A/N: Wow, It's been quite some time since I updated this… I apologize for that and won't even bother making excuses. Honestly I'm not so sure about this chapter, but since I don't want this story to go on for a million chapters I needed to get to some sort of climax… still don't know how it's going to end, but there you have it. Please review, and if you want, tell me what you would like to see happen.

Maureen's POV

I float on a cloud between alert and unconscious for what feels like forever. I'm so tired, yet sleep evades me. I feel like crying. Crying over my failures- my relationship with Mark, my relationship with Joanne, being pretty, being thin, being loved. Crying, literally, over nothing.

I guess I fall asleep, because I awake to soft knocking on the door. Slightly disoriented, I roll over to see Mark entering the room hesitantly. Right. I'm at the loft. I… live here now?

"Maureen? You awake?"

"You don't have to knock. It's your room." I point out. I stretch, then sit up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed.

"Oh… right. Well, Roger and Mimi are back. We already ate, but I saved you a plate. I figured you might be hungry. I'll sit with you while you eat."

His voice brooks no argument. He's staring at me with hard eyes, waiting for my response, waiting to see my reaction. It's a challenge, and we both know it. Usually I'm always up for a challenge, it's the best part of the game, but now I feel like I'm floundering. What am I going to do? There's no way I'm eating it, whatever it is. Think, Maureen, think… I can't think. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Where is this coming from, anyway? I thought I had Mark fooled, at least a little. Sure, he films everything, but he's so detached when he's doing it… plus it's been months since we dated, I didn't think he'd notice or remember my disorder. Wait, where the hell did that come from? That's not what I meant. I do not have a disorder, I'm merely on a diet. Just a diet until I lose 15 more pounds. I just want to weigh 90. That's perfectly logical, right? So then why can't I tell Mark that? Because, the little voice in the back of my mind answers, you know it's not normal, not logical. He'll think you're crazy. You're being crazy. I shake my head to get rid of the voice. It is NOT crazy to want to be pretty. If I am pretty and thin, maybe people will finally love me. What's wrong with wanting that? Nothing. And furthermore-

"Maureen?" Mark's voice interrupts my quickly derailing train of thought as his hand catches my arm. Without realizing it I had stood up and started pacing in the small space between Mark's bed and the door.

"What?" I ask innocently.

"Are you going to come eat the food I saved you or not?" Those eyes. I have to look away. I shake my head slightly.

"I, um… had a big lunch. I had…" Think, you idiot! What's a big lunch to a normal person? God, this used to come so easy, almost like one of my talents. I used to be able to fabricate whole meals, down to the serving size and number of calories, in seconds. What happened to that? "I had a sandwich, and…" One glance at Mark shows he doesn't believe a word I'm saying.

"I just can't" I choke.

"Of course you can!" He looks angry now, and disappointed. His voice rises. "Stop being ridiculous! You look fine, except for the fact that you're all pale and sickly looking and your bones stick out all over the place! You. Are. Not. Fat!"

The argument is eerily similar to one we had back when we were together, yet I'm shocked and mildly impressed. When we were dating Mark never would have had the balls to say that to me. Still, I feel the tears flooding my eyes. God dammit, I'm not trying to be a drama queen. I blink them back furiously. It does little good.

"I'm sorry." my voice breaks. God fucking dammit. "It's just- I can't! I can't, I can't, I'm sorry, I can't…" I'm babbling now. Breathing quickly, and crying freely. Breathing too quickly. Hyperventilating. Now Mark looks concerned and confused. Poor Marky. I try desperately to get a hold of myself, but its damn near impossible.

I can't breathe. I'm not getting any air. I'm gasping, but it's like my lungs have abandoned me, they are refusing to inflate. I waver on my feet. NO! Can't pass out, mustn't pass out… but I can't seem to control my lower half. I sense that my knees are buckling, far beyond my Oxygen-starved brain's control at this point. I'm sobbing relentlessly and DAMMIT why can't I breathe?!? Mark does his best to keep me from hitting anything too hard on my way down, but I barely notice. Everything is so… hazy… must… fight…

"ROGER!" Mark's voice cuts through the fog. "A LITTLE HELP, PLEASE!"

I surrender. Blackout.