On Thursday, I get home around eight and collapse onto the couch. Crystal sits on the floor playing a racing video game. She keeps her eyes trained on the screen, not so much as glancing at me.
“Hey,” she says, turning her whole torso to the side as she navigates her race car around a curve.
“Ugh.”
“Tired?”
“Yeah.” I stretch out my aching calf muscles. “But it’s a good kind.”
“Cool. So the job is fun? Damn it!” She shakes the controller. “I lost.”
“It’s awesome.”
She turns around to face me. “No drama there, huh?”
“None that’s personal… or none having to do with me, I should say. I saw the assistant director scream his head off at the unit production manager yesterday. But I’m getting the impression that might be normal.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Yikes.”
She still looks at me but seems hesitant to say more. I haven’t talked about Simon since Saturday, since acting like he doesn’t exist helps me forget he actually does.
“Soooo…”
“I haven’t talked to him,” I automatically say.
“At all?”
“He’s been gone. On some trip. Even Dana doesn’t know where he went.”
“Maybe to his secret, private island.”
I sit up and groan. “That might be funny if it weren’t for the fact that he probably really can afford to buy his own island. Where’s Eryk?”
“In his room. He said he doesn’t feel well.”
“Again?”
She rolls her eyes. “He just ran, like seven miles. Which is way more than he should. I told him he needs to work up to it.” She lowers her voice. “He’s also not eating right.”
“What do you mean? He eats. I see him.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think he’s eating enough of the right things, like fruits and whole grains.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
She looks sullen. “I have, but he’s not listening. He thinks he needs to lose weight for the next drag show.”
“That’s stupid. He looks fine the way he is. Also, since when does fruit make you gain weight?”
“Try telling him all that. I made spinach lasagna tonight and he wouldn’t even touch it. All he had was the salad.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” I give it some thought. “You don’t think he has an eating disorder, do you?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, he eats. It’s just not balanced enough.”
“I think that could still be classified as an eating disorder. I just don’t know what it’s called.”
I sit back against the cushions, feeling awful. How long has this been going on? I try to think back to the week before, and the one before that. Had Eryk’s eating habits been changing for the worse then? Was I just too involved in my own drama to notice?
“Maybe we should have an intervention,” I suggest.
“Okay.” She taps her finger to her lips. “But we can’t present it as one or else he’ll freak out.”
I frown. “I think that’s the only way to have one. You corner someone and tell them you’re worried.”
“Then we have to try something else. He’ll just yell and storm out, or find some way to turn it on us.”
“Hm. Yeah, you’re right. Maybe we could get him to admit to it.”
“He won’t do that. He doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong. I pointed out the fact that he’s always tired and having headaches, but he thinks it’s just because he’s flushing toxins out.” She rolls her eyes.
“Okay,” I assure her. “I’ll think of something.”
I get up, pad down the hallway to Eryk’s room, and knock softly on the closed door.
“Come in,” he calls.
I gingerly turn the knob. His bedroom is dark, the curtains drawn to block out the street light from below. I take a step forward and bump into a pile of clothes. Eryk is notorious for his messes. Most of the time you can’t even see the floor of his bedroom. Crystal likes to joke that Fraggle Rock is hidden under his bed.
He’s laying above the sheets, turned on his side, almost in fetal position.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. “Do you have another headache?”
He slowly sits up. “I feel fine now.”
“I skipped dinner on set. I think I’m gonna go get pizza. You wanna come?”
“No thanks.”
“Really?” I ask, trying to make my voice sound as casual as possible. “I’m going to Mario’s.”
“I’m not hungry.”