Chapter 2

2.

Eight PM. Pier 17.

The rooftop terrace was booked out. Over a dozen white long tables were pushed together, topped with champagne towers and boxes of medication. The S-Luxe packaging was minimalist―silver aluminum boxes with a Korean logo and two lines of small print: "BMI Management Protocol. For Medical Institutional Use Only."

No one was looking at the Hudson River view. Everyone was staring at each other's bodies.

I wore a black dress. It was cinched at the waist, but it couldn't hide much. When I walked onto the terrace, the conversation died down. It wasn't a welcoming silence―it was the kind of pause caused by a foreign object being dropped into a clean space.

Marilyn emerged from the crowd. She had changed into a red dress. Her shoulders were completely bare. Below her collarbones, every single rib was visible.

"You actually showed up."

She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the crowd. Her fingers dug into my wrist. Her nails were sharp.

"Everyone―this is Nora. The newcomer. One hundred and thirty pounds. Guess how many months it'll take for her?"

Someone whispered a number. Someone else snickered.

One woman laughed out loud. Another didn't. She stood at the very edge, clutching a glass of lemon water. The ice cubes were rattling.

Marilyn let go of my wrist. A red mark was left behind.

"Nora, let me tell you the rules. In this circle, you take the meds exactly how I say. I decide the dosage. I decide the timing. Anyone who doesn't―" She looked around the room. "―shouldn't bother showing their face around me. We don't welcome soft women here."

Someone started clapping. Three times. Very light.

I didn't say a word. I pulled my sleeve down to cover the red mark she'd left.

The dinner lasted two hours. In those two hours, not a single person ate. Desserts were brought out and taken back untouched. Everyone sipped lemon water. Someone squeezed a tube of transparent liquid into their glass―the S-Luxe oral supplement.

The woman sitting next to me wore a white dress. She was terrifyingly thin. Her wrist was so fragile I could have snapped it with one hand. She didn't say a word until the person next to her went to the bathroom. Then, she glanced at me.

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"How long have you been on it?"

"I haven't started yet."

Her eyes flickered.

"Then don't."

I looked at her face. Her cheekbones were just as high as Marilyn's. Her eye sockets were just as deep. But her eyes held something Marilyn's didn't―it wasn't just exhaustion. It was terror.

"How long have you been on them?"

"Three months."

"Any side effects?"

She didn't answer. She set her glass on the table. The ice had stopped rattling. She stood up and walked toward the terrace railing. I followed her.

She stood by the river. The wind was howling. She pulled up the sleeve of her white dress.

Her arm was covered in needle marks. Hundreds of them. Some old, some new. The oldest ones from three months ago had faded into pale pink scars. The newest ones were from today―they were still leaking clear fluid.

"My name is Willow Lane. Everyone calls me Miss Willow. You're the first person who didn't immediately ask for my weight."

"You just told me not to take the shots."

She pulled her sleeve down and stared out at the water. The city lights were dancing on the waves.

Then she said something. Her voice was mostly swallowed by the wind. I had to lean in to hear her.

"Since I started the shots―I've started seeing my mother in the mirror."