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of my house, and to have some sort of control over my life again, and to have a house that I can walk through without tripping over football stuff. As she hurriedly grabs our clothes that need to be ironed, I ask her to leave my underwear.
    I knew that magic laundry elves didn’t wash my clothes while I slept, but knowing someone is washing my thong panties and actually seeing them ironed are two completely different things. My first inclination is to throw them all away because someone else touched them—ironed them, for God’s sake. But, I know that’s not rational.
    Right now, if I was in Houston, I would text Doctor Benson and ask for an emergency appointment. The last six weeks, or really, two months, have been nothing but triggers for my illness. Today’s just the perfect storm of out-of-controlness.
    I remember how good it felt when I was running today. I know how I can make myself feel even better, and in control. And no guards will bother me while I do it.
    Then comes the rationalizing part of my illness. I’ll just do it once. No one will know. I’ll just do it until I feel in control again, like I felt on my run. Colin will never find out. It’s not like he has hidden cameras in our house. In fact, no one will know. I will never tell another soul. This will just be my dirty little secret.
    First, I open my cosmetic drawer and find an eyeliner pencil. It’s brand new, so it’s still long. It’ll do the trick. Second, I lock our bedroom door. Then, I pull the doors to the master bathroom closed, turn the lock, and check to make sure that they’re secure. Finally, I take my robe off and walk into the toilet closet, and close and lock those doors behind me also.
    I open the lid to the toilet; Colin has done such a good job of putting it down when he’s finished using it. Then, I lift the toilet seat. I start my rationalizing process all over again. I can do this, and no one will know. I know how much better I’ll feel. This is like my reset button. I’ll be able to deal with the media, fans, Jenna, Jenny, our houseguests, my dad, no job, someone in my bathroom ironing my fucking underwear, and all the other turmoil in my life, so much better if I just do this. I can just do it once. Just one time and that’s it. Colin will never find out.
    I stare into the toilet bowl water, fantasizing about how good I’ll feel when I’m done. I’ll feel normal and God, that’s all I want. I just want to feel okay again. I’m only going to do it this one time. I’ll never do it again. No one ever has to know.
    I hear my phone playing George Strait’s “I Just Want To Dance With You” faintly in the other room. I ignore it for a second. I will it to shut up.
    Five seconds pass, and I push myself upright, bolt to the toilet door and unlock it. Then, I unlock the master bathroom doors rushing across the bedroom to my discarded phone making it before it goes to voicemail. What if Colin knows what I was about to do? I frantically look around the room half expecting to see security cameras. Rationally, I know that there are no cameras, but Colin’s timing is uncanny. He would be so disappointed in me if he knew just how bad that I’ve gotten.
    As soon as I hear Colin say, “Hello beautiful girl.” I burst into tears. They’re wracking sobs that take my breath away. I drop to the ground and curl up in the fetal position.
    Colin begins yelling at me. “What’s wrong, Charlie? Talk to me.” I can hear how scared he is, and I don’t want him to be.
    I know that I have to calm down enough to reassure him that I’m okay, but I’m not okay. I’m far from fine. In fact, I am a gigantic pile of fucked-upness. “Come home Colin,” I sob. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Two
     
    Colin
     
     
    Colin McKinney, veteran quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys, has been reportedly working out with a new quarterback coach. Some observers are speculating that it’s to improve the speed with which he releases the ball,