To the Bones

Brendon woke up to the sound of Ryan of sobbing on the linoleum floor of their bathroom. He’d missed the purging, but was awake for the aftermath. He didn’t know how he’d managed to sleep through Ryan getting out of bed. He never had before.

“Baby?” he asked cautiously, quietly entering the bathroom. Ryan was curled up in a ball on the floor, pulling on his hair, sobbing so hard he could barely breathe for crying. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He knelt on the floor, pulling the older boy’s head into his lap and stroking his hair.

Ryan sat up so quickly he nearly hit his head on the wall. “Don’t touch me! I’m fat!” he screamed through the tears.

“Baby, wh—”

“I gained five pounds!” The sobs increased in both speed and noise. The boy was gasping for breath, face buried in his hands.

Brendon fought the urge to thank God. Ryan was almost ninety pounds. What scared him was that this was something worth thanking God for. “Baby . . .” His voice trailed off. He had nothing to say. He didn’t know what good or what harm his words would do. Ryan was already throwing up. Tomorrow he would beg for the opportunity to fast and go to the gym to work out until it closed. Brendon would say no and a huge fight would escalate.

“Let’s go back to bed.” he said finally, pushing himself off the floor and holding his hands out for Ryan to take. The older boy stared at them suspiciously for a moment before slowly holding his own frail arms out. Brendon pulled him gently to his feet.

“You’re not going to yell at me for puking?”

Brendon said nothing, just shook his head and started pulling Ryan toward the hallway and their bedroom.

“Why?”

“You had a hard night.” Brendon answered quietly. “Baby, you’re shivering.” he said suddenly, pulling off his sweatshirt and pushing it into Ryan’s hands. “Put that on.”

The older boy did so rather unreceptively, eyes rather blank, movements empty. He didn’t say anything after, just climbed into their bed and slid under the sheets, snuggling against Brendon when he followed, planting a single kiss to the hollow of his neck. “I love you.” he whispered, voice on the verge of breaking.

“I love you, too.” Brendon murmured back. He wrapped his arms around Ryan gently, under the covers for the first time in a long time.

Ryan fell asleep quickly, but Brendon didn’t. He stared at his boyfriend for the better part of two hours, stroking his hair and whispering his worries, wondering out loud what the older boy dreamed about. Worrying, wondering, whispering. Beautiful alliteration in such an ugly situation.

The next morning, the beauty was gone.

“You have to.” Ryan begged. “Just two days. I don’t care if you make me do the scale. You can’t make me eat.”

“Want to bet?” Brendon snapped. “You’re not even ninety pounds. I think I could take you.”

Ryan flinched at the mention of his weight. He could picture Ana laughing at him, calling him weak, pathetic, undeserving of her presence.

You are deserving; you brought this upon yourself. Oh, is this harsh? Do you not want this to happen to you? Am I unfair?

He pictured her image, her beautiful body, paper-thin skin spread so delicately over the bones. Bones are beauty. Bones are the ultimate goal. Skin is fat, skin is failure. And five pounds is completely unacceptable.

“Your body is eating itself.” Brendon said finally.

Ryan smiled, then frowned. He didn’t understand. Starving just to gain weight? This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. “I’m fasting. Fuck you.” Then he grabbed his back pack and disappeared out the front door.

Brendon broke down then, tears streaming down his cheeks, collapsing on the floor, face in his hands. Ryan was going to die. And it was all his fault.

He didn’t go to classes that day, called in sick to work, spent four hours on his laptop researching eating disorder recovery, an hour on the phone with his mother confessing everything.

Ryan didn’t come home that night. Brendon suspected he had found a twenty-four hour gym and was desperately trying to burn off that five pounds on the treadmill.

He got the phone call at four a.m.

“George Ross . . . emergency room . . . case of emergency number . . . heart attack . . . St. Mary’s . . .”

Heart attack. Heart attack. Heart attack.

Brendon called a cab, shoving the money at them as soon as they were near enough to the hospital to see it, sprinting up the sidewalk, face paled and damp from tears as he told the receptionist what had been said to him on the phone.

Ryan looked like a stretched out, too-thin child under the sheets. Shaking, shivering, whimpering, reaching his arms out for Brendon when he walked in. He was whispering, whispering over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Heart attack. Heart attack. Heart attack.

Brendon sat down beside him, holding both of Ryan’s hands so tightly he was almost afraid of breaking the bones. “Baby . . .” And then he was sobbing again.

“I’ll stop.” Ryan whispered, the fear imminent in his voice. “I promise. I’ll start eating again.”

“Okay.” Brendon said, the words barely registering in his head.

Heart attack. Heart attack. Heart attack.

“I love you.” Ryan choked out as he started crying, too, the tears sliding down his hollow cheekbones. “I’m sorry, Brenny. I’m so so sorry.”

Brendon nodded, trying to force his cries back down his throat. “I know, baby, I know.”

“I’ll get better.” Ryan promised.

Brendon nodded again, leaning down to brush his lips against the other boy’s knuckles. It was over.

Let me be empty and weightless and maybe I’ll find some peace tonight.