Love. He loved me. I couldn't get my head around this unsettling revelation. Love was not an emotion I had ever toyed with, my parents had certainly never introduced it to me. I suppose I was in some sort of love with life, in spite of my clenched fist. Or was the correct equation Neil equals Love?

He had been trying to call, but I hadn't picked up the phone. I was too scared to hear him trying to explain himself. James was angry at me too, confused at my irrational behavior and ignoring me for closing the door on his best friend. I was in some sort of hell, the three of us in a triangle of confused cross-wires. I wasn't about to build a bridge.

I turned my head into the couch cushions, groaning into them. It was sunny out, but I hadn't opened the curtains. The living room was gloomy, to match my mood.

It was true, Neil had somehow made my life make sense. Even the bad things made sense. But love me? I was so imperfect, so ugly, so weak. Boring. He was the opposite -beautiful, a masterpiece. I was scared of this new reality. He would soon find everything he couldn't love, and then he would slip away.

Was this overwhelming fear more for my own feelings? Was I also in love with Neil? I was pretty sure that when one fell in love they didn't realize it. We'd start liking a person, then we would be defending them, getting jealous if they started talking to someone else. Then there was a hunger to hang out with each other all the time because they somehow made our crappy lives worth living for a few hours a day. They took away our pain, made us mad, sad, embarrassed. But we kept coming back for more. Was that love?

I wanted to be in love. To also feel accepted unconditionally. I had never told anyone the true depth of my loneliness, about how alienated I felt in the world, from my friends, and that I wasn't sure how to fix it. Not even James, who I told everything. He knew I was unhappy before we moved out, but he didn't know to what extent. He didn't know of my suicidal thoughts. That it felt like everyone was just so much better at living than I was.

While growing up, I knew I wouldn't transition well into adulthood, like I'd fall right through the cracks of normality. And look at me now. It was happening. And it wasn't from my lack of trying. I wanted to have a group of friends that felt like a tribe, a bonafide family. I wanted to be less scared, less anxious, and more willing. Every day I was making promises to myself and every day I was failing at them. I was starting to question my own power as a human being. As of now, my fears had me beat. I suppose I wasn't hopeless, because I could never be broken; if I didn't give away my love, no one could destroy me. Right?

The more I thought, the more I wanted to eat. I wanted to finish a whole pint of Ben & Jerry's and then eat a cheese burger. I would never fit into society's ideal anyway - thin, really thin, no hips, no belly, hairless except for a lush head of hair. A 10-year-old girl with breasts added for sex appeal. Why was I apologizing for wanting food? Bodies NEEDED food. We would die without food. Food tasted so good. Hand me that chocolate cake. No, not a slice - I wanted the whole thing. Why was I rationalizing my 'bad' behavior, my eating. I wanted to end it all now.

I went to the kitchen and took out a big bag of chips. And this wasn't the main course. While I munched on flavors I had abstained from for months, I looked inside the fridge for part two. Peanut butter scooped right out the jar with a teaspoon. I walked to the computer, cradling the jar under my arm. Life had never tasted so good. In cyberspace I was the thin, beautiful, irresistible Christelle Cyrus. It would be true love at first sight for any man crossing my profile.

I checked my emails first. Junkmail mostly and no letters from friends- I didn't have any. But there was an anonymous one... I clicked on it. What on earth was this? There were four JPEG attachments. I did a virus scan; clean, would do no harm. Why was I receiving anonymous digital images? Possibly some online fashion catalog?

The mouse was poised over the delete button, but I stopped, staring harder at the first image. It almost looked like Neil, from the side. Upon closer examination, I realized it was. It looked like he was in the Project room. I scrolled down to the next picture, and frowned. He was talking to Celeste, a model he worked with on many photo shoots. In fact, it was her that he was paired with for the sexy shoots, where tons of skin was shown on either side. I'd been jealous at first, but I'd gotten over it. Why were they alone though? And so close together? These were amateur photographs, low resolution and taken from far off and in low light.

Upon scrolling down again, my mouth dropped open and my hands went up to cover it. My heart sank down into my feet. They were kissing. Her arms were around his neck, his hands around her waist, and he wasn't pushing her away. The date in the corner of the picture was that exact time. It was possible that while I was staring at the picture, they were still at it. Who had taken the photos?

I couldn't look at the last photo; I didn't need to. I switched off the screen, my hands shaking. A roller coaster of emotions was dropped me like a rock into despair. He had said he loved me. Then again, who would love me? Why was I surprised? Why was I hurt? I'd known this would happen, hadn't I? That's why I'd ran. On and on, this persistent voice spoke to me from inside: you're so freaking irrational... I should have kicked you out a long time ago... I wouldn't be sorry to see you go...You're such a drag, Christelle...

It was an appropriate response to my reality, to come undone. I continued to eat, and I didn't stop until all the junk food in the fridge, in the cupboards, was gone. I didn't care. I'd only kept going for Neil. Now that he'd moved on, why should I keep eating celery sticks?

Afterwards I slouched back to my room, and spent a couple hours crying, absorbing the painful wound that has erupted in my chest. I fell asleep, thinking only of the deep, dark, shattered path I had stepped onto, a slow tumbling decimation of everything that was my flesh.