Other than the hours I force myself to go to work or make a doctor’s appointment, I stay locked inside my apartment. On the weekends, I don’t even bother getting out of bed. Everyone at work is looking at me like I might break any second. I don’t have the energy to tell them I won’t.

My doctor is worried about me. Apparently, I’m losing weight instead of gaining it, but I lie and tell her it’s because I’ve been eating healthier and exercising. I’m not sure she buys it.

My mom is growing suspicious, too. She won’t text me anymore, choosing to call my landline instead of the cell phone, and I answer every time. She says it’s a red flag. I’m not getting out of the house enough. My lackluster responses aren’t helping either. So, she’s planning a trip to town to see for herself that I’m doing okay.

Normally, I’d be thrilled to have her, but I’m not really looking forward to the company this time. The outside world could burn to the ground and it wouldn’t bother me a bit. I like my bed, I like my space, and I like the quiet. I just want to be left alone.

Today is one of those rare days that I have to venture out. I’m not exactly happy about it, because I know what to expect.

I sit on the paper-covered table, trying not to move around too much so it won’t crinkle. The doctor sits in front of me on her rolling stool, studying my chart with a critical eye.

“You’ve lost a few more pounds,” she says with a crease in her tawny brow. “Vista, is there anything going on that you’d like to talk to me about? Perhaps something to do with why you’ve come alone the last few visits?”

Of course, she would notice Levi’s absence. Maintaining my focus, I tell her with a falsely chipper voice, “Nope, everything is going really well. Like I told you before, I’m eating a lot of fruits and vegetables now, and I’m trying to stay away from carbs and sweets.”

“That might have explained it the last two visits, but it should have evened out by now,” she scolds. “You should be gaining weight, not losing it. How much are you exercising?”

“Not a lot. Just a little here and there. Nothing strenuous.”

Her worried expression deepens and she sets her clipboard down on the counter and rolls closer with a concerned look in her eyes. “Vista, I’m not good with beating around the bush, so I’m going to be very blunt with you and I want you to answer me honestly. Can you do that?”

“Um…sure. Okay.”

Her intense golden brown eyes hold mine. “Do you have an eating disorder?”

My eyes shoot open wide, shocked that she would think that of me. “What? No! I would never starve my baby.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Sitting up straight, she retreats a foot, giving me the space I desperately need and saving herself from a foot in the face. How dare she?

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you are. Many women struggle with it during pregnancy. It’s difficult to see your body changing, and often, women can feel as if they don’t know their body anymore, like they are losing control.”

“I don’t feel that way. I don’t have an eating disorder,” I insist, now worried what she might do if she really thinks this to be true. Would she hospitalize me? “Look.” I lick my lips, knowing I have to level with her before this goes any further. “I…Levi and I aren’t together right now and I guess…I guess I’ve just been feeling a little out of sorts.”

“So you’re depressed.”

“Yeah, maybe. I guess so.” I know so, but for some reason, I feel this deep sense of shame in admitting it. Like I’m defective or grossly abnormal. I worry that she might think I’m a bad mother because I’m not taking care of myself the way I know I should be.

“That’s a perfectly normal response to what you’re going through,” she assures me, her expression softening in a way that reminds me of my mother. “I can arrange for you to talk to someone if you’d like.”

“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “That’s not something I want or need to get into.”

I can tell that she doesn’t approve, but she presses on. “Well, there aren’t many medications I can give you, so here’s my advice. Talk to someone, regularly, and make sure you get out of the house often. Go to the park, take walks, and enjoy the scenery. You’d be surprised what a healthy dose of nature can do for the mood. And, for the sake of that little one, you need to start eating more, even if you don’t feel like it. I can’t stress that enough.”

She’s right. I know she is. I take the doctor’s advice and schedule my follow-up appointment, telling myself that I have to do better. I can’t allow my emotions to rule me. It’s as I’m walking through the waiting room on my way out that I catch the images on the wall mounted television.

The sound has been muted, but I don’t need it. There, on  the screen, is a video clip of Levi leaving a night club with his model ex-girlfriend the media attempted to tie to him only weeks ago. A wave of nausea rolls through me and I glance around at the few women in the room. They’re busy reading magazines or fiddling with their cell phones.

Thank God. No one knows the heartache I’m feeling right now. Ducking my head, I rush out of there, desperate to go home and lock myself away.

30

I’ve been trying to call Vista for a week, but she won’t pick up the damn phone. I know why she’s not answering—she saw the news. She saw me with Calista.

              The media are a bunch of savage dickheads with nothing better to do than to try and tear people down. Now it’s more bullshit and more fires I have to put out. They saw her and me together and assumed we were an item.

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Calista and I are…well, I wouldn’t call us friends exactly. More like two ships passing in the night. We’d hook up whenever we happened to be in the same city at the same time. It wasn’t anything more than that, and we were both cool with it. But all that’s over now.

So even though we’re not friends, we’re also not enemies.

I was doing an appearance at Boulevard3 when I ran into her. We shared a couple drinks and talked a bit, caught up. We ended up getting pretty deep. I confided in her about Vista and the baby, and she told me that I was fucking up a good thing. I informed her that Vista was the one who told me not to come back, and she quickly reminded me that she also said not to leave. I’ll never figure women out. They say one thing and mean another. In the long run, though, she helped me open my eyes to what an asshole I’ve been, and now I think I can finally see where Vista is coming from.

She was testing me, and I failed. Miserably.

I was pissed off at her for shutting me down. No one, aside from my father, has ever told me to get my head out of my ass and be a man. Which, I guess, is why I took it so wrong. Vista reminded me of my father, harping in my ear, and I resented her for it.

When I left, I had convinced myself that I was doing what was best for her and the baby. With me out of the picture, they could be normal. But that’s not the case. They’re no safer from the media than I am. If anything, they’re even more vulnerable. At least I can outrun it. All it takes is hopping on a plane.

I’ve been telling her and myself that I’m working my way back to her, all I need to do is tie up some loose ends, make good on my commitments so I can come home. But the truth is, that’s not what I’ve been doing at all.

Talking with Calista has opened my eyes wide. She made me see that what I’ve really been doing is running. All this time, I’ve been the dickhole who’s ruining Vista’s life.

Even my father, bastard that he is, had enough of a moral compass to stick around and raise me.

I send one more call through, begging Vista in my mind to pick up the damn phone. Now that my blinders are off, it feels as if the distance is eating me alive. Every second that passes, it’s as if I can literally feel myself losing her.