Elena Vanishing Read Online Free PDF Page A

know that I’ve got another psychiatrist.
    The three men leave. Mom goes back to her typing. I close my eyes and try to slip away again, but this time, I can’t leave my body behind. My hair feels like it’s been coated with wax, and my mouth feels like I’m chewing cotton. I try to remember the dollhouse, but worries prick me instead. Senior year starts in another month. My coursework is all planned out. Did Mom pack the books I’m supposed to read for AP English?
    You won’t have a senior year
, says the voice in my head.
    Why shouldn’t I have a senior year? Valerie did. Valerie walked around like a groupie at a death-metal concert, and she even got to go to college. After she ran away, it took nine big gray plastic bags to clean all the trash out of her room.
    In my mind, those trash bags crackle open and release a swarm of ugly thoughts. With a jolt of pain, the black hole starts spinning and resumes nibbling away inside me. Can anybody tell the black hole is there? What do people see? What do I look like?
    You look like a mental patient
, says the voice in my head.
You look like some kind of a freak.
    I reach under my pillow, find the makeup bag, and check my face. The little tube sticking out of my nose is bright yellow. My hair doesn’t just feel like it’s dipped in wax, it pretty much looks like it’sdipped in wax, too. My lips are scaly, and my pores are a disaster. The skin on my nose is dull and covered in black dots.
    I look like hell. I need to fix this. Did Mom bring my facial masks?
    There’s a bustle at the doorway: techs in hospital scrubs bring in a small table and two folding chairs. It’s part of the anorexia protocol, they say. I’m supposed to sit there to eat supper, and a tech is supposed to sit opposite to watch me.
    The black hole spins faster, and a searing pain stabs through my gut. Food? Really? They think I can eat with this tube poking down into my stomach?
    They’ve been pumping calories into you while you were asleep
, says the voice in my head.
They’ve fattened you up. You’re obese!
    The techs tell Mom she needs to leave while I eat. She folds up her laptop, picks up her purse, and heads off down the hall.
    I sit on one side of the little table, and a tech sits on the other side. After days of lying in bed, it feels weird to be sitting. My body feels like a puppet, ready to flop over. I have to think about which strings to pull to keep it upright. The nurses let me wear scrubs at the last hospital. Now I’m not in scrubs anymore, but a hospital gown. I feel inadequately dressed.
    Is the tech really going to sit there and watch me eat?
    I never let strangers see me eat. It’s one of my rules.
    The tech is only a couple of years older than me and cute in a mousy kind of way. She’s wearing pale shades of rose eye shadow, and a pink bead tie holds her ponytail.
    I resist the urge to touch my stiff, dirty hair.
    The other tech brings in my meal: a fat, squashy white-bread sandwich, pickle spears, and a bag of chips. More food than I’ve eaten in I don’t know how long. More food than I could possibly eat! Soakedin sodium and preservatives—that stuff makes the body swell up like a sponge. It takes all my self-control to keep from bursting into tears.
    You can’t eat those chips
, says the voice in my head.
Nineteen grams of fat at least—you better not eat those chips!
    â€œI’m kind of sick to my stomach,” I tell the tech, settling an apologetic smile onto my face to convey the impression that I’d love to eat if only I felt better. “They’ve had me on such crazy medications the last few days. What if I can’t eat this?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she confesses, a little embarrassed by her role as enforcer. “I don’t do anything about it anyway. I just report it to the doctor.”
    â€œThe psychiatrist?” I ask, and I picture the African