Bones

Jamie falls into one of his phases, one where he tries to be normal for a while. He doesn’t go all out, and he doesn’t even binge on every little thing he sees. He just eats, small servings of fruits and vegetables and water water water as usual, but he even drinks some juice sometimes now. And when Nick fixes dinner, Jamie goes so far as to not portion his food, or even try to trick Nick by moving it around and making it look like he’s eaten.

Jamie even feeds little slices of turkey to Nilla as she lazes on the table one day.

Nick notices, fuck does he notice, and he can’t help but wonder what caused this. The way Jamie’s acting, he thinks, it’s like he actually wants to try to get better – which is something that thousands of dollars and psychiatrists and a handful of inpatient stays couldn’t bring about. For a while, Nick doesn’t feel so helpless. But, he doesn’t ask Jamie what’s going on and Jamie doesn’t tell him either.

Nick calls Jamie’s mom on a break at work and tells her what’s happening. She doesn’t speak, and Nick can hear her silently crying on the other end of the phone, because oh god, a shred of hope, a flicker of light in the tunnel.

Increasingly Nick will feel a shift in his bed at night as the blankets are pulled back, a feather dents the other side of his bed and a breeze brushes his legs. Small arms will wrap around him, and Nick will turn around and wrap his arms around Jamie like it’s the last time he’ll ever touch him. Nick kisses his temple, and holds him like one would a scared child.

Even with all this progress there’s a knot in Nick’s gut, because this - this new normalcy – is more than Nick has ever asked or prayed for. And he’s right, because it is too much. He knows it probably won’t last long, but he’s damn sure going to cherish it while it does.



For Jamie, it’s a whole different scenario. He’s trying, really. For the first time, he truly wants to get better, but not for himself – for Nick, for his mom. So, he eats. He eats healthy and he throws out the foods that trigger him, and for the first time in years, he feels human. He still hates himself, feels guilt with every bite, but it’s ebbing.

But all those extra nasties don’t make her go away. She still sits at the edge of his bed every night, smiling, legs crossed at the ankle like a lady. Laura doesn’t really say anything, but he sees her, he feels her there. The feeling in his stomach, Jamie doesn’t know if it’s shame or pride or just plain fear - but he’s trying to beat her in his own way.

On the nights he can’t take the silhouette of a skeleton against the wall, he crawls into bed with Nick, and Laura never follows, she just laughs her light little skeleton laugh.

And maybe that’s worse than anything else.