The Scars on Your Heart

I stayed awake for most of that night, despite how tired I was. I sat up and brought my knees to my chest, careful not to wake Josh. I'd watch him sleep for a few minutes, which made me happy, seeing him all peaceful. But then my mind would stray to my recent discovery. My own mind had been loving me, and then bullying me. How did that even work? I hated schizophrenia. If I didn't have it, Tom would be alive and I'd probably have made friends back in Sheffield more easily. But if I didn't have it, I'd never have met Josh.

The morning came surprisingly quick, relieving me of my bad thoughts. George changed the dressing on my arm and the bandages on my forehead and neck. I went to breakfast and George let me sit with Josh as long as I ate. Eating was terrible. I had forgotten how bad it was, because I mainly survived on milk and water before they decided to do something about my weight. I could feel the fat creeping under my skin. There was more and more of it with each meal. I felt disgusting.

"How'd you sleep?" Josh asked through a bite of bagel.

"I didn't. Maybe a little, but most of the night I was awake." I responded, swallowing a bite of the muffin I was eating. George had let me get away with not putting butter on it. Thank god.

"Why?"

"Just... rough day yesterday." I replied, and Josh nodded. It must've been my medicine working, because I never would've come to those realizations without it. I would've accused Josh and George of lying to me, and things would've just gone downhill even more than they already had.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, looking down at his bagel and fruit cup.

"It's not your fault, I would've figured it out anyway. Maybe a lot later, but I would've." I whispered in return, not sure if it was the right thing to say. He smiled at me, so I guess it was right.

"I'm glad you're getting better, though. It's gonna be a rough journey, I know that, and it might take a long time. But you're going to be well some day. I know I won't be there to see it, but hopefully, when you wake up well, I'll know. In here." He said, holding his hand over his heart. I smiled. Ever since we'd been roommates things had gotten a lot better with Josh. He wasn't as angry all the time from what I could tell. I guess all he needed was a little push in the right direction.

"Hopefully. And maybe it will be while I'm here. Who knows?" I said with a shrug, taking the last bite of my muffin and forcing it down. My stomach ached so bad. "Oh, Josh," I sighed, resting my chin on my fists and tapping my other fingers on the table. "I'm going to miss you so much. Like, so much that I'd rather die than be without you." I said quietly, looking down at my plate and letting out a deep breath. "I really am."

"I know, Oli. I'm going to miss you that much, too. But I want us to make a pact, right here." He said, his tone growing more serious by the second. "When you're gone, you promise that you won't do anything to put yourself in danger, and I'll promise to take control of my anger and turn it into something positive." He stated, and I looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow. I couldn't promise that. I never know when I'm going to do something outrageous. My next episode could be in a few minutes, for all I knew. "It's going to be hard, I know. But I want you to promise me that you'll try."

That was something I could agree to. "I'll try my hardest." I said in reply. I would try my hardest. It was a matter of whether that would get anywhere or not. Josh smiled at me and I smiled back.

"Good. Now, I don't want to sound like a George, but I don't want to get in trouble either, so eat your muffin before I do." He said, chuckling. I sighed and took another bite of the tasty but disgusting piece of bread.

I was feeling much dizzier than I normally had been. I looked weird, too, like my eyes were sunken. My joints were aching and my muscles were somewhat stiff. "Hey, have I been acting weird?" I asked, and Josh cocked an eyebrow. "Like, I feel weird. Have I been moving weirdly?"

"Well, yeah, your muscles seem to be a bit stiff." He replied, and I let out a sigh of relief and disappointment. It wasn't just me that felt that way, but that meant it was real. I could be sick.

"Oh. Thanks." I muttered, finishing my muffin and feeling a bit nauseous as I took the last bite. My stomach turned over itself and I gagged, quickly standing up and nearly falling from being so dizzy. I gagged again and quickly walked over to George, telling him I felt like I was going to vomit.

As we left the dining hall to go to the bathroom, I took a look back at Josh, who looked concerned.

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I vomited long and hard, my throat burning and my mouth tasting like shit. George was letting me squeeze his hand every time I retched over the toilet, my other hand helping me balance. This wasn't normal vomit, either. It was mostly bile with my not even half-digested muffin in it, with patches of red. Eventually I finished, surprising myself by not puking again.

"I think I'm okay now," I muttered, coughing and wiping my mouth with a fold of toilet paper. George helped me up and kept his hand on my back. I nearly passed out as I stood. My vision went black and I lost my balance, but I regained it quickly.

"Should you go to the infirmary?" George asked, and I shook my head.

"No, I'll be fine." I muttered, rubbing the bandage on my neck.

"I think you need to go lay down for a little while. I'll get you up by second period." He said, and I agreed to that.

The walk up the stairs was awful. I was terrified that I'd fall and die. I didn't want to upset neither Josh nor Tom by dying, so that was a big scare. Once we made it to the third floor, I trudged down the hall to the room and George allowed me to lay in Josh's bed after I brushed my teeth again and rinsed with mouthwash. Surely Josh wouldn't mind.

After George left me by myself in the bed, I pulled the blankets over me, feeling myself begin to tremble. It wasn't from being cold, either. It was completely different. I was just shaking, and I couldn't stop.

It was uncomfortable to shake while lying down, so I sat up and wrapped the blanket tighter around myself. I was just sitting there, trembling for about thirty minutes before Josh came back from breakfast.

