Camisado

Ryan's hands shook as the pure white porcelain came into view. Quietly though, he urged himself on and locked the door behind him. The lights seemed dim when he finally turned them on. He felt his eyes start to sting, the salty tears would soon spill over a ruin the make-up that he had just perfectly done just hours before, but who cared if it got messed up now? The show was over, just finished and the rest of the guys were in the dressing room fooling around. And still, somehow, Ryan had convinced himself yet again, to go off by himself. He needed a release.

The tears finally spilled over, hot on his skin. His hands shook more violently now, as he crouched down. Slowly, he lifted the cover and then the seat. He put his shaky grip on the rim of the bowl, and tried to convince himself to do what he felt needed to be done. Ryan lifted his left hand, and opened his mouth. The feeling of saliva was almost enough on it's own to do it. And then it finally came up.

His stomach reached as it emptied itself of the small remaining contents of the food he had eaten just before the show and the water he drank during it. Ryan coughed violently as his stomach kept going, not wanting to stop until it was truly empty. A green bile splotched into the clear water, slightly fogging it, already red and brown. His breathing increased as he sat on the cold white tile. A cold sweat had formed on his forehead. And still, he wasn't satisfied. The invisible fat still hadn't left him.

He pulled himself up over the bowl again, staring down the vile contents that clouded it. It wasn't enough, there was hardly anything. Just a toxic fog with small chunks of food. There had to be more, the invisible had to leave. Quickly, before he could tell himself how disgusting it was, Ryan jammed his finger down his throat yet again. His stomach heaved, not wanting the intruder to make it down his throat, and inevitably, Ryan hacked up on his own arm. The goo slid down the ruffles and stitching of his show shirt, leaving a sick scent and an even more sick trail of slick mucus and food remains.

Ryan's arm shook and the tears overflowed once more. Anger filled him for being weak, for not being able to handle the very thought of himself. He shook his head violently, trying to shake the feeling off. Unsuccessful. He looked in the toilet once more, nothing new was there, it was all over his arm. He shuddered at the look, thought, and smell. But it had to be done. Nothing had come up still.

He looked at his wrists, thin long scars chaffed them. And, some of the scares weren't scars yet, but guaranteed to become just that. His life felt like it was crashing in on him. He could still feel the razor's cold sting and the warm blood flow that would follow it. However, what felt like fifty feet was only five. And he was acting upon the situation wrongly. He hadn't mourned, he had just crashed.

His stomach reached, this time on it's own, overloaded by the sour scent of the room. Ryan heaved, nothing coming up. He was choking himself, unable to breath. Finally a blob of red and green emerged from his mouth. He coughed violently, blood covering the white porcelain and tile. He collapsed next to the toilet, laying in his own blood, and every-so-often coughing up more.

A bang on the door. "Ryan?"

Ryan couldn't reply, only cough once more, blood accompanying it.

Another bang, this time a little more frantic. "Ryan?"

Still, Ryan didn't reply, his eyes were growing heavy and his breathing shallow.

A louder bang this time. "Ryan!?"

Ryan was able to put a face to the voice as his brain finally unclouded some and was able to put two and two together, Spencer. He coughed again, the blood flow increased, more and more with each cough.

"Ryan!?" It was Brendon that time, not bothering to bang on the door.

And for some odd reason, Ryan heard the banging get louder and come one after the other. Until the sound of splintering wood filled the air and a loud crack followed it. The light of the room became brighter as the hallway's light joined it. Ryan squinted his eyes, trying to keep them open and refusing to fall into unconsciousness. But his will was growing weak.

"Ryan!" Spencer shouted as he ran towards the body.

Brendon and Jon followed him, too shocked to say anything, speechless. Spencer put his hand to the boy's forehead, wiping away his hair and sweat. Ryan's eyes grew heavier and his breathing more shallow each second, and his will was weaker still. Brendon crouched down next to him and tried to keep him awake, shaking him lightly. It wasn't working though. He couched again, a spray of blood covered Spencer.

"Crap! Call an ambulance!" Was the last Ryan heard or saw of that night.

When his eyes fluttered open again he was in a white room, hooked up to several medical machines and a tube down his throat. He was sore and confused, what had happened, where was he? Beeping quickly filled his ears, and he soon realized it was a heart monitor. The room was simple, plain even, and there was evidence that someone other then he had been there. And, with that they returned.

"Ryan! Guys, he's awake!" Jon shouted as he walked in.

Ryan watched as Brendon and Spencer came in after Jon, their eyes tear filled but happy. He tried to smile, but the tube prevented him from doing so. They all came around his bed, marveling at the very fact he was awake. Ryan pointed to the tube in his throat, and mumbled something incoherent.

"Oh." A nurse said as she walked in. "I came in to see what all the commotion was about, but I think I know now. Here, let me help."

She took the tube out of his throat, causing him to lightly cough at the feeling of slithering plastic from his throat. The nurse left then, leaving the boys to themselves. They sat there, in silence, each afraid to upset the others. It was weird for Ryan, they finally knew his secret. And, it broke his heart, when he finally saw the one tear fall from Brendon's cheek onto his shirt.

"What-what happened?" Ryan finally asked, against his better judgment.

"We found you bloody, vomited on, and half dead on the bathroom floor. Ryan, maybe we should be asking you the same question." Spencer spoke gently, not wanting to inflict guilt onto the boy.

"How...I...It's..." Ryan stuttered, trying to find words. "I'm fat." Is what he settled with, mumbling it to the wall.

"You think your fat?" Jon sounded dumbfound.

"I know I'm fat." Ryan said a bit more forcefully.

"So, you did that because you thought you were fat? George Ryan Ross III, don't you dare lie to me!" Brendon shouted, his fear getting the better of him.

"I'm not! Okay!? You have any clue the pain I've gone through these past months!? You try losing your girlfriend and father in the same week! You imagine having to plan the funeral for your father, his plot, his tombstone, imagine losing your father Brendon and then try accusing me of this!" Ryan quickly shouted back, stunning everyone in the room.

Spencer looked at Ryan sympathetically, Brendon hurt, and Jon just plain surprised. Ryan had never shot of at anyone like that, especially Brendon. Tears stain Ryan's face as Spencer moved to sit on the edge of his bed, hugging him the bed he could, trying to calm and comfort his best friend. The room grew silent once more, except for Ryan's sobs. It had finally all spilled over.

"I'm...I'm sorry Brendon." Ryan spoke as he tried to control the sobs.

"It's okay, Ryan. I understand. I shouldn't of yelled at you like that, it was uncalled for." Brendon replied as he stared at the floor, choking back tears of his own once more. "I..I was just so afraid of losing you."

"We all were." Jon whispered as he put his hand on Brendon's shoulder.

"You need help." It was Spencer who finally brought up the topic. "Ryan, you need to get help."

"I know, and...I will."