Disclaimer: I do not own Wintergirls. You can thank one of my favorite authors, Laurie Halse Anderson, for the characters and story. Please read and review.

CASSIE'S POINT OF VIEW

"Your mother and I want you to go inpatient." My father, Jerry, broke the news at Thanksgiving dinner. I had already shoved sweet potatoes, mounds of gravy soaked turkey and spoonful after spoonful of butter drenched corn. My fork literally slipped from my hands and dropped to the hardwood floor with a loud, silence cracking clink. A gravy stain begun to form on the white as snow carpet. I didn't bother reaching to clean it up. The only thing that even moved on my body was my eye, twitching compulsively.

"You're kidding." I managed to choke out. I tried and tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump of worry and anger forming in the back of my throat.

"You're slipping into your old habits." My mother scolded, like I was a child again, not perfecting my grades in school, my performance on the soccer field, the tone of my voice in this musical and that musical. I rolled my eyes, slamming my fist down on the table. I shot up and out of my seat like a rocket getting ready to plummet towards the blue sky, past fluffy white bundles of cloud and into the black hole known as the rest of the universe.

Preparing for liftoff. I thought to myself. Three…

"You're sick, Cassie." My father warned.

Two…

"Why did you head back down danger lane?" Mom questioned.

One.

"I am not a child anymore!" I finally shouted across the table spread with deliciousness. Dad took a bite of the fattening skin hanging like a parasite off the turkey leg. I always loved that, ever since I was a little girl, the wet golden feeling of turkey fat sliding down my…

"Then why are you acting like one?" He boomed. I am not acting like a child. I told myself. I am strong, responsible, getting better day in and day out. I am beautiful, skinny. Just like Lia.

Lia.

I shook my head repeatedly and walked away from the table.

I was going to return, how could I miss out on dessert? Sweet, cinnamon apples wrapped in a fluffy pie crust with a dollop of Cool Whip the size of my fist adorning the little triangular piece of heaven.

So I headed straight for the bathroom. My new best friend, the one that was always there but never had a chance to shine since Lia and I…

I gulped, pushing away the thoughts. I couldn't let my mind go that far. I'd never come out of the new shell that encased my fragile little body, to spend the rest of eternity hugging my best friend, the toilet.

She understands me. And I understand her. She is there to help me. To keep me strong, to remember how high I will soar, attached to a helium balloon tied to a thin ribbon, up into the atmosphere.

I never puke in the garbage can. It's too disgusting and quite obvious. The toilet gets the job done. It sends my almost digested food miles underground. Gets rid of the repulsive scent. I am satisfied and empty. When I closed the bathroom door, the voices of my parents started rising up around me, hiding behind my polka dotted shower curtain, laughing and pointing at the girl who is having honeymoons with the toilet.

She's sick.

She'll never get better.

I already called the hospital.

She needs to be put into treatment.

She's in there, puking.

Aren't you going to stop her?

Nobody can stop me. I can't be saved. This is my fate. My death wish.

My finger, covered in scratches from previous purges, reached down my throat so fast I didn't even realize when I pulled the trigger. I quickly ducked my head over the pink porcelain, dumping my first course into the water underneath me. It's still not enough. My finger went down again. Food came out. Finger down, food out. Finger down, food out. I finally stopped when my breath became short, my throat was aching and I was practically retching. I flushed the toiled. One, two, three times before rising up onto my feet and steadying myself on the counter. I washed my face, rinsed my mouth out with water and raked a comb through my hair. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on my way out the bathroom door.

I looked presentable. Almost beautiful.

I returned to dinner moments later and sat back down.

All eyes were on me.

They were waiting for me to speak.

I took a deep breath. "I'm nineteen. I am entitled to the rights of my body."

"Fine." Dad pushed away from the table in his chair. "I guess if you don't want to get better, you don't want to go to college."

My blood turned cold and all the color rushed from my face. "Wh-what?"

"You heard your father." Mom said. "We can pay for treatment and we can pay for college."

"Do you realize what you're throwing away?" Dad asked, sympathy leaking into his voice. "Do you not want to get better?"

I've had enough. I left the table for the second time tonight. My feet carried me into the dining room where I retrieved the apple pie and the whole tub of Cool Whip, fat included. I grabbed my coat and keys and flew out the door, not even turning to say goodbye.

I found myself parked in front of the cheapest motel in the area. I sifted through the pile of textbooks and fast food wrappers until I found my cell phone. Fully charged, luckily. I dialed my home phone. I was an adult, but I knew the second they found out I was gone they would send the cops on a huge hunt for the sickly emaciated bulimic girl throwing fits at their parents on Thanksgiving.

I got the answering machine. They were all probably engrossed in conversation and stuffing their fat faces to even hear the phone ring. I told them I was at a friends house and not to come looking for me.

They knew I had all kinds of "friends" from soccer previous years and the drama club. But the only real friend I had was Lia.

I yanked the keys from the ignition, immediately shutting off the warm heat blasting through the vents, warming my poky bones. I found myself shivering even in my heavy wool bomber. I stepped out in my high heels and mini skirt and slammed the door with such force a bird on the hood of my Nissan took off for the foggy night sky.

