening line. Hey, so you know how I’m weird about food? sounded not serious enough. Guess what, I’m anorexic. But I’m getting help! That wouldn’t do either.
Harper still didn’t know what she’d say as she approached him from behind. Instead, she snaked her arms around his neck and buried her face into his cheek. Sex as a salve wasn’t the smartest idea, but it might make for a better introduction to bad news.
Sean went stiff immediately. “What is it?” he asked coldly.
Harper knew that if she pulled her arms away now, it would kickstart a fight. And it would be a fight where she didn’t have any leverage. “Nothing,” she said meekly. “I just … I wanted to tell you … I’ve booked myself into an outpatient program. For eating disorders.” It was a little easier to tell him like this, not having to see the expression in his eyes. She started at the sketch on the pad. It was her, but she could really only tell from the familiar dress he’d captured. The girl on the paper looked longer and lither than she’d ever be.
“Rehab for an eating disorder,” he repeated. It wasn’t a question. “Like anorexia?”
“Yeah,” she said, embarrassed. “And bulimia, binge eating disorder …” as she let the sentence trail off, she felt a thick veil of shame drape over her.
“And that’s what you wanted to tell me? Anything else?” he asked coldly.
She felt a small piece of her die inside, just crumple up and fall away. This is exactly why you shouldn’t tell him, she chided herself. Now what are you going to do? “No, nothing,” she said meekly. Slowly, she unwound her arms and retreated back to her room. There was no telling when he’d be in one of his moods. And once he was in them, she couldn’t gauge when he’d come out. It could be minutes, hours, or a couple of days.
Harper clicked the door quietly behind her and flopped onto her bed. As she opened her laptop, she clicked through the saved movies on Netflix. She loaded the Thin documentary as she prepared to lick her wounds.
Sean burst through the door right as the opening credits started. “Jesus,” she said and snapped the laptop shut. For a few seconds the music still played from the speakers.
He stood in the doorway, nearly took up all the space. For a moment, he wavered, uncertain. “If you need to get help, you should,” he said finally. “I’m … I’m here for you. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”
All the years of restriction, of fat pinching and measuring bubbled up inside her and began to pour down her cheeks. She was racked by decades of self-hatred and there was no stopping the ugly sobs once they started. Harper reached for words that were buried deep inside her, not even knowing what they were. But the sheer pressure of keeping it all down kept them from coming out.
Sean came to her, sat on the bed and held her close. She cried into his shoulder. “No,” she finally choked out. “You’re full of crap,” she said. “I’m a fucking mess, I know it.” Once the words started, they wouldn’t stop. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? I’m going to get fat. Even without the feeding tubes and everything, they make you fat in those places.”
He stroked her back, firm yet soft. “You’re not fat now, and you’re not going to be fat if you get help. You’ll get healthy.”
“Healthy’s just a nice way of saying fat,” she said. Harper pushed her closed eyes into his shirt and let it sop up the saltwater. “And all this body positivity shit that’s going around now. Talking about ‘vanity sizing’ and that fucking shit. People think fat is good now!”
“First of all, a person can’t be fat anyway,” he said. “Fat’s a necessary part of the body. You can have fat, and it can shrink or expand, but you can’t be fat. Second of all, if you’re passing out and making yourself throw up—are you making yourself throw up?”
She couldn’t bring herself to admit that, but nodded guiltily into his shoulder.
He sighed. “Harper. That’s a sign that you’re hurting your body. Maybe permanently. I don’t know that much about all this, but I’ll learn. But I have heard about what bulimia can do. The ruining of the throat, your teeth …”
“My teeth are fine,” she said defensively. It was only partially true.
The last time she’d been at the dentist, months ago, he’d finished the exam and looked at her sternly. “Are you purging?” he’d asked. She was shocked into silence. Harper had never been asked so bluntly before.
/> “Just sometimes,” she said. “I’m a model, so—”
“You need to stop. The acid is wearing away the enamel on your teeth. And I can tell from the severity it’s not just sometimes.”
