Fragile Obsession

Chapter 6 Losing Balance

Abby Littman

It starts with hunger.

Not the sharp, dramatic kind people talk about. Not the kind that announces itself loudly, that demands attention and forces action. This one is quieter. Patient. It settles low in my body and waits.

I notice it only in fragments.

The way my hands shake when I zip my bag closed. The hollow lightness behind my eyes when I stand too fast. The faint ringing that comes and goes like a thought I can't quite catch.

I tell myself it's nothing.

I always do.

By mid-morning, campus feels too bright. Sounds blur at the edges. Conversations overlap until they lose meaning. I sit through my first lecture gripping my pen too tightly, my notes uneven despite my effort to keep them neat.

Control is harder today.

When class ends, Noah falls into step beside me like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Hey," he says. "You vanished after class yesterday."

"I went home," I reply.

He nods. "Fair. Still-thought maybe I'd imagined you again."

I manage a small smile.

We walk together toward our next building. He talks about a group project he's already dreading, about how the chairs in one lecture hall are clearly designed by someone who hates students. I listen, responding when I can, but my focus drifts in and out.

The ground feels... unstable.

"Did you eat today?" Noah asks suddenly.

The question hits harder than it should.

"I-yeah," I say.

It's automatic. Reflexive.

He glances at me, brows knitting together just slightly. "You sure? You look kinda pale."

"I'm fine," I repeat.

He doesn't argue. Just slows his pace a little, like he's adjusting without drawing attention to it. I notice. The consideration sits heavy in my chest.

By the time we reach the building, I feel hollowed out. Like my body is running on fumes and refusing to tell me how close it is to empty.

"I'll see you later?" Noah says.

"Yeah," I answer, even though my vision swims at the edges.

I step inside alone.

The hallway stretches longer than it should. The lights feel too harsh. My heartbeat thuds unevenly, loud in my ears.

That's when I see June.

She's standing near the lockers, arms wrapped around her books like they might fall apart if she loosens her grip. Her eyes flick up when she notices me, relief and apology crossing her face at the same time.

"Hi," she says softly.

"Hi," I reply.

We stand there, two quiet figures unsure of how much space we're allowed to take.

"I-I like your sweater," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

"Thank you."

Her gaze lingers on my face, then drops quickly. "Are you... okay?"

The words feel strange coming from someone who looks as fragile as she does.

"I'm fine," I start to say.

But the hallway tilts.

It happens fast after that.

The floor rushes up to meet me, my knees buckling without warning. Sound distorts-voices stretching, breaking, dissolving into noise. I register June calling my name, panic sharp in her voice, before everything pulls inward.

Darkness.

I come back in pieces.

The first thing I feel is warmth-hands firm at my back, grounding me, keeping me upright. The second is embarrassment, hot and immediate.

"Easy," a voice says. Low. Steady. "I've got you."

I know that voice.

My eyes flutter open.

Adriano.

He's crouched in front of me, one arm braced behind my shoulders, the other gripping my wrist gently but securely. His face is close, focused, stripped of its usual distance.

"Stay with me," he says. "Can you hear me?"

I nod weakly.

June hovers nearby, pale and shaken. "She just-she fell," she says. "I didn't know what to do."

"You did fine," Adriano tells her without looking away from me. "Can you get someone? The infirmary."

She nods and bolts.

"Abby," he says, quieter now. "Did you eat today?"

The question lands like a weight.

I look away.

His jaw tightens-not angry. Controlled. Concerned.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs.

He shifts carefully, lifting me with surprising ease. I protest weakly, mortification burning through me.

"I can walk," I say.

"I know," he replies. "But you won't."

There's no room for argument in his tone.

The infirmary smells like antiseptic and quiet authority. White walls. Soft lighting. A space designed for vulnerability.

A nurse looks up as Adriano carries me in.

"What happened?" she asks.

"She fainted," he says. "Likely from not eating."

The nurse's gaze sharpens as it lands on me. "I'm Lila Hart," she says. "Let's get you settled, sweetheart."

She guides me onto the bed while Adriano steps back reluctantly, hovering near the doorway like he's unsure if he's allowed to stay.

"When was the last time you ate?" Nurse Hart asks.

I hesitate.

She sighs softly, not unkind. "We'll start with some juice."

She presses a cup into my hands. I sip slowly, my head clearing bit by bit.

Adriano watches from across the room, arms crossed, concern written plainly across his face.

"You can stay," Nurse Hart tells him. "She'll need someone to walk her home."

I glance at him. "You don't have to-"

"I know," he says. "I will anyway."

Something in my chest tightens.

Later, as the dizziness fades, I lie back against the pillow, exhausted and exposed.

Nurse Hart makes notes on her chart. "You can't keep doing this," she says gently. "Your body keeps score, whether you want it to or not."

I nod, shame settling heavy in my stomach.

When she finally leaves, silence fills the room.

Adriano remains.

"You scared people today," he says quietly.

"I didn't mean to."

"I know."

He hesitates, then adds, "But disappearing like that? That's not nothing."

I stare at the ceiling, blinking back tears.

"I don't know how to take care of myself," I admit.

The confession feels dangerous.

He doesn't rush to fix it.

"That's something we can work around," he says instead.

We.

The word lingers.

For the first time, being held in occupied space doesn't feel like a threat.

It feels like balance.

And with that I dozed off.