The Religious & The Damaged (UNDER EDITING)

51

Elias

  I sit with my back against the bed frame, my phone in my hand as I read thoroughly about the subject of how to talk to someone about your concerns about them having an eating disorder, and after each article I read, it tells me more and more that I have no idea about anything.

  I don't know how to fix this.

  Am I qualified enough to even try?

  I flinch and look back at the sound of Nick's voice, who has been sitting behind me.

  "You know, you're the one that picked this movie." He teases, and I look back down at my phone.

  "Sorry. I'm just.."

  I turn my phone off and place it down on the spot next to me, on the floor.

  "Distracted." I finish.

  He drops a hand on my shoulder. "What's up, man?" His voice has a hint of concern in it; it seems to always when he talks to me.

  I sigh, my eyes unfocused as I try to concentrate on the movie, and not my overwhelmed mind.

  "I think Joseph has an eating disorder." I say.

  "Shit."

  "He just finds eating, like, a burden. When he feels out of control of his life, he doesn't eat, and it's gotten worse lately. He's making himself sick. And I don't know how to talk to him about it." I tilt my head to the side, so I'm closer to him, but I still don't meet his eyes. "I don't know how to fix him."

  "Shit, man. I don't think you can." He says, and it's breathy.

  I furrow my brows upward, a sense of distraught filling my chest.

  "I have to. I'm his boyfriend." I reply.

  "I know, but I don't think that sort of thing goes away." He speaks again when I don't respond. "I mean, obviously, I have no fucking idea about that, but it's like any other mental illness, right? It doesn't go away, you just have to learn to accept and manage it."

  I huff and shift to look forward. "Yeah..."

  "Don't worry, man." He squeezes my shoulder. "Things will be fine." He attempts to reassure me, and I feel a bit better.

  I nod lightly, and my gaze shifts over to the door when Joseph walks in.

  He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, then we meet eyes.

  I look down, and with knowing what he did, I feel worse than I did before he came in.

  He sits next to me, and I look over.

  He meets my gaze, his knees to his chest and he crosses his arms on top of them.

  It's a silent moment, but I know he realizes that I know what he did from the look I forget to hide, and in exchange, he offers an apologetic look, then he looks away, but I don't.

  I can't.

  I wonder if he realizes that it hurts me when he hurts himself; a lot.

  But when I used to hurt myself, I knew it would hurt the people who cared about me, but I couldn't stop because the pain meant more somehow.

  I huff silently and scoot closer to him.

  I wordlessly wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him down against my chest.

  He feels tense against me, but he settles shortly after I place a kiss on the top of his head.

  I've always wanted him to feel safe with me; to feel okay.