Eat My Heart Out

How do I get him away from mirrors? There aren't a lot of mirrors in this place, but it's only one that I'm concerned about. Each of us have our own bathroom in our room.

We're not allowed to break inventory or steal it or anything, so I can't take it out of his room. I can't even get into his room. Ever since I was caught that night, the nurses keep a careful eye on me. I'm not allowed to leave my room at night. During the day, they follow me around. They try to be discreet about it, but when I walk out of my room and one of them immediately gets up and coincidentally have to go the same way I'm going, there's nothing discreet about it.

So, since I can't take his mirror or hang something over it, I need an other way to let him know that he doesn't need to look himself in the mirror – that it doesn't matter what he looks like.

What do I do?

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I push the bowl of soup across the table and place a spoon within Frank's reach. I take my own spoon and fill it with red soup and put it in my mouth. The sharp taste of tomato makes me worry that Frank won't eat it, but when I glance up through my eyelashes and see Frank suck on the spoon, he doesn't look disgusted. It looks as if he's enjoying it; at least the taste of it.

I take a spoonful more and try not to slurp, but fail. I glance up at Frank to see if he noticed – if he minded – but he's eating, so I guess not.

I dip my spoon in the red liquid and am about to bring the content to my mouth when I realize something.

I look up. Frank's spoon is dipping into his soup, but it's not the spoon my eyes stare at. Frank has cuts on his hands; on his knuckles. They look like teeth marks.

I let go of my spoon so it clanks and clinks against the porcelain bowl and Frank jumps in the air and looks up at me. He looks me in the eye, for the first time in days – in an entire week, perhaps.

I stare him in the eye and try to see right through him, but I can't see any further than his blank stare. I used to be able to see everything – to understand him – but now, all I see are his pale, bleak, yellowish eyes.

I get up, take my bowl and walk away from the table. I pour the liquid into the trash, place the bowl and spoon on an empty table and leave the dining hall.

If Frank won't eat, neither will I. And I won't force him to eat if he throws it all up again. I refuse to pressure him.