Color Me Pretty

eat, and she can't even get that right. She's a failure at life. I hit the door to the bathroom and stumble inside, moving across the slick tiled floors into the largest stall at the end. I push inside and collapse to the floor before the first wave of nausea hits me. I don't even have to stick my finger down my throat the first time. I just lean over the toilet and it happens.
    I vomit up my ninety dollar meal, and I shake the whole time I'm doing it. The beautiful red hair I've borrowed, that I've taken from another person and put on my head selfishly, vainly, begins to drift forward until gentle fingers pull it back, swipe it behind my ear. Emmett.
    “Go away,” I whisper as I grip the sides of the toilet. Thank God, this is a swanky restaurant or else this would be much less hygienic. Everything looks pristine. I feel wrong anyway, dirty, a failure of the worst kind. I squeeze my eyes shut. This isn't perfect. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it right, and I didn't. I'm just here spontaneously. I shouldn't be. I can't.
    “No.” Emmett's voice is firm but comforting. I put my finger into my mouth and he grabs my wrist gently, not like he's going to physically try and stop me but enough that I have to think twice about it. “You don't have to do this if you don't want to.”
    “I lost count,” I whisper as I stare down at the messy water. How pretty is that, Claire? How glamorous is vomit? In-between Claire is raging, trying to wake up my monster, trying to engulf me in pain. The better I get, the harder she'll fight back. This is just the beginning, but if I resist her now, I'll be one step closer to healing my body and my soul. “I don't know how many calories I ate.” Emmett squeezes me tight, presses me so firmly against his body that I feel my breath escape me in a rush along with a few, stray tears. I let them fall, but I hold the rest back. The thought of seeing Ted and Liza with puffy, red eyes kind of makes me want to scream.
    “Let's sing a song,” Emmett whispers, leaning back and putting just enough pressure on me that my hand slides off of the toilet seat and I end up sitting in his lap. He should run away from me, escape this toxicity that I spew into the air around me. But I know he won't and that makes me feel like I can actually beat this. Maybe not today or tomorrow but soon. My rebirth will not be for naught. There are people who don't get second chances; I am one of a lucky few. I can't waste this. It would be wrong.
    “What song?” Bile rises in my throat, burns the lining with acidity. I push it back. That's a first.
    “How about … Mary Had a Little Lamb? ” I snort and then sniffle, snatching a piece of toilet paper from the roll to wipe at my mouth and nose with. I must look absolutely ridiculous sitting there in my expensive dress on the floor of a public bathroom. Any other guy would be disgusted with me. But not Emmett. He must be like a fucking saint or something.
    “You want to sing nursery rhymes with me?”
    “Why not?” I don't respond to that, but I don't throw up again. I swallow down my pain and turn to face my new boyfriend, the one that I wasn't looking for, the one that I didn't want. God, I got lucky.
    “I'm sorry about your mother,” I say as I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. I want to kiss him, but my mouth tastes like regurgitated duck. Not exactly the most romantic thing in the world. So I just look at him, and I try to tell him with my eyes that I didn't mean to come in here, that it was an accident. He bites at his lip for a second and then shakes his head.
    “It's alright,” he tells me, but I know that it's not, not really. I wish Emmett could feel vulnerable with me. Yet another goal for me to strive for.
    I scoot back and force myself to my feet, and he follows. I look down at the floor and I can't find the right words to say.
    “If you change your mind about the nursery rhymes, I'm always game, just so you know.”
    “You're too good to me.”
    “Maybe I'm just right?”
    Emmett holds out his hand, and I take it.
    When we get back to the table, Ted and Liza are already on their way out.
    “Sorry to eat and run,” Ted says, but when I look at his food, it's untouched. At least there's a wad of cash on the table. “But I have a business matter to attend to.” And just like that, Ted Sinclair leaves his son standing alone with a crazy girl, leaves him without any closure or further explanation, leaves him with the