He stared solemnly at her, taking in the gleaming white toilet bowl; taking in the remainders of the expensive – five hundred dollar expensive – Italian dinner he had just treated her to floating in the liquid; taking in the vile, putrid, rancid smell; taking in her, half sprawled on the tiled bathroom floor.  Observed everything in one cool bluer-than-blue gaze.

Surprise had registered on her face briefly, surprise and shock, but she wondered if guilt had fallen unconsciously upon her harrowed features.  She felt too tired for guilt.  She felt too tired to care. T his was a practiced ritual that drew every ounce of energy from her nerves, leaving her drained and sapped of everything.

“Are you done?”

She looked at him wearily. “Yes.”

She got to her feet and staggered over to where he stood by the sink.  He turned the tap.  Cold water flowed into her palms, which felt caked and grainy and chalky. A cracked mirror hung crooked on the wall, but she didn’t look up; she never did.  Mirrors were the enemy.  There was the loud sound of the heavy brown paper towel roll turning, then the rip as he tore off a generous piece and handed it to her silently.  She wet one end and wiped her face.  She rinsed her mouth.

Dear Friend, what's on your mind
You don’t laugh the way you used to
But I've noticed how you cry
Dear friend, I feel so helpless

She turned away from the sink, keeping the mirror at her back.  She stared at the tiled walls, aware of his taut, tense presence beside her, ready to snap at any minute.  She felt cold, sticky sweat cling to the nape of her neck, cling to her back, cling to her chest.  She felt grimy all over, and she was conscious of pathetic little waif-orphan-beggar hybrid look.  She wore it well, she could feel it.

“I’m going to tell him.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell.”

“Goddamnit,” he swore. “I was an asshole, okay? I was an asshole to listen to you.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell,” she repeated. “You promised you wouldn’t tell.”

“Yeah, and you promised you would either stop or get help once you reached 105 pounds. Fuck, Kit, you weigh less than 90 now.”

I see you sit in silence
As you face new pain each day
I feel there’s nothing I can do

“You said you wouldn’t tell,” she said stubbornly.

He exhaled sharply. “Kit. Give it up.”

Her ashen coloring turned a stark pale. “How can you say that? It’s as if I were to ask you to give up the group or to give up singing or both.”

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair because his hands were feeling restless and he wanted to grip her by the shoulders and shake her or strangle her. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his frame rigidly stiff and unyielding. “Don’t, Kit. It’s different. Singing it’s killing me. The group isn’t killing me. Your dancing – it’s killing you. Fuck, being around AJ is killing you.”

“Stop it,” she said, fighting back the tremor in her voice, fighting back the tears she knew he had wanted to evoke, fighting back the truth he was force-feeding her. “Stop it. You don’t know, you don’t understand. I love Alex and I love dancing…”

“And I love you. And I know AJ loves you. Don’t you think he should know?”

“It’s his passion!” she said, her voice panicky and thick with dismay. “Nick, it’s his passion. You can’t separate me from dancing just like you can’t separate him from dancing. Dancing makes me feel beautiful, Nick. I swore it off a year ago and you know what it did to me…”

He did know.  And after it was all over, he had hoped to God that it would never happen again.  He would kill off his bandmate before he would let that period of her life repeat.

“You’re his goddamn passion!” He kicked the metal garbage can and the loud crack of the clanging sound resonated through the small bathroom, ringing harshly in her ear.  There was a dent left in the metal.  He seemed not to notice, seemed intent on venting his violence and anger, born of pent up frustration and concern.  He punched the paper towel dispenser. “He should know. He should know that he’s killing you.”

“What, ask him to stop dancing? Every time he hears music, any kind of music, he just wants to dance. And I can’t help it, God, I want to dance too. Just fly on the music notes. And I want to take everything back again, I need the dream…you don’t know, Nick,” she sobbed. “I went to an audition…they picked a girl who couldn’t have weighed more than 85 pounds…in ballet, you need to be light! And I’m not – I wasn’t – and then there’s this constant attention on me and God, it’s so vain and shallow, but I feel so unbeautiful sometimes it just kills me and I have to dance it away. But either way I was still, I mean, I wasn’t…”

I wasn’t thin enough.

He stared at her, wanting to retain some of his anger at her.

I know you don’t feel pretty
Even though you are
But it wasn’t your beauty
That found room in my heart

Dear friend, you are so precious
Dear Friend

She swept back her hair and drew in a breath that caused her lean, undernourished body to shake. “Ballet requires rigorous training. It’s an art that demands certain terms the body must meet. I have to meet them.”

“No,” he said softly. “No. Not anymore. I refuse to be apart of this.”

“You’ll – you’ll tell him?” Her eyes were a stunned, dull brown, a pale shade of the vibrant doe-like color they had been before.

“Yes,” he said heavily. “I’m going to tell him. He’ll understand. He’ll back you up. I’ll back you up – I’ve been behind you through everything – ”

“But not now! Not now, not if you’ll tell him! Don’t tell him, please,” she begged, and he hated his bandmate for what he was doing to her.

Dear friend, I'm here for you
I know that you don’t talk too much
But we can share this day anew
Dear Friend, please don’t feel like you're alone

“I was your friend before his,” she pleaded.

“That’s right. You were. It’s not about loyalty, Kit. He deserves to know, sure, but you made me not tell. I didn’t tell. But this is about you. It’s not about AJ,” he spat the name, a measly two letters. “It’s about you, and that’s why I’m going to tell him.”

There is someone who is praying
Praying for your peace of mind
Hoping joy is what you'll find

She cried, she implored, she screamed at him, she cried some more.  He made himself deaf and blind.

“I love you,” he told her. “Above everything else, I love you. You’re my friend and I don’t abandon friends.”

“You can’t save me from dancing. I don’t want to be saved,” she shouted at him. “You’ll kill me. You’ll kill my dream. What right do you have, to take away someone else’s dream, just because yours got fulfilled? What right do you have?” she screamed, pushing at him, hitting him – violence that had no force or might because she lacked the vigor and strength.

“I love you,” he said simply.

I know you don’t feel weak
Even though you are
But it wasn’t your strength
That found room in my heart
Dear friend, you are so precious, Dear Friend

**Lyrics Taken From: "Dear Friend" By: Stacy Orrico

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