Between a Little Piece of Heaven and the Danger Line

“I think you have some explaining to do...” The words washed over me, nothing good had ever come from those words. He pushed past me, a bouquet of orange and pink lilies in one hand and a bag much like the one from his previous surprise visit in the other. I closed and locked the door, following, suddenly cold. I shivered, and when we reached the couch pulled the black and red fleece blanket over my shoulders. I was surprised I could do that much, walking down the stairs had taken a lot out of me. The nightmares were getting even more worse, and I stopped eating in fear of what I would do to myself.

“What have you done to yourself?” He asked, in a whisper so low I barely heard it. I could practically taste the pain that was weaved in his words. I looked at my hands, hating the way they looked and contrasted to the blanket they were clutching. “And don't spout that I'm fine bull shit.” That came out harsh, but you could still hear the pain.

“I wanted to forget.” His head snapped up, previously he had been resting it in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. “The nightmares had just started getting bad. I thought that I could handle them, but it got to the point that thinking of you didn't help anymore.” I took a deep shuddering breath, and began to pick at the fuzzy blanket I had wrapped myself in. “The first time I made myself puke was the day you surprised me with breakfast. After you left I was all alone, and I couldn't clean because there was nothing left to clean, and you know what they say 'An idle mind in the devils playground.' That day was also the first time in three days I had eaten three square meals, and dinner the night before at your house the first time I'd eaten in three days. I felt sick to my stomach, everything was weighting down on me, Jimmy, my self-consciousness, and Gena showing her crazy ass was pulling me in a whirl-wind. So I took my mental 'stomach ache' and made it real.” I paused, not knowing how to word the next part, he nodded letting me know he was listening, and I tried to ignore the shining in his eyes.

“It felt amazing, for the first time in weeks I forgot that it was my fault he di-” Brian interrupted me, a small growl omitting from his body.

“Dammit Zacky, that wasn't your fault. You know as well as I do that once Jimmy got an idea in his mind there was no changing it. He wanted to walk home, no matter how much you offered you know he wouldn't have taken a ride.” I nodded, tired of this argument, it was a broken record argument these days. He nodded for me to continue with my story.

I took a deep breath and leaned back into the armrest on the couch, and rested my chin on my knees. “Like I was saying, I forgot that guilt, it was eradicated from my mind, and I felt high, I was walking on clouds nothing could bring me down. That night I slept without the nightmares. The next morning I forced myself to eat something, but as I swallowed the last bite, all that guilt, that pain flew back in, so I purged myself of it. The feeling of being high and floating came back, but it wasn't like the first time. Then after the band meeting when it was just us, I almost forgot that I hated the way I looked. It amazed me that you were so turned on by me, then it was suck an innocent sound you made as I fell on you, but it brought that loathing back, all of it. I have never hated the word 'oomph' as much as I did then.” I looked over at him, and cringed as I saw the little droplets of water that were silently leaking out of the corner of his eyes.

“I went home and I cooked up a storm pasta, rich sauces, garlic bread, meats, and anything else that I had the ingredients for. I ate it all, every last bite, but again I found my self leaning over that damned toilet cleansing my body of its toxic fat. It still wasn't as good as the first time, that night the nightmares came back. I woke up in the middle of the night, and cried myself back to sleep. I fell into a pattern nightmare, cry myself to sleep, wake up, force myself to eat but the food never stayed down, I would call you, feed the dogs, go to your house, and it was like it was all on repeat. The feeling of floating soon ended and it was nothing but pain, but I had to try to get that back, don't you understand, I have to get that feeling back. I need it.” I was crying, he didn't understand I needed that feeling, it was the only thing that made me sane, it was like I was invincible. I didn't realize I was trembling and rocking back and forth as I cried into my knees until Brian wrapped his strong arms around me.

“It's going to be okay baby, I promise we'll fix this. I promise.” He cooed into my ear, trying to convince both himself and me. I wrapped my tattooed arms around him, and hoped that he was right. We sat like that until the sun started to peak in through my curtains. Brian pulled back and looked me in the eye, “First we have to see how much damage has been done.” He solemnly told me, as he gently pulled me off the couch. I was confused as to what he meant until we were in my bathroom and he was pulling out my scale.

“No, Brian no.” I pleaded shakily, he stood his ground.

“Zacky, now, step on the fucking scale.” He was growling, and it was scary, but I knew I deserved it. I stepped on the scale, lowering my head shamefully. “Fuck.” He swore as he took in the horrendous number, 129 LBS. He was seeing how fat I really was. “Dammit Zacky, you're at least 30 pounds under weight, how come I didn't notice this.” The pain in his voice snapped me out of my loathing. Underweight? There was no way, I was gargantuan. He must have seen something in my face he didn't like, because his large hand was wrapped around my wrist and pulling me to the floor length mirror beside the shower. “What do you see when you look in the mirror?” He asked, curiously.

I looked at the body before me, and frowned, my cheeks were to fat I looked like a chipmunk, my sides had rolls of fat peaking over my plaid boxer shorts, my legs were large round and gross looking. I told Brian just as much, and the complete look of disbelief he sent me was heartbreaking.

“You know what I see?” He asked voice cracking, “I see paper white skin, sunken in cheek bones, dark purple bags under your dull muddy green eyes, legs that are so thin that I can't fathom how they are supporting you right now, and a body that is so skinny that I can see your ribs. It's not healthy baby, and I can't lose you too.” I looked in the mirror and I couldn't see what he was talking about, I was nothing but a fat ass. How could he say these things?

“How can you say that? When it's not true, how can you not see what's right in front of you?” I asked him, he had to see it, it was there, wasn't it? I checked the mirror again, and sure enough it was there, the fat. The ugliness. He shook his head sadly and his shoulders shook with repressed sobs.

“How can you not see what's right in front of your face?” He yelled, spinning me around to face him. His eyes were blazing, a fire burning in them. “You're sick Zacky, in a month you've lost so much weight that I'm surprised I was in denial that something like this could happen. Let me help you.” He pleaded pressing his forehead to mine, wet droplets fell from his eyes and landed on my cheeks, “Let me help you.”

“I don't know why somebody like you would want somebody as ugly as me.” I whimpered, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Someone like me?” He asked bewildered.

“You're the epitome of the word beautiful, I don't know how you can lower yourself to be in my presence.” I murmured lowly, hoping that he wouldn't change his mind about being with me when he saw how right I was. I was shocked when he picked me up bridal style and carried me to my bedroom and gently laid me in the center of the bed. He straddled my waist and the familiar warmth began to spread through my body.

He leaned in lining my left ear up with his mouth, and in the most seductive voice I had ever heard whispered in my ear, “Let me show you how beautiful I think you are.”
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