The Scars on Your Heart

Oli and I spent the rest of the afternoon just talking. It was the most comfortable I'd been in a long time, although we'd practically been in lockdown. We weren't allowed to leave the room, except for when lunch came around. Oli had stayed behind for that, though, and I wasn't allowed to sit with Max and Dan, so I sat by myself. It wasn't very fun, but it did give me some time to think.
Why didn't the nurses and doctors and techs tell Oli that all his imaginary stuff was, well, imaginary?

It seemed as though they were encouraging his illnesses rather than trying to put them to an end. Letting him have "phone calls" with Matt? Telling him the medicine was to put his brain on lockdown? And then all the not forcing him to eat? What the actual fuck was that all about?

Either way, I really hoped this medicine worked and helped control his illness, because it was really eating him up. He told me the med was called perphenazine, or Trilafon, and that Dr. Kandula had told him it was really old and was the only anti-psychotic (Oli worded it as "calm-downer") that they hadn't tried yet. So if this didn't work, then he was fucked. He also told me that it would take a week or two to get to the full effect. So he had to live with Matt for another couple of weeks.

I sat and ate in silence, thinking more about Oli's illnesses (wondering what drove his eating disorder (probably cunts like me that told him he was fat) and self harm issues, etc.). His life must've been so distressing.

I finished up my lunch pretty quickly and headed back to our room, finding Oli sitting on my bed and staring down at his hands, which were in his lap. "Hey, Oli," I said with a smile, shutting the door behind me and sitting next to him. He didn't respond. "Oli, are you okay?" I asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. That's when I noticed a tear drop from his eyelashes to his knee. "What's wrong?"

He looked up at me, and the way his eyes were swollen and red hinted to me that he'd been crying for a while. "They came in and told me that weigh day was tomorrow." He said, his lower lip trembling. "They told me to get ready for it so that I won't have a fit like last time." Tears were racing down his cheeks and he leaned forward for a hug. I wrapped my arms around him and felt him shake. "How can I not have a fit?" He asked, and I assumed it was rhetorical so I didn't answer. "I'm fucking huge..." I sighed and grabbed his bony shoulders. He was so thin but he couldn't see it. What if he starved himself to death and still wasn't happy with his body? I put him at arm's length and looked him in the eyes.

"Oli, you're not huge. In fact, you're not big at all. You're actually really skinny." He just eyed me suspiciously. "I'm not lying. Oli, even if you were a little bigger, that wouldn't matter. You've just gotta love you for you."

"Stop lying!" He cried, shrugging my hands off his shoulders. "Josh, I love you but you need to stop lying to me."

"That's the thing. I'm not." I said, getting a little bit angry, but reminding myself that this was part of his illness and something he couldn't control. I wiped a tear away from the corner of his eye and sighed. "What do you want your body to look like, Oli?" I asked, pulling a 'typical therapist'. "Skin and bones?"

"Yes! I want collarbones, I want hipbones, I want my spine to jut out. I just want to be skinny." He explained to me. "It's all I've ever wanted. To be thin."

"Take off your shirt." I gestured, and he looked taken aback.

"What? Why the fuck-"

"Take off your fucking shirt, Oli, I want to see what you're so desperate to hide." He just cast me a sad glance before pulling his shirt off and grimacing, probably either because of the pain in his arms or the fact that he hated the way he looked. He tossed the garment aside and I simply stared. He was so thin. His collarbones were protruding, his joints looked massive compared to the rest of his arms. He had prominent hipbones, and when he hung his head, his spine was visible. "Oli, you've got everything you want." I said plainly, and he looked up at me.

"Why are you such a liar?" He nearly shouted, then gestured to his body. "Are you blind? Look at this mess! I'm so fucking fat!"

I felt my blood begin to boil. I was sick of him calling me a liar. "Go look in the mirror and tell yourself that. I dare you. Man, I don't even know how you're still alive." This all probably sounded pretty harsh, but it needed to be said. He needed to know he was thin, and he needed to stop doing what he was doing and recover. He stood up shakily with a tight frown on his face and headed to the bathroom, where he looked in the mirror and immediately burst into tears once again. He covered his face with his hands and fell to his knees. "Oli, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Shut up!" He screamed, causing me to jump nearly six feet. "Shut the fuck up! I don't want to hear another word from you. You're lying to me. Just..." He looked over at me, completely furious, almost demon-like. "stop. Now." He spat between gritted teeth. I frowned and walked over to the door, waiting to cast one last glance at him when he came out to collect his shirt. It wasn't a sad one, but it wasn't an angry one either. It was just a glance.

I turned the door handle and left the room, walking down the hallway to the window where George and the other new tech lady - her name was Remi, I learned - were sitting. "Can I go to the safe room?" I asked after knocking on the glass. George eyed me suspiciously.

"Wow. Voluntarily going to the safe room. I never thought I'd see the day, especially not in a mere year-"

"Now, please." I demanded, balling my fists.

"Alright, alright. What's got you bothered?" I explained what had happened with Oli and he surprisingly seemed to understand. "Okay, I'll take you to the safe room. Just knock on the door when you're ready to come out, or we'll have you out in an hour." He told me, and I nodded.
Once I was in the room with no one to see or hear me, I fell to my knees and cried. I just let the tears flow right out of me and didn't even hesitate. No one could see me, so why bother stopping it? I'd have to cry eventually, anyway. Might as well get it out.

"Fuck you, Oliver!" I cried, laying on my side and bringing my fists up to my face. "Fuck you!"

----------

The hour passed very quickly and soon I was out in the main lounge, making amends with Max and Dan.

"It's fine, man." Max said, giving me a dismissing wave of the hand. "It's Oliver's fault, anyway. You shouldn't have let him get to you, though. For that," He glanced over at Dan, and Chris gulped. "we're gonna make him pay."

"You're right. I shouldn't have. But you'll never see me with him again, I promise." I knew that was a lie somewhere deep down. But on the surface it was true. I was furious at Oliver. "And good. He deserves it." Saying that made me cringe internally. Was I still hooked on him even after that big blowout? He called me a fucking liar. I hate being called a liar. Normally when someone fights with me I'm done with them, but there was a special spot in my heart reserved for Oliver and Oliver alone. I had to destroy it before I let him destroy me.

"Alright. Now let's watch some TV." Max grinned and plopped himself onto the couch where the rest of the guys were. I'd be sitting on the floor. But I didn't mind, at least I was reunited with my friends. I didn't need Oliver. I just wish I could hate him like I used to. But there's an unspoken rule with drugs and people alike; once you start, even if you stop, you never fully let go.