EAT.

TWENTY-TWO

Trigger warnings: Anorexia, anxiety, depression, self harm, panic attack 

Jinxx: Hey man, how's everything? 
Andy: Things are okay I suppose. Not  the worst they've been. 
Jinxx: Jake has booked a table in Zefirelli's restaurant tonight for everyone in the band. Don't feel pressured to come but you are invited. We don't want you to feel excluded. 
Andy: Oh. What time were you planning? 
Jinxx: 7.30. Maybe see you there? 
Andy: Yeah maybe. Thanks for  inviting me. I appreciate it. 
Jinxx: Sure, no worries. 

* * * 

Outside the restaurant at 7.45, Andy is pacing. 

On one hand, he'd love to see his friends, to have a nice conversation with them, to be normal again. But on the other hand, restaurant equals food, and food equals bad.

He turns his phone over and over, walks back and forth, hates his mind for reminding him that this is good because walking means burning calories. Out of spite for his own brain, he stops, stands still, though is unable to settle is hands or the hammering of his heart.

He looks at the entrance, the inviting warmth of the colours and lights, bites his lip. Then he takes a deep breath, steadies his manic hands, shoves his phone in his pocket, and strides towards the doors. Those mean things begin scolding him, telling him this is wrong, he should leave, that he doesn't need this. He shakes them off, for now, at least, and tells the woman at reception that he's meeting friends, gives her Jake's name, follows her to the large table they're all sat around. 

When they see him, they all collectively draw the conversation to a quick close, looking up at his tall, gaunt figure. He gives an uneasy, apprehensive smile. He knows they're surprised to see him, and not just because they haven't for a while. "Hey," he says. A waiter passes with two plates of food and turns his head the other way. 

"Hey, buddy," greets Jinxx. He pulls out the chair between him and CC. "It's good to see you. Sit down, we saved you a seat." 

Another uneasy smile. He walks around the table and sits in the empty chair, getting a horrible feeling as he occupies it that somehow, it's still empty.

He plays with his fingers beneath the table, waits for someone, anyone, to say something, to ease the awkward atmosphere he has created. 

"How're your parents?" Jake asks finally. 

Andy looks at him. "Good," he answers. "They're good. Happy." He looks down again. 

"That's good." 

He nods. 

"We already ordered," Jake then tells him. He doesn't know exactly what he can and can't say in regards to food. It seems to be a minefield, trying to step over possible triggers and such. "But we kept a menu for you. Here." 

Andy takes it because it's the polite thing to do. "Thanks," he says, gives another hesitant smile, opens the menu as though he wants to know what's inside. CC is looking at his hands, at their bones, so he pulls his sleeves down over them. 

Jinxx notices that his legs are bouncing, his heels lifted off the ground. "You don't have to order anything," he says quietly to him. "We don't mind. Whatever makes you feel comfortable." 

"It's fine," Andy replies, body not agreeing with the words. He knows his hands are shaking, so he presses them between his knees. 

He orders.

They ask for his food to come at the same time as theirs, which makes the waitress a little frustrated, but she agrees, says she'll sort that for them.

Then, for fifteen minutes, Andy tries to listen to the conversation, to give believable responses, to not sound as on the edge of a panic attack as he feels, but when the waitress returns with the first two plates, his efforts collapse into dust and his legs bounce incessantly, his heart fighting to beat their quick rhythm, to get ahead in the race that is insanity. 

He claps his hands together tightly, stares at the table, continues staring when his own meal is places down before his eyes, and because they're watching,even though they're really trying not to, he picks up the fork and stabs at the food. 

Don't do it, Andy! You're being an idiot, don't do it! Drop the fork! Drop it!  Do you want to be fat?Do you want to look in the mirror and be reminded how fat you are? Don't do it! 

Tormented with those mean things and the coldness of the metal in his hand, he experiences the overwhelming sensation of being completely unable to do what he's supposed to do, and in a flurry of onrushing tears and quickening heartbeats, he stands, lets go of the fork so it clatters against the plate, and pushes his chair back, not realising the force he has until it topples over. Without bending to pick it up, he leaves the table, walks quickly, until he's outside. 

Then he resumes his earlier pacing, only this time he's verging on a panic attack and is more or less panting. He jumps when a hand is on his shoulder, turns sharply around to Jinxx, looks at him, tense. 

"Sit down," Jinxx suggests, gesturing to a vacant outdoor table. 

Andy sits on the nearest chair and puts his head in his hands, his elbows on the edge of the table. "I'm sorry," he says through heavy breaths. 

"It's okay, buddy, don't apologise. We understand how hard it is." 

"I feel so shit." He pushes his hands through his hair, shakes his head. "I can't do anything anymore. I feel so pointless."

"No, that's not true. You're an incredible person. You're not pointless at all." 

"You don't understand. It's easy for you to say that when you're not me. Yeah, I'm the singer in a popular band, and yeah, from the outside, I have everything anyone could ever want, but what does any of that matter if, inside, I can't even get through one meal with my friends? You don't understand, Jinxx, I'm not happy if I don't eat, but I hate myself if I do. There's no way out and the only way I have found involves inflicting actual pain on myself. It's torture. This whole thing, this cycle, is just...torture."