She’d kept her eyes on her lap. “Isn’t there something you can do—”
“I’m doing everything I can,” he said. “This is up to you. If you keep it up, though, you’ll be having most of your teeth extracted and dental implants before you’re forty.”
Forty had sounded so old, so far away. There was no way she’d be a model at forty. What was the point in worrying about it?
“Harper.” Sean’s voice brought her back to the present. “I’m proud of you for getting help. I’ll support you in it whatever way I can.”
She started to pick at a cuticle as he cradled her in his lap. “Eating like this … it’s the only thing that keeps me thin,” she said. “I’m not naturally thin like a lot of the models. Nobody in my family is super thin. And I’m getting older. My metabolism is fucked to hell anyway. I don’t want to get fat …”
“You’re not going to get fat!” he said. “And, besides, it wouldn’t matter to me if you did.”
“Don’t lie,” she said. “I know that’s part of why you like me. You really think you would have been into me if I didn’t look like I do? Or did, I should say, when we met?”
“I’m not lying,” he said. “And of course I thought you were hot when we met. I still do—more so, though, because I see you. All the way through, to the core. You think those eighty-year-old couples would find each other hot if they met then? It’s because they love each other. I love you, and to me you’ll always be beautiful. You’ll always look like you did the day we met. That’s just how it works. You captured my heart, and what you look like is no longer part of the equation.”
“Really?” She raised her head and searched his eyes, but could find nothing of trickery in them.
“Yes. Really,” he said.
She raised her mouth to his. He tasted of morning tea and an undercurrent of sweetness. As his hands moved from her waist to her breasts, she raised her arms and allowed him to remove her shirt. But when he went to flip her onto her back, she resisted.
Harper pushed his chest and straddled him as he leaned back on her pile of pillows. She could feel the hardness beneath his jeans press into the thin material of her silk panties. His hands reached beneath her short jersey skirt and he squeezed her ass as she released his cock from the denim.
“Hey, hey,” he said. “Slow down.”
“No,” she said, shocked when he listened. Desperate to have him inside her, Harper reached between her legs and pushed the soaked material to the side. She groaned as she directed him into her.
As she began to ride him, her palms flat against his chest, she knew she should tell him about the pregnancy. But not yet, she thought. She’d done enough confessing for one day.
19
Sean
Sean pulled into the small parking lot nestled into a side street of Hollywood Boulevard he’d never noticed before. “I read that celebrities come here,” he said as they looked at the nondescript building.
Harper let out a laugh. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
He looked at her. “You’ll do great,” he said.
Sean opened the glass doors for her and they were greeted with what looked like a combination of a waiting room and the reception area to an upscale retirement home.
“Can I help you?” He couldn’t help but check the size of the woman who worked at the front desk. Sean didn’t know if most people who worked in eating disorder facilities were in treatment, but she looked healthy. Like she worked out, but not excessively. However, he could see how in a place like Los Angeles, she’d be told she had a pretty face, but should lose at least twenty pounds.
“I have an appointment. Harper—”
“Yes, I have you,” the woman said with a chirp. She glanced around at the people who lingered nearby. “We prioritize discretion here,” she said kindly. “So don’t worry about sharing your surname or any personal details in common areas.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Harper looked at him strangely.
“I told you they treat celebrities here,” he said.
“And are you her husband?” the woman asked.
“Uh, no.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Harper said. It was the first time she’d said it since they’d gotten back together, and it was so natural. Boyfriend. Like everything that had happened between them was perfectly necessary.
“I’m sorry, but only family members are allowed on the first day. Dr. Horst can arrange for future joint sessions if you’d like.”
“Oh. Okay,” Harper said. She gave him an apologetic look.
“It’s okay,” he said, though his heart sank. He’d spent the past three days amping himself up for this appointment. Sean had even researched what kind of support he’d be expected to survive on her road to management. “I’ll either go back home or find something around here to do. When will she be ready?” he asked.
“At least three hours.”