"God, Oli! What's wrong? You're shaking like a... Like a Chihuahua! And were you okay earlier? Did you throw up?" He bombarded me with questions. I nodded about the vomiting thing and tried my best to calm my body and breath but to no avail. It was then that I realized my heart was racing.

"I think I'm sick. But what kind of illness makes you do this?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"Well, what are your symptoms? My health class two years ago learned practically every virus and infection known to man."

"Okay, so I'm nauseous, and I vomited, and I'm really dizzy, and I'm shaking, as you can see, and my heart is beating really fast and I'm having a hard time breathing and--"

"Hold up. What did your vomit look like?"

I cocked an eyebrow, catching my breath to talk. "It was mostly bile and my muffin, and it had red in it. I think it may have been blood." I explained, and I practically watched his expression shift from concerned to freaked out.

"Er, Oli? I don't think it's a virus." He said.

"Then what is it?"

"When my class learned about eating disorders like yours, we also learned about the consequences of recovery, like refeeding syndrome. I think that's what you may have, but I could be wrong."

"What the fuck is that?"

"It's where your electrolytes and other important things in your body are messed up from starving yourself. You can die from it." When he said 'die', I immediately sent myself into panic mode.

"Oh my god!" I shouted, looking at my trembling hands, my vision still fuzzy. "I'm going to die!"

"No, no, Oli, you just need to be treated. You're not going to die!" He tried to reassure me, but I wouldn't have it. I was convinced that I was going to die. "Let me go tell George what I think it is. He'll know what to do." He said, and he left me there, freaking out.

Within a few minutes George was in with Josh and Dean Maskell. They examined me and determined that I needed to be sent to the hospital. Dean Maskell called an ambulance and after a few minutes I was being loaded onto the back of it, Josh being left behind due to classes and the possibility that he might run away. George rode with me to the hospital and I was shaking like crazy now. I felt like I was going to vomit again as he ran over the symptoms with the EMTs. And, unfortunately, I did. The next thing I knew, there was bile and blood all over myself and the stretcher. I just kept retching until I was vomiting nothing but blood.

"Have you increased his calorie intake any recently? He looks very thin." I heard over my own noises.

"Yes, we had him start eating again. He's on a 3000 calorie diet."

"From?"

"From about 100, I guess," George muttered, knowing he'd get in trouble for it. Before the lead EMT could say anything, he started talking again. "I know we did it wrong, we should slowly increase the calorie intake. But we were desperate! He was at 6 stone 4 pounds, damn it!" He shouted, getting himself worked up over nothing. Well, not really nothing, but still.

"You're right, you should slowly increase the calorie intake. He's severely malnourished and the sudden increase in calories is affecting him negatively. I understand your need to get him to a healthy weight," The EMT paused and placed a hand on George's shoulder. He was shaking now, too; either that, or my body was moving so fast that it seemed like everything was shaking. "but we're going to have to take over from here. He will stay in the hospital for at least three days as we fix his electrolyte levels, assuming that they're messed up."

"Okay. On Friday the bandages on his arm can be removed, and possibly the stitches, if you think they're ready." George added with a resigned sigh. He looked to me and glanced to the EMT strapping me down to prevent me from vibrating my way off the stretcher.

"Good to know." The EMT said.

"I'm sorry, Oliver," George said, taking what few steps he had to get to my side and grabbing my shaky hand. I tried to tell him that it was okay, that it was my fault for not eating, that I was being stubborn. But no words could come out of my mouth. I vomited again, my throat raw from all the retching and the acidic bile and blood. A bit of blood splattered on George's face, but he didn't even flinch.

I finally realized how much he actually cared about me. "I'm so sorry. We should've approached this a better way... We shouldn't have let you drop weight so fast. I should've kept a better eye on you. I'm sorry." He sighed, putting his head down on the side of the stretcher and all I could do was turn my eyes to the side to look at him. I tried to convey my own apologies through my eyes, but he wasn't looking, and it probably wouldn't work anyway. I reached my left hand over to him and held it out for him to take. He looked up, smiling at me as I leaned forward and let out another good amount of blood, staining my joggers even further. Blood was pooled all in between my legs and on my shirt and beside me and on the ground. It was disgusting, but George took my hand anyway. I never really realized it until now, but he was kind of like a father to me. I never saw my real father except once every two months, and that was a rushed visit every time.

I managed to get a moment of calm after all my vomiting, and I used it to tell him what I was thinking. My voice was raw and hoarse from my throat being attacked by the bile and blood, and I sounded as if I was going to drop dead on the spot, which I wouldn't be very surprised if I actually did. "It's my fault," I said, and he started shaking his head and opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off. "it's my fault that I wasn't eating. It was my eating disorder and I was being ridiculously stubborn and I didn't see that I was going to die. Before Josh and I became friends I didn't care if I died but I didn't know it was a possibility. But now I don't want to. I want to be thin more than anything, but... I guess I want to live more than that." I spoke quietly so that I wouldn't put too much strain on my throat. "Thanks George, for caring so much about me. I was just too dumb to see it."

"No, Oli! We were supposed to help you with your eating disorder before it got out of control. And you weren't dumb at all. Most kids take until they're far into adulthood to figure out that they love their parents." He said, and then he kind of stopped abruptly. I guess he was realizing that he had implied that he was my father. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay. You are like my dad. You're the one who takes care of me and teaches me stuff." I muttered, but then I felt my stomach begin to churn. "Sorry." I muttered before projectile vomiting onto the other side where the other EMT was. It got on his shoes, but he didn't mind. He held me down as I started shaking again.

Damn, this sucked.