Chapter 51

Hannah

As I picked at the food on my plate, methodically pushing the bits of grilled chicken and roasted vegetables around with my fork, I could feel multiple sets of eyes on me. Out of my peripheral vision, I caught Zoe sneaking glances my way every few moments, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Fat, fat, you’re so fat and they all know it, that vicious voice echoed in the back of my mind. Why would you even bother eating when you already look like that? You’re better off just not touching your food at all.

I grit my teeth, my grip tightening around the fork until my knuckles turned white. I needed to get a grip; I had been doing so well lately, eating more and trying to view my body in a positive light. It was just the morning sickness making me relapse, that was all.

I could handle this.

“So, Hannah,” the host spoke up, “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve barely touched your plate this evening. Everything alright there?”

I nodded, maybe too quickly and reached for my water. “Yes, it’s delicious,” I said with a thin smile. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

The host eyed me for a moment before continuing. “I’m glad to hear it. Actually, I heard a rumor that you were spotted attending some… eating disorder support group recently.”

I froze, feeling as though all the air had been sucked out of the room, but managed to keep my smile plastered on my face—a skill I had gotten quite good at since my rebirth. “It’s true,” I said. “I have been attending a support group.”

“Must not be working very well if you can barely even manage a few bites,” another guest pointed out with a light laugh.

My heart clenched painfully in my chest, tears of shame already pricking at the backs of my eyes. I knew that they weren’t trying to be mean, and had no idea how much their words hurt; but I still wanted nothing more than to get up from my chair and run.

Just as I began to seriously contemplate bolting from the table, however, Noah surprised me by abruptly speaking up, the clearing of his throat echoing in the quiet room.

“Alright, that’s enough.” he said, his deep voice laced with a commanding edge that immediately silenced the titters of laughter from around the table. “Hannah is doing her best to overcome an incredibly difficult and personal struggle. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mock her efforts.”

I could only gape up at Noah, utterly dumbstruck, as he crossed his arms over his broad chest and leveled his friends with a stern look. Never—not once in the entire time I had known him—had I ever witnessed Noah come to my defense like this, especially not regarding my eating disorder.

An ashamed hush fell over the table, the host quickly stammering out an apology. “Oh my Goddess, Hannah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

I shook my head quickly, struggling to find my voice. “N-No, it’s quite alright. I understand that you weren’t trying to offend.” I offered up what I hoped was a reassuring smile as Noah slowly returned his gaze to his plate. “To be perfectly candid… yes, I have been attending a support group for my eating disorder. It’s still a struggle, but I plan to continue going for as long as I need that extra help and guidance.”

A smattering of quiet murmurs broke out, a few whispers of admiration and encouragement rippling across the table. The host beamed at me from the end of the table.

“That’s great, Hannah,” he said. “And I’m certain the other attendees will be so proud to have our very own Luna Hannah in attendance with them. And think of the positive impact you could have—others may very well be inspired to seek help thanks to your example.”

I couldn’t quite suppress the small burst of pride that bloomed in my chest at his words. He was right—if my very public admission to the struggle and my commitment to recovery could convince even one other person to take those terrifying first steps, it would be more than worth it.

And perhaps that would be the thing that would keep me from relapsing.

“You’re absolutely right,” I said with a firm nod. “If my attendance and advocacy for seeking proper treatment can help remove the stigma, even just a little… then I would consider that immensely rewarding.”

A chorus of sincere agreement arose as everyone began to dig back into their meals, leaving me finally feeling as though I could breathe easily again. Perhaps I would actually attempt to eat something now, I mused, carefully spearing a few pieces of chicken onto my fork.

Just as I lifted the first bite toward my mouth, however, a smooth, lilting voice cut through the gentle din of conversation like a hot knife.

“That’s very commendable, Hannah.”

My fork froze just inches from my lips as my gaze snapped toward the source of those words—Zoe, regarding me from down the table with an inscrutable look on her beautiful features.

Something about her tone, the underlying implication there, caused the back of my neck to prickle with unease. Her words were kind enough, but… Something didn’t feel right.

I wasn’t imagining the brief flash of resentment that flickered across Zoe’s expression before she smoothed it over, was I?

“Thank you, Zoe,” I managed.

As I popped my chicken into my mouth, I caught Noah watching me carefully from the corner of my eye. Something told me the brief moment of unity between us was already over and done.

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur, my lack of participation in the conversation growing more and more pronounced as the knot of anxiety in my stomach twisted tighter and tighter. By the time Noah and I bid our goodbyes and headed for the car, I felt emotionally and physically drained in a way I hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

We rode in tense silence for several long minutes, the only sound that of the tires against the road and the driver occasionally sniffling. Eventually, Noah’s deep voice cut through the quiet, nearly making me jump.

“Are you going to follow through on what you said in there?” he asked, not looking at me as he kept his eyes fixed out the window. “About continuing to attend those support group meetings?”

I frowned faintly, picking absently at a loose thread on the skirt of my dress. “Of course I am. I need to… I need that extra layer of accountability right now.”

Noah’s jaw ticked almost imperceptibly as he nodded once. “I see.” He was quiet for another moment before speaking again, and his next words made my blood run cold.

“Then I assume you haven’t been inducing vomiting again?”

My mouth went dry as cotton as I slowly turned to face Noah fully, searching his stony profile for any hint of emotion. How could he possibly—?

“Don’t act so shocked,” he interjected flatly before I could gather my wits. “I’m not blind, Hannah. You’ve clearly lost weight again recently, and you hardly ate anything tonight despite your claims about trying to get better.” Noah shook his head slowly. “I’d have to be an idiot not to put two and two together.”

“I’m surprised you’ve even noticed,” I bit out, unable to deny my recent vomiting spells but also unable to tell him that it was morning sickness and not bulimia. “You’ve never seemed to pay any attention to my appearance or my eating habits before.”

A terse silence fell over the car once more, thick and suffocating. I looked away from Noah, focusing my gaze out the window and blinking rapidly against the hot prickling of tears in my eyes.

Just as I was certain Noah wasn’t going to give me a response, his gruff voice sounded once more—softer this time, almost gentle.

“You don’t need to be so defensive around me, Hannah.”