There were no words.

We sat there, seatbelts undone, Sonic drinks in our hands, silent. I bit my lip, my eyes darting back and forth, searching hers, seeing the struggle there. She finally broke our gaze, instead looking past me, out the car window into the darkness. She was torn, I could tell, her grip on her drink just a little too tight, her shoulders tense as she tried to decide what to do, what to say.

“I know, OK? I know. Just, I mean…just be honest with me.”

She looked at me again, her eyes swirling with emotion: flashes of fear, then sympathy, of anger, then concern. She opened her mouth, starting to speak, but then stopped before she even began.

“Please,” I said. My voiced strained with effort as I will myself to remain calm, to maintain my composure.

Moments passed; still nothing.

“Just say something.” I ducked my head, not trusting myself to keep it together. Country music played softly on the radio, barely audible, making the silence between us all the more apparent.

“You can’t. Not again. You can’t, Sarah.”

I forced myself to raise my head then, to look at her, my best friend of nine years. Her jaw was set, her posture strong, but her eyes gave her away, brimming with tears I knew she would refuse to let spill. Immediately I reacted, out of habit, of protection.

I grabbed her hand, any sense of fear long gone, replaced by the need to reassure her, to make sure she was OK.

“No, no, I won’t. OK? Really, I’m fine. I promise. It’s not like that this time.” I half-smiled, willing her to believe me.

Usually, that was enough. I soothed people’s concerns, assuring them that there really was nothing to worry about, that I was just fine, and that was that. They either moved on, or kept what they really thought to themselves, not wanting to push any further, not wanting to do or say anything that might cause more discomfort.

But not with her.

It was her turn to take my hand this time, to look me dead in the eye. She wasn’t doing it to reassure me, though, to comfort me or tell me it would all be okay.

“Don’t. You say that, but I know you. I can see you, Sarah. You’re slipping, worse than you have in a really long time, and you know it. Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself.”

I cowered at her words, each one piercing through my façade. We had completely reversed roles, my eyes now flashing with confused emotions, brimming with tears, but I wasn’t strong enough to hold them in.

Hot tears slid silently down my cheeks as my hurt and fear gave way to anger and the urge to fight back, to defend myself, rose suddenly within me. She didn’t know what she was talking about; she had no idea what I went through. She didn’t get to say those things to me.

I opened my mouth, ready to speak my mind. But just like she did, I stopped. I looked at her in front of me, still holding my hand even though I had released my grip long ago, still fighting for me even as I wanted nothing more than to push her away.

Deep breath, I thought.

My chest shuddered as I released the breath I had been holding, anger and hurt and fear still coursing through me.

I knew that logically I shouldn’t really have been angry with her — I had no reason to be. It wasn’t her fault that I am the way I am, that the hidden part of myself, the broken piece of me that houses my insecurities and my flaws, is also home to an eating disorder.

But still the anger burned. And still she stood her ground.

In that moment, I knew I was lucky.

Because even though she knew it would cause pain, even though she knew it could cause a rift, she spoke the truth. She didn’t hold back for fear of upsetting me, only saying what I wanted to hear, only saying what would make me happy.

Through her painful words, she showed me she cared. She cared so much that she was willing to put aside comfort, to take the harder, rougher road.

She said what I needed to hear, what true friendship couldn’t let her not say, because she didn’t just care about my happiness in that moment.

No, she cared about me, about who I was, who I would become.

***

With one hand, I wiped away the tears still lingering on my face, and with the other, I squeezed her hand that was still wrapped around mine.

“You’re right,” I whispered. “Will you help me?”