He watched as Harper flew through the paperwork and ticked off YES to a myriad of responses. At first, she angled the papers away from him. By the third page, she seemed to be checking the affirmative box for just about everything. Do you think your eating habits negatively impact your social life? Do you sometimes eat in secret? Do you sometimes eat to the point of pain, well beyond being full? Have you ever self-induced vomiting? Do you often choose the wrong, larger size, of clothes when shopping?
Sean wanted to ask her about it. Is this really what your life is like on a daily basis? But he knew just letting him see the responses was a huge step for her.
He looked around the waiting room and played a game. Patient or visitor? Sometimes it was obvious, but for the most part it wasn’t. There were men and women, all ages and sizes. Some clearly had money, or at least spent it, while others looked like they could have been waiting for the city bus.
The squeak of rubber shoes on the floors and the overtly plastic greenery were eerily familiar. So was the scent of industrial cleaner. All rehabilitation centers were the same at the core. He remembered his own admission, even through the haze of the worn-off alcohol. How the receptionist offered up the same, tight, toothless smile. How the cheap waiting room furniture looked more tired than any of the people who sunk into it, though the style suggested it was new.
Most of all, he remembered how he felt under the glare of those bright lights—so raw, like he was on display for the world to see. His first day had been raw and painful. There had been a thread of fear that ran through him like he’d never known before. Scared, not knowing what to expect, his own admission had been marinated in moments of sheer terror. But when he glanced at Harper’s face, she seemed calm and collected. Maybe that was the big difference. She’d chosen to come here, had probably torn it apart in her head a thousand times. Sean had been dragged. There had to be a huge difference between signing up for swimming lessons and when someone else pushed you into the deep end.
It hadn’t just been the drying out that had him on edge during his own rehab. It was the demand that he face his feelings instead of numbing them. How he’d been commanded to reach into the ugliest parts of himself and turn the pieces over and over.
“Well. I guess this is it.” Harper’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.
“You ready?” he asked as he stood up with her.
“As ready as I’m going to be,” she said with a shrug.
A nurse was paged to escort her to her first meeting. Sean watched her thin figure retreat until it disappeared around a corner.
“She’ll give you a call when she’s ready,” the receptionist said. “You’re welcome to wait here. We have a small café down that way.”
“No,” he said, almost too quickly. “I’ll just wait for her to call.” He didn’t want to tell the receptionist that he couldn’t stand
to sit there any longer. That the walls crept closer with every minute.
As soon as he slid into the driver’s seat, he whipped out the phone and called Joon-ki. “Hey! Good to hear from you. Everything okay?” Joon-ki asked.
“Everything’s okay with me, yeah,” he said. “I just dropped Harper off at rehab.”
“What?” Joon-ki’s voice changed. “Sean, you didn’t tell me she was an addict. You know how dangerous it can be for you—”
“Rehab for anorexia,” he corrected quickly.
“Oh. That’s … I’m sorry. Is everything okay?”
“I guess it’s as good as it can be. It’s outpatient, at least for now. You working?”
“Just finishing up,” Joon-ki said.
“Must be nice, being done with work on a Thursday at ten in the morning.”
“Yeah, the great joys of being a systems integration specialist. That’s why we have grads lining up around the block to take over our jobs.”
“I think you’re spoiled. You’ve been setting your own hours and working from home too long.”
“Maybe,” Joon-ki admitted. “Did you want to meet? Go to a meeting? How long do you have?”
He paused. A meeting would help pass the time, maybe settle his nerves. “Yeah, sounds good,” he said as he checked the time. “Meeting’s not for an hour. If you want to grab coffee before, it’s my treat.”
“Sure, are you in Hollywood? Just give me fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah, let’s do the one oh one.”
Sean waited for Joon-ki in the kitschy diner with a thick white mug of the drip of the day cradled in his hands.
“Hi,” Joon-ki said as he slid his narrow frame into the vinyl booth. “You look on edge.”
“I feel even worse,” Sean said.
“Why’s that?” Joon-ki smiled up to the waitress and ordered his usual, with an extra shot in the dark.
