To the Bones

Ryan burst into the restaurant bathroom, checking under each of the stalls for shoes before locking himself in the last and kneeling, lifting the lid as he pushed his fingers down his throat, gagging repeatedly before the chicken finally came back up, spilling into the toilet bowl, tears of humiliation and disgust running down his cheeks. He shouldn’t have eaten it, but after the fights he and Brendon had been having, he just wanted to have a civil dinner, a ‘nice’ date. For once. It had been nice for Brendon, at least. For him, it had been awful. He could feel the eyes of the other diners, watching every bite going into his mouth, whispering about how disgusting he was.

Brendon was sitting on the table, tapping his fork nervously on the tablecloth, biting his bottom lip. He wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure. ’No, I’m not hungry for dessert. I’m going to wash my hands. I’ll be right back.’ Who washes their hands after dinner? Not Ryan. He didn’t know, however, if he was supposed to interrupt. Maybe he was supposed to wait and bring it up when they got out to the car. He’d be done by now anyway.

It had been three weeks since Ryan had said he needed to lose ten pounds. Three weeks of fights, of disguised conversations with his mother, of going through the index in his health book, of reading the signs on the internet at school. He knew now. Knew everything he’d been trying to ignore, everything he was so certain couldn’t be true, everything he’d been denying. Ryan had anorexia. And right now he was probably coming out of the bathroom stall where he’d just thrown up the food he’d choked down at dinner. He was washing his hands and he would be out any minute.

“Hey.” Ryan smiled and sat down. He looked pale, shaky, his breath smelled like peppermint. He was chewing a stick of gum. “Did you finish your dessert already?”

“Didn’t get any. Already paid, let’s go.” The words were rushed, brisk, not at all confident. He stood up and held his hand out to Ryan, walking as quickly as he could through the restaurant once he felt the other boy’s bony fingers slip through his.

They were in the car, driving back to the dorms when Brendon said it. “You were throwing up.” He made sure they were at a red light when he said it, trying to be safe; no car accidents tonight. He watched Ryan’s fingers grip the steering wheel, watched his boyfriend bite at his bottom lip.

“Yes.”

He hadn’t expected that, the confirmatory word. He’d expected the denial, the false laughter to make him feel like an idiot for thinking such things. He hadn’t expected affirmation, and particularly not such a simple, neat, clean affirmation.

Ryan pressed his foot on the gas pedal when the light turned green, hands relaxing on the wheel, not looking at his boyfriend. They didn’t say anything else until they were at the dorms and unbuckling to go inside.

“Why’d you do it, Ry?” Brendon asked, reaching out and grabbing his boyfriend’s wrist. “Why?” His brown eyes were shining with tears.

“You know why.” He slid from the car and shut the door, walking around toward the front of his car and leaning against it. He pulled his jacket tighter around him at the sudden breeze. Brendon climbed onto the hood of the car, sitting behind his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his nonexistent waist and breathing in the scent of his hair. “Are you going to leave me now?” It was the first time the younger boy ever remembered hearing fear in Ryan’s voice.

“I could never leave you.” Brendon said honestly enough. “I’m scared for you.” he added as the tears streamed down his cheeks.

Ryan took a deep breath of the night air, cherishing the way it bit at his lungs. “Let’s go upstairs. It’s too cold out.” He pretended not to see Brendon wipe at his tears with the heel of his hand as they walked up the sidewalk. He held out his hand when they got inside and the younger boy took it as they waited for the elevator, pressed the button for the fifth floor. “I’ll brush my teeth.” Ryan said when then got into his room, opening his closet and pawing around for his toiletry bag.

“O-Okay.” Brendon said, sitting on the bed and tracing his fingers over the comforter. “I’ll just wait. Here.”

The older boy smiled and disappeared with his toothpaste and toothbrush, reentering about five minutes later and sitting down beside Brendon on the bed, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him, the taste of mint quite apparent. “Do you want to try that sex thing?” he asked quietly when their lips broke for air. “I bought condoms.”

Brendon didn’t. Not then. Not when Ryan’s mouth tasted like Aquafresh to cover up the fact that he’d been vomiting on their date. But he said yes anyway. It seemed . . . important, in a way. Which way that was, he had no idea.

Ryan wouldn’t let Brendon take his shirt off. They had to be under the blankets and Brendon wasn’t allowed to look, which wasn’t the easiest rule to give a virgin, but he managed. Brendon couldn’t touch his cock, couldn’t get him off. Brendon wasn’t even sure if Ryan was hard. The brown eyes stared up at him, serene and calm, closing when the younger boy accidentally went too fast or too hard, discomfort barely tangible in his features. “Come on, baby.” he murmured, reaching up to brush Brendon hair from his face.

It wasn’t the way Brendon had thought he would lose his virginity, Ryan in his shirt, sharp hips meeting his with every thrust, such little physical contact for such an intimate act. He came with a quick cry, almost in sobs though he didn’t know why. He had pictured repetitive I love yous and Ryan screaming his name while he came, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. This wasn’t the way he had wanted it. This was the opposite of romance, a dead flower in a chipped vase.

He collapsed against Ryan, breathing heavily, trying not to cry. The older boy stroked his back and hair, murmuring comforting words, kissing his temple and the top of his head. “That was good, Brenny. It was good.”

When they were both dressed in pajamas and holding each other, Ryan’s arms under the sheets and Brendon’s over, the older boy brought it up once more. “I don’t want you throw up, Ry.”

“Then don’t make me eat.”

“How much do you eat?”

Ryan moved uncomfortably, lowering his head. “I try to stay under 250 calories. Vitamin supplements and lots of water. And I fast during the week if I overdo the weekends.”

“You know you’ll die.” Brendon whispered, forcing himself to hold his tears in. “You’ll die if you keep doing this.”

“Everyone dies.” Ryan said calmly. “I’d rather die thin.”

“You were already thin!” the younger yelled, voice cracking as the tears began to fall once again. “You’re not fat. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

Ryan brought his hands up, wiping at his boyfriend’s wet cheeks, kissing the tip of his nose. “I’ll be fine. I’ll stop when I’m thin enough, I promise.”

Brendon knew the promise was as hollow as Ryan’s stomach. He’d never be thin enough to satisfy himself. He’d starve and purge himself to the grave and Brendon would be all that was left over. The best he’d be able to do was prolong it, extend the life they could have together, the constant fighting and Ryan’s bones sticking out like a concentration camp victim.

He had to. He loved him.

The ride home the next day was fairly quiet. Brendon didn’t bring up the anorexia again, although he did mention his college applications. “Where do you want me to apply? UNLV, like you?”

“No, let’s move.” Ryan said.

“What if we don’t get the same dorm room, though?” Brendon asked.

“We’ll get an apartment.” The older boy turned his head for a moment and smiled. “I got the money from when my grandpa died and I’ve been saving most of what I make from working, so . . . we’ll both get jobs there, too.” He nodded, color spring into his normally pale cheeks for a moment, his happiness visible.

“It’ll be like starting over. Just you and me.”

And Ana.

I want to be the smallest I can possibly be. When I see bone, that's the day I will finally feel free.