I look up at the stars and crescent moon and I swear I see Lia attached to that helium balloon, landing in the crook of the moon and having it shatter her tiny frame.

I popped open my trunk and reached under the pile of old newspapers to grab the two bottles of my sanity. Whiskey and Liquor. The other half to my hole.

I didn't even bother hiding the glass bottles clanking together in one hand. I must've looked like quite a sight, entering a motel in the late evening with my sin juices and sugar mounds. I stopped at the front registration desk that had a boot shaped hole in it and was chipping at the corners. It could use a fresh paint job, I would assume. An old man with a comb over and thick glasses was fast asleep, drooling on the papers on the surface of the desk. I rolled my eyes and clonked him rudely on the head with the bottle of Whiskey. He snapped up, arms flailing. I took a step back, fearing he would hit me and fracture one of my bones, or worse, send my pie flying and the heavy glass bottles of wine smashing on the hardwood floor.

"What's your problem, bitch?" He snapped, spraying old man spit at me. I winced at his rude comments, matching the harmful comments of my inner voice. "Baby's first night out? Need a room?"

I nodded, not knowing how to respond. He needed a good pop in the chops, but I really didn't feel like getting arrested. At least, not tonight.

"Elijah!" He boomed, and a very bum-like man, maybe a few years older than myself, stepped out of room 115. "Give the slut a room."

He laughed and I followed him, not even fearing what could go on here tonight. He led me to an empty room with a double bed and foot holes in the nicotine stained walls. It smelled of smoke, alcohol and mold. Well, I can honestly say, it is a much better choice than spending the evening with my parents, threatening to ruin the rest of my life.

"Thanks." I grumbled, taking the brass key from his dirt encrusted hand. "Really."

I entered the room, and when I turned to shut the door, his yellow workbooted foot stopped the door from closing on it's tracks. I glared at him when he nodded toward my pie and bottles. "Wanna share?"

"In your dreams." I snapped back at him, setting my things on the floor and shoving my weightless body against the door in attempt to close it, but his boot remained between the door and the frame.

I rolled my eyes and let him in. I was already dying, wasn't I? He smiled with approval when I picked my drinks and dessert off the floor and set them on the stingy bed. We sat on the bed as I popped the plastic lids on the pie and Cool Whip. I didn't even have anything to eat it with. I cursed myself under my breath for forgetting eating utensils. Dummy. I poured nearly the whole tub of cool whip onto the flaky goodness in the tin and began digging in with my hands. He gave my an odd look.

"Haven't you ever heard of a fork?" He asked, his lips turning up at the corners in a seductive crooked smile.

"Heard of shut up and kiss me?" I grumbled back, sarcasm intended. But he took me seriously and pressed his lips chapped lips against my sugary ones. He kissed me fiercely, hungrily, the stubble of his beard fuzzy in my little hands. When we broke for air, I popped open the bottle of Whiskey and took a long drag, then offered the bottle to him, which he reluctantly took and downed almost half the bottle.

"Hey." I teased angrily. "Do you know how much shit I had to go through to get that? Take it easy, alright?"

I moved to kiss him but her backed away. "You're such a slut. I'm always up for free sex, but you?" He shook his head, standing up and walking back to the motel room door. "Not happening."

With that he exited the room. So much for a night on the town.

I flopped back on the bed and removed my coat. Fresh tears flowed down my chipmunky cheeks and into the Cool Whip lingering on my lips. After finishing the apple pie, and licking the tub of Cool Whip clean, I thought about more food. My favorite food was pizza. Deep dish crust, extra cheese, . I wanted the works. I had at least one hundred emergency dollars in my back pocket. I was always taking off like this, I was sure it was getting old. I had my most reliable pizza delivery on speed dial.

I ordered three pizzas, two orders of breadsticks, a pan of lasagna, hot wings and a two liter bottle of Coke to wash it all down with. I finished off the bottle of Whiskey before I heard a knock on the door. I doubted it was that Elijah guy coming back, so I rolled off the bed, sending the bottle and empty containers to the floor.

Well, at least I didn't skip out on Thanksgiving dessert. I answered the door, gave the guy the money and took my pile of cardboard boxes and setting them on the small plastic table by off to the left. I handed him the money and he eyed me up and down.

"I'm not for sale." I warned, but he put his hands up in protest.

"It's just weird…young girl like you, alone in a motel, pizza on Thanksgiving." he admitted.

"It's just weird, you know, a guy who has nothing better to do on Thanksgiving but run around delivering pizzas questioning young girls on their orders. I can report you for thathh," I accidentally slurred out the last word, making it perfectly clear, that I just downed a bottle of whiskey. I shut the door on his apologetic face with my foot and cracked open my first pizza of the evening.

My stomach almost didn't even hurt. Seven slices of pizza, nine wings and half a box of bread sticks dunked in marinara later, I was bent over the dirty motel toilet, emptying my insides for the second time that Thanksgiving.

I felt strangled and collapsed right then and there on the tile floor. I was cold in my skirt and tank top, and I hugged myself and shut my eyes tightly. My stomach felt ready for some food an hour later. My throat was ready to explode.

