“I never want to be out of shape. I never want to be one of those people who breathes heavily from doing nothing—just from sitting there. That would be so embarrassing, so unbearable to me.” Layla says this as she lies in her hospital bed, having been confined to it for the past two weeks after getting hit by a car while she was riding her bike. It was the car’s fault, not hers. At the same time, her best friend, Alice, couldn’t help but think to herself—especially after hearing this diatribe—that Layla was partly responsible. For, were it not for her obsession with fitness—with being and staying fit—maybe she wouldn’t have felt inclined to ride her bike on the side of one of the most high-traffic roads in Los Angeles. During rush hour.

Ever since Alice had known Layla, she had been like this. Way back when they were still just kids living in Houston together. Long before “the cult of L.A.” could be blamed for her body obsession. In the end, a form of self-obsession. And one that had only augmented (along with Layla’s breasts) over the course of the almost six years they had lived there. In the beginning, both had set out to “make it big” as influencers. A goal that, at present, only Layla still clung to. Even though this recent turn of events appeared to be yet another in an endless line of signs telling her it wasn’t meant to be. These were signs that Alice had heeded long ago, having settled for an admin/receptionist role at a dental office in Miracle Mile, within walking distance (the real L.A. dream) to where she still shared an apartment with Layla, who had become increasingly lax about paying her half of the rent.

This accident certainly wasn’t going to help that cause either. Nor did it help that, for Layla, working out really was a full-time job. Which is part of why she had hoped and tried so desperately to parlay it into an “influencing” “career.” But it was becoming apparent even to her—as much in denial as she had tried to stay—that maybe it wasn’t going to happen. This latest setback serving as yet another overt sign of that. Regardless, Layla still couldn’t fully acknowledge the reality staring both her and Alice in the face. Alice who, as Layla was aware, had begun to lose what little patience she had left for supporting her best friend—emotionally, and now, financially. To be sure, Alice was already dreading what she might have to contribute to Layla’s hospital bills as well.

It was all getting to be too much, for both of them. But still, Alice listened with an open mind and heart to Layla’s vapid rant about needing to stay fit. All as she wondered how Layla could possibly have the audacity to talk about thinness versus fatness when she knew damn well that Alice had only recently quelled her eating disorder and still went to a support group every week to keep it quelled. But this was not something that concerned Layla, nor did it have the ability to activate her nonexistent sensitivity.

She had always been this way, for as long as Alice could remember. Except, back then, Alice thought her callousness—her “cuntiness”—was chic. Necessary even, if one wanted to survive the rigors of elementary school, junior high, high school and beyond. But now that they were at the “beyond” part, Alice kept waiting for Layla to “grow up.” To drop the act, even if only slightly. Except maybe it wasn’t an act or a “defense mechanism” at all. Maybe Layla was just really like this: a self-absorbed bitch. And if that were the case, why did Alice keep sticking around? Surely, it had to be for some reason other than “sentimental value.” Some reason other than because they had been friends since before either of them learned how to ride a bike. And now, here Layla was, holed up in the hospital because she knew how to ride a bike. Something about it felt ominous, foreboding—like everything was coming to a head. Including what Alice had once believed to be their ironclad friendship. But she was starting to find it impossible to keep turning a blind eye to all of Layla’s many faults. Faults that were now impacting Alice’s financial well-being (ergo, her entire well-being).

She didn’t know why it was assumed by Layla that Alice would just keep footing the bill indefinitely. Maybe Layla simply believed that Alice would forever be charmed by her whole “rebel” shtick. That it was a way for Alice to live vicariously since she herself had never been that “wild.” Nor had she been capable of staying committed to fitness the way that Layla had. Something that the latter often made pointed remarks about, usually in contexts related to trying on or borrowing clothes. Or else, in contexts related to eating. For example, if ever Layla saw Alice consuming something she deemed to be fattening, she had no issue mentioning it. As if she had never joined the post-2000s set in terms of jettisoning the kind of mentality that made someone think it was okay to comment on another person’s body.

