Eat My Heart Out

He wouldn't look at me for the rest of the session. He wouldn't talk either. He just passed the ball to the woman and shook his head. She didn't argue.

I put my toothbrush back in the holder and rinse my mouth with water before I exit the bathroom and turn off all the lights. I walk across the dark room over to my bed, which I can only see because of the slight bit of moonlight that's coming through the drapes.

I can't believe I hurt him this much. He can't even talk now. It used to be just eating.

I know it's my fault. It was my fault the first time, so of course it's my fault this time too. I just don't remember what I did.

I lie down on my back, even though it hurts my neck. I've had a sore neck ever since I came here. I think it's the pillow. It's too soft.

He shouldn't be in pain because of me. He shouldn't have to suffer because I can't give him what he needs. He needs more than me and my crappy way of treating him. I don't know what I did, but I must've done something wrong. He never cared about the kids at school. His own mom never made an impression on him. His dad barely spoke to him, Frank told me. Mikey is his best friend. He doesn't have any specific role model that he wants to look like.

It was me. I did it. I did it the first time and I caused his relapse. I caused him the pain, and I can't fucking stand that. I can't fucking bear the thought of me having caused such a beautiful person so much pain, without feeling an ounce of it myself.

The door opens and a ton of light suddenly fills up the room. It blinds my open eyes and makes the middle of the room completely white while the rest stays black. It creates a path on the floor that is wide at my end and narrow at the door's end.

“Goodnight,” the nurse whispers and closes the door quickly but silently.

The light is gone, but my eyes are still blinded.

I see a lot of white. When I move my eyes, the light still in my eyes traces a foggy tail across the dark room and creates a whirlpool when I roll my eyes repeatedly.

It's better than being drunk.

I should show Frank this some day.

I should make Frank happy again. He doesn't deserve any more pain.

-----

“Hello?” I say as I put the phone to my ear. The nurse walks away and leaves me to talk to my mom. She sits down in a chair about 20 feet away from me. So much for privacy.

“Hey! How are you, sweetie?” my mom asks, sounding happy and carefree. It makes me smile.

“I'm good, mom.” I feared she might be careful and almost afraid when talking to me because she thought I might break. But I guess she knows me better than that. I should've known. She's my mom, after all.

“That's great. Are they treating you alright?”

“Yeah. They are.” I can't lie to my mom. They are treating me alright. Good, even.

They're treating me.

“And how is the food?”

My smile fades.

“It's good,” I mutter. Food reminds me of Frank and how he's not eating. Is he even eating here? Do they force him to eat? Does he throw it up?

There's a long silence. I can hear the TV in the background. It makes me a little home sick. It's Saturday in real life, so there's nothing on TV, but I miss it anyways. The entire family could always join in on the couch to an hour of complaining about how TV sucks now-a-days.

“Gerard,” my mom suddenly says, breaking the calm silence. I look up, just to pay more attention, even though I look up at nothing.
“There's something you should know.”

Frank is here.

“Frank's dad sent him to the same treatment center you're at.”

I close my eyes.

I know, mom.

“He did it without our consent, so we can sue him and perhaps get full custody over Frank,” mom says, slowing down near the end of her sentence to indicate she's not finished.
“But since the doctors told us that Frank has anorexic tendencies again, we've decided it's best for him to stay.”

She sighs.

“Like you.”

We're so alike, aren't we. When one of us falls, so does the other. It's like Frank and I are so close that we practically live the same life.

Which is why I need to let him go.

“We really want you both to get better. And perhaps you can work out whatever happened between the two of you while you're there. Together.”

But we can't be together anymore. I can't let myself hurt him again. There won't be a third time.

And there won't be a fifth either.

I won't let my family be disappointed in me one more time. Four is already too much. I know they cant' handle it. The way my mom's voice is trembling – even though she's hiding it well, I can still hear it over the crackling phone – it tells me that she's far from okay with what I've done to them.

And myself.

I won't let them down again.