I thought about Lia. How foolish I was these past few months to give up on sweet, sweet Lia. I wish I could have her willpower. I have nothing but my 'purging finger' to rely on.

But I don't need Lia.

I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia. I don't need Lia.

Who the hell was I kidding?

I needed Lia more than anything.

The last time I saw my little Lia-Lia, fragile, pale and cold, was when I was putting up posters for the drama club. I popped a big pink bubble before turning to stare at her. She stared back at me, apologetic eyes, wet with tears. I pulled the sticky mess back into my mouth, forming the pink back into a wad between my teeth, which were yellow with vomit. Her lips parted, speaking words I never heard..

And then she turned away.

My heart shattered, there on the motel floor. I was crying, hugging myself, wondering where I could have possibly messed up. I would give anything to talk to her, to hear her voice. I picked up my cell phone and dialed her number.

I sat up, my ear pressed against the cool metal. I glanced at my watch. 11:30. It rang three times before I started becoming antsy. Three rings later I got her voicemail.

"Lia? It's me. Call me." I pleaded, my voice raspy.

I waited a few minutes, then decided to call again.

"Where are you? Call me back."

Another call. "I'm not playing, Overbrook. I really need to talk to you."

I snapped my phone shut and dropped it to the floor. I hugged my knees to my chest and cried the rest of Thanksgiving away.

Midnight.

I called again. "Call me." I demanded. "Please, please call me." I begged. "Look, I'm sorry I was such a bitch. Please." I apologized. "I know you're getting these messages." I snapped into the receiver.

It's no use. You're ignoring me. You wants nothing to do with me. God, I feel like trash right now. I really am a bitch, and I really am sorry and I really miss you.

I sighed and called again.

"You can be mad at me later, okay? I really need to talk to you."

"You were right -- it wasn't your fault."

"Oh, God." Was the last message I left. I gathered a little bit of composure and stood, flushing the toilet and going back to the Motel bedroom. My heart sank with every passing minute that I was wolfing down pizza and downing half the liquor. My eyes lever left my small phone, sitting soundlessly on the checkered comforter.

I threw the pizza box on the floor and set the half empty bottle on the table by the door. I flopped on my bed, stomach first, and called. And called. And called. And called.

...13.14.15.

Fifteen hang ups. Fifteen Lias…not there.

It was 3:00 now. 3:00 and still no call from Lia.

My head was in the toilet for the next ten minutes.

Lia, I need you to call, need you here, need you to hold my hair back, to rub my back and tell me everything's okay, even though everything was spiraling downwards. I needed her to clean me up like she did when she first caught me puking.

"Please, Lia-Lia."

"I'm so sad. I can't get out."

"Call me. It's a mess."

I called twice more without leaving a message.

The rest of liquor and breadsticks went cascading down my throat and into my expanding stomach.

I was beginning to feel dizzy and my words were slurring terribly.

"I don't know what to do." I confessed. "I miss you. Miss you."

I waited around the rest of the night.

And my phone didn't ring once.

When I awoke, I was on the motel room floor, cell phone clutched in my sweaty hand. My face was sticky with dried tears. My breath smelled like garlic and alcohol.

I rolled onto my side and clutched my stomach. My throat hurt like hell and my stomach felt all out of whack. I managed to get to my knees and eat everything that was left there in the Motel room. I glanced at my watch and realized I slept right through until 2:00 that afternoon. I checked my cell for messages.

None.

I groaned, coughed some more, and gathered all the garbage and made my way outside without a jacket on to throw everything away in the dumpster. On my way back to my room, that bum Elijah caught my elbow.

"You look like shit."

"Tell me about it." I whispered. Then I figured that maybe Lia isn't answering because she knows it's me and is still pissed off. Maybe this guy can do something about it. "Hey. Can you do me a favor?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders, covered by a holey black t-shirt. "Depends."

I led him back to my room, found a pen and some paper, and jotted down Lia's cell phone number, then handed it to him. When he gave me a puzzled look, I said. "Call her. Her name is Lia. Tell her that I need her and I am really sorry and…"

"What's in it for me?" He demanded. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the extra thirty dollars that wasn't spent on pizza.

"This is all I have…just please…" I pleaded, tears spilling over.

"Alright, alright." He answered, taking the money and forming it into a ball and sticking it in the front pocket of his jeans.

"Thank you." I whispered, but he was already turning away. When he made it out the door, I shut it and locked it. I took my cell phone, realizing it was no use anymore, and dropped it in the toilet. My finger went down and my food came up.

But this time, it was a different feeling. More excruciating pain than a skinny sensation. My stomach turned, my throat closed up on itself. I was shaking all over, suddenly cold.

"Lia." The words escaped my lips. I glanced in the mirror, turning blue. I was in pain, my chest throbbing, but I stuck my finger down my throat and puked some more. Then I saw a thick black liquid in the toilet bowl…

Not even bothering to flush it, my body went still, and I felt paralyzed. I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. I could only cough and foam at the mouth unwillingly. I dropped onto the floor next to the toilet…

And my world went black.