Excerpt: Mikhaela

PART ONE

Day 1 Wednesday
I awake to a very scratchy throat, and someone peels back my eyelids to shine a bright light in each of my eyes. Then a voice from very far away as my eyes try to adjust and I count the tiles in the ceiling . . . where the hell am I anyway? The voice insistently calls my name, while all I want to do is go back to sleep . . .

“Mikhaela? Mikhaela? Stay with me here. That’s it. Open your eyes. Good girl.”

Hey, he’s not so bad on the eyes, maybe I can look at him for a while.

“Am I in heaven?”

My voice, a hoarse whisper - is that me??

“Here’s some juice. Sip it slowly. Don’t gulp. You’re at Woodhaven Hospital. I’m Dr. Blake.”

Hospital? Doctor? Where are my parents? What am I doing here? I start to get up, but the taller (did I mention gorgeous) man eases me back in bed.

“Do you remember anything from yesterday at all, Mikhaela?

“I’m -- where are my parents?” Tears start unbidden, and I hate myself for looking weak.

“They’ll be back to visit, Mikhaela. They’ve signed you in because they thought it was the best thing for you. You took an over dose of your mother’s anti-anxiety pills yesterday, and you are dangerously underweight, which is why the feeding tube. Woodhaven is an eating disorders clinic, and you weighed 90 pounds coming in. That might sound good to you, but my dear, it’s a little over 15% less than what you should weigh. You’ll be here until we think it’s safe for you to leave, and most of that depends on you, but you’ll get lots of help, so I shouldn’t worry too much.”

“My mom brought me to an eating disorders clinic? Why? I don’t have an eating disorder. I’m just thin. I have a small frame. Did you get a look at her??”

“Your mom’s not my patient, though, is she?”

God it must suck to be you. And it royally sucks to be here. Go away so I can sob in peace dammit.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone. That’s a lot to digest for right now. You’ll have your meals in your room the first day. Just do the best you can. We expect it to be overwhelming right at first.”

He left, and took his beautiful serious self with him. Blake.

I’m writing this on a gorgeous leather-bound journal my ‘rents must’ve left for me. There are things I’m confused about. I went to Bella when I OD’d, not my parents. Bella (short for Isabella) is my best friend and lover since we were both 13. My name is Mikhaela Brooke and I’m 16 years old. My second best friend in the world is Echo, my yellow lab retriever. She’s more loyal than most people.

Pause for sucky hospital interaction.

“Hello, Mikhaela is it? I’m Susan, and it’s my job to be your one-to-one today.” She pulled her long hair back into a ponytail before sitting - uninvited - into the chair that Blake had just vacated.

“One-to-one?” I let my own chin-length blonde, black, and red-streaked hair fall into my eyes so she can’t see my fear and youth.

“It’s what we do as a precaution for at least 24-48 hours after someone has attempted - well, suicide, Mikhaela.”

“Suicide? What makes anyone think I attempted suicide??”

She just looks at me for a minute. Then I remember, and my head bends lower over my journal.
“So I guess that means you’re like, attached to my hip, eh, like some sort of mutated siamese twin! What fun. How long is the stay here anyway?”

“Well, I can tell you insurance typically pays for thirty days but most girs are here longer than that. It depends on the individual. The center is divided equally into mixed groups. Right now we are at a low admission, and there is a small group, of which you are included. The other girls are Stephanie, Holly, Meghan, and Kaycee.”

As if they hear a sound only eating-disordered kids can, who should suddenly appear at my door but four girls, two very thin and two sort of average-looking. I can tell I’m still the smallest, despite the embarrassment surely evident on my cheeks at having a shadow.

“Ah, here they all are now,” Susan smiles, her silly brown pony tail swaying as the girls practically collide into each other to get a look at the new inmate.

“I’m Steph,” Taller skinny one talks, and I am drawn into her perfectly round blue eyes. “This is Holly,” she jerks her thumb at slightly shorter skinny one, with the longest wavy blond hair I have ever in my life seen, “Meghan,” not skinny but not fat, so why are you and the other one even here? ”and Kaycee.”

“Hey.” I lightly toss my hair off my face. There’s a long line between them and Susan, and she might as well learn it now. I want them to see my face, my eyes. I have nothing to hide from them. “I’m Mikhaela and rumor has it I tried to off myself yesterday.”

Susan decides she’d better stop all of this straight away.

“All right every one, it was really great of you to introduce yourselves to Mikhaela here, and I’m sure you’ll all get a much better chance to get to know each other real soon. But - oh look, isn’t it just about time for OT?”

I’m thinking she’ll get at least the teensiest bit of argument, but remarkably enough, they are happy to go.

“What’s OT?” I've put on my best bored, couldn’t-care-less voice.

“Oh, Mikhaela, you won’t have to worry about any of that until tomorrow, when you officially start. I can tell you that it stands for Occupational Therapy, and that it is lots of fun.” I glanced at her through my hair; Susan, nearly the same height as me but not skinny. Lean, long muscles. Is that what it’s like? Is that what it means to not have anyone worry over you or monitor you or make deals on what you eat or don’t?

“What should I do now?” I ask my shadow.

“Well, you can do whatever you like. We could play a game, or put together a puzzle, or--”

“I can write in my journal and you can read a mag or whatever, right?” I step right in the middle of her sentence.

“Sure. Journaling is good. You’ll be asked to keep one while you are here on a daily basis, so it’s never too late to start.”

Now I just stare at her. Miss Chatty Shadow. I am so not in the mood for this right now.

“Okay then. Well, I have a class I need to study for. You journal and I’ll just study right over here by you. If you need to use the bathroom let me know, I’ll stand right outside the door with the door ajar.” She looks at me, does not seem intimidated by my icy glare. “It’s for your safety, Mikhaela.”

“Swell.” I bend back over my journal and start to write in my semi-neat left-handed style, trying to ignore the feeding tube in my nose and my increasing need to pee.

As I was saying, I think I told you about Bella and Echo before we got interrupted. Emma and Todd Brook are my mother and dad. Mom is this massive (not in size) perfectionist, and expects everyone else to be perfect, too. Like, you can tell in the little things if someone makes a huge deal of the big things, do you know what I mean? Mom is forever fussing with my hair, and I was G.U.F.T. (Grounded Until Further Notice) after I got the streaks in it. She’s constantly picking off pieces of lint that aren’t on mine and my dad’s clothes, always dusting or vacuuming . . . But I get straight A’s, I’m captain of the cheerleading squad at school, on the debate team, mathletes, AND the drama club. I’m very well-rounded, so I fit right into her perfectionist mold.

If I hadn’t been so stupid to have OD’d, had just kept doubling up and wearing baggy clothes, no one would’ve noticed I’d lost so much weight.