EAT.

FOURTEEN

Trigger warnings: Eating disorders, self harm, mentions of suicide/death (brief)

Before him on the over-bed table is a bowl. Andy looks at it for a long time without making any sort of move. Dr Rhodes told him that he needs to start feeding himself again, but he thinks that's bullshit. He replied with, "Give it to someone who wants it," and attempted to hand it back. Of course, the man didn't take it, and is still in the room, watching, making sure Andy won't throw it on the floor or tip it down the toilet and pretend as though he ate it. It's been there for more then ten minutes, and though it's just a bowl of cereal, it might as well be a whole chocolate cake smothered in butter icing and drizzled with syrup. 

Andy stirs the contents with the spoon, paying attention to how his hand looks as he does this. He knows if he eats it, his hand - and everything else, for that matter - will only look worse. He drops the spoon against the side of the bowl with a clink and folds his arms. "Take it away," he demands, like a child turning away vegetables. 

"Andrew," Dr Rhodes tries. "You must at least give it a go." 

"Take it away," Andy says again. "I'm not hungry, I don't want it. Take it away." 

"Andrew-" 

"Take it away." 

The therapist sighs. "I understand you're reluctant, but this really is a vital step-" 

"I would rather eat glass than this, so either smash the fucking window or shut the fuck up and take this the hell away. I won't touch it."

"You need to take recovery seriously, Andrew. I worry you're not doing that."

"Seriously? You're playing that card with me? Mate, I am taking this seriously, alright? I'm trapped here with this thing in my nose and I fucking hate myself for letting it get to this, but I'm not fucking playing around when I tell you to take this away! I won't eat it, I can't eat it, and if you try and persuade me to, I'm gonna fucking throw it at you and then strangle myself with this fucking tube, alright? So back the hell off, I've had enough shit for one day!" He's close to tears. Closer than he'd like to admit. He shakes his head and sighs, and when Dr Rhodes opens his mouth to speak again, he loudly says, "Take it away!" Then he pushes the table roughly, milk splashing over the side of the bowl at the jerk, and aggressively pulls a pillow from behind him to cover his face with, promptly screaming into it. 

* * * 

Andy is crying when Jake and Lonny visit later in the day. He wipes his eyes when he sees them, does what he can to calm down, and waits for them to say something first. He wouldn't know where to start. When Jake asks if he's okay, as though that question needs an answer, he just moves to find a more comfortable position and gives no response. 

"Jinxx said you had a panic attack yesterday." 

Andy shrugs and picks up one of the comics Jinxx left for him. 

The two guitarists share glances. Lonny says, "It's good to see you." Still, no response from Andy, so he adds, "We met your psychiatrist in reception. He seems nice." 

Now, the man mutters under his breath, "He's a cunt." He loudly turns the page of the comic. 

"He's only trying to help." 

"Well he's shit at it." 

Jake sighs, says, "How's it all going? You know, the recovery thing? Your doctor told us you should be able to have solid food soon." 

"You're not supposed to talk about that," Lonny whispers. 

Andy looks at the both, unimpressed with their failed attempts of making conversation. "It's going great," he replies dryly, turning his attention back towards the page and mumbling, "They gave me food, I didn't eat it." After he's said that, he knows the two are sharing worried expressions. He shakes his head. 

"But you tried, yeah?" Jake asks. 

"Sure, if you wanna believe that." 

"Andy-" 

"I tried. Yes. I tried. I tried to make him take it away. Fucking cunt wouldn't do that because he's fucking stupid. So then I tried screaming until he got the bloody message. Thank God he did, that bastard makes me wanna slit my wrists. Which, by the way, I have also tried. And failed. For a place full of sharp things, it's fucking impossible to find anything. Not to mention the constant fucking nurses loitering all bloody day long, like I'm gonna try drowning myself in the fucking sink. I'm not stupid. If I wanted to drown myself, those sinks are pointless. You can barely fit one hand in, let alone a whole fucking head. So yes, Jake, I tried. Are you satisfied with that, or would you like me to try again tomorrow like I actually give a shit?"

"Why are you acting like this?" 

Andy looks at them again. He raises an eyebrow. 

"Come on, you're clearly putting on a front. Why not just let it down for a sec and talk about what you're actually thinking?"

"And why don't you just grow up and stop assuming I'd want to tell you any of that." Turning another page, the singer rolls his eyes. "I mean...come on. You all come in here pretending like I actually want you to be here, and then you proceed to bore my fucking balls off with talk of trying, and recovery, and fucking talking, and all I fucking want is for someone to get this tube out of me so I can go back to the way it was before. Is that too much to ask?" He shakes his head. "For you, obviously. Asking you lot to turn up to rehearsal on time is pointless, I don't know why I thought this might be any different."

"Don't pull this crap, Andy, we're not falling for it," Jake says. "We know you, we're not gonna fall for this. Just cut the crap already." 

"I've been trying to cut it, Jake, but they won't let me near anything sharp!"

"Stop it. Stop talking like the world is ending. It's not. You're in hospital because of something you caused, and now you need to talk about it, otherwise no one can help you, and you need help, man. You need help."

Andy closes the comic and puts it on the side by the bed, turning and facing away from the two men, hurt by Jake's words. 

Now, it's Lonny who speaks. "Listen, man, we're all just really worried about you and we want you to be okay. We know you aren't right now and it's hard to see you like this. Please don't get angry with us, this is hard for everyone." 

Folding his arms, the younger says, "Oh, it's hard for you, is it? Hard for you to sit there and not be dicks? Sorry, but that's fucking bullshit." 

"We're trying, Andy, we are." 

"All you have to do is not make me feel like shit, and look how that's going for you! You're not trying! You're not even fucking thinking before you speak! And while you merrily tear me to shreds piece by piece, I'm forced to sit here with this fucking thing on my face and listen, because I can't go home, I can't have a proper shower, I can't even read in peace, and every time I take a fucking breath, I remember how much I fucking hate myself, so cut me some fucking slack, alright! I can't deal with this shit and I won't listen to anymore of it." 

"We're not tearing you to shreds, we're worried. We're trying to help." 

"Well then stop fucking trying! I don't want Dr Rhodes' help and I certainly don't want yours! Shove it up your arses, both of you, and leave me alone!"  He turns completely away from them and quietly says, "Just leave me alone. Please. I can't do this today." 

"Andy-" 

"Fucking hell, get out!" 

The sound of the door closing confirms their departure, and Andy lies down on his side, pulls his knees against his chest, and stares until his eyes are too dry to remain open. When he closes them, they fill fast with tears, and he can't do anything but let them spill out and run over his face.