All of these things were gathering to create a tsunami of resentment that might come crashing down on Layla any minute if she didn’t rein herself in. But when had Layla ever done that? Layla asked herself. And then, suddenly, as if in response to that very question, Alice jolted out of her seat in the midst of Layla continuing on about all the exercises she had fallen behind on since being relegated to “this goddamn bed.”

“I have to go,” Alice announced.

Layla was instantly suspicious. “What? Why? It’s not like you have work today.”

Yet another comment that made Alice bristle. “So? You think I couldn’t possibly have other plans?”

Without missing a beat, Layla replied, “No. Unless your plan is to go home and binge-watch something.”

And that was it. The last straw for Alice. “You know what, Layla? Even if that was my plan, it would be so much better—and far less of a waste of my time—than being here with you.”

Layla couldn’t believe what she had just heard. She was absolutely gobsmacked, had never heard Alice speak this way before, let alone to her. It was as if she was watching her friend get possessed by the devil. But no, the likelier comparison was that Alice had been possessed by something more akin to an angel for far too long. And it was time to let that part of herself go when it came to her dealings with Layla. In fact, as she told Layla before leaving the hospital, she was going to need to find a new living arrangement tout de suite. “Because honestly, Layla, I would rather live alone if I’m going to be paying the entire rent anyway.”

And before Layla could protest, Alice was out the door, feeling more liberated than she had in years. In truth, she probably hadn’t felt this unencumbered since before meeting Layla. Something that should have made her feel sad about all those lost years spent under her repressive thumb, except that she was too happy to think in those terms. This was going to be the first day of the rest of her Layla-free life.

By the time Layla got out of the hospital one week later, Alice had already done one final act of kindness by putting all of her shit in storage (the caveat being that she had only paid for the unit for one month) until she could find something else. If she didn’t, that was “tough titty” for her. Layla was no longer Alice’s problem or responsibility, and never should have been in the first place. That’s not what a “friend” is supposed to be. At least not all the time. So no, Alice didn’t feel guilty at all about what she eventually learned of Layla’s fate. A fate that, had she ever been somehow made privy to it, she would have likely ensured she was “more effectively” hit by that car so that it would result in her death. Because, for Layla, what came after that “sparing” was something far worse. Not just homelessness and abject poverty, but the irony of becoming fat. Since the false stereotype about homeless people remains that they’re thin and gangly from a lack of food. But the reality was that many homeless people—now including Layla—had access only to the worst kinds of foods: fatty, processed, high starch, high sugar…the gamut. And Layla had no choice but to eat it whenever (and wherever) she could get it.

So by the time Alice saw her sitting against a wall that day while she happened to be walking by the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels (having schlepped Downtown on an errand for the office), she almost didn’t recognize her at all. She had expanded to a size not unlike Violet Beauregarde’s as a blueberry. And as for shades of blue, it was only because of those piercing azure eyes she still remembered so well that Alice knew for sure it was Layla. But apart from that, any remaining trace of the girl she had once known was gone. And, in place instead was, well, more of that girl. A lot more. It was shocking to Alice, who had always heard Layla repeat like a mantra that she would rather kill herself than ever end up poor or fat (the “or” in lieu of “and” because she likely never could have imagined being both). And now, here she was, stuck in a body and a life that her former self would have slit her wrists over. Maybe it just went to show that it was true what “they” said: you can get used to anything, if you have to. But that was just it—the Layla that Alice once knew would have never allowed herself to get used to this. Again, would have rather killed herself than do so. Or was that all just another act because Alice was there to catch her fall every time?

Noticing that Alice was staring at her, Layla looked back at her defiantly. As if to say, “Yep, take a look at me now.” And, just as Alice was about to pass her entirely, Layla called out, in a voice far raspier than Alice remembered, “I don’t blame you, you know. But it was still a dick move. Maybe I deserved it.”

Alice turned back slightly, feigning a lack of recognition as she answered, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”