to be thin (frerard)

To be in love.

As the weeks, months, and eventually years went on, I realized that Gerard was becoming distant. He wanted me to eat more. He always told me I was perfect. He told me he hated seeing me like this. I didn't know what this was, but I assumed it was my thinness. He started to eat more. When we would 'eat' with my mother, he would hold me when I was crying while my mother told me to eat. He used to sit and watch. He would give me this look that was like "is it worth it? Is it worth the weight?". He didn't do that anymore. He told me to eat a few bites of everything, but at this point I couldn't even hold it down anymore. If I are more than 3 bites I would vomit it up.
Gerard was in the 90s. He looked healthier than he had in months and to be honest, I was jealous. He looked better than me. While I looked like a corpse, he looked like a  skinny boy who lost a few pounds.
A few weeks after the dinner ordeal, Gerard told me to meet him at the feild. It was spring now, and all the flowers had bloomed. He was in a loose fitting black t shirt and skinny jeans. I was in jeans, a long sleeved shirt, a hoodie, and a light winter coat. I took off the coat and gave it to him so I didn't look like a marshmallow. He thanked me and put it on. It fit him tightly.
He sat me down in his lap and asked me what I thought of him.
"Well," I started. "You're perfect. You are always there for me and you're funny. Not to mention, your body is way better than mine. You are way thinner." Gerard looked pained as the last two sentences left my mouth.
"Frankie, I'm not. You are deadly thin. Way thinner than me. Just...look," he picked me up and sat me down beside him he stood up and laid on a patch of purple flowers.
"See Frankie? See?" He started hysterically. "I don't even fucking float on the flowers! Isn't that fucking great? Not like its an unrealistic expectation, no. Not at all!" He was screaming by now, and there were tears rolling down my cheeks.
"Ever wonder how much I weigh? We haven't talked about that in a while. No, wait. Tell me how much you weigh first. I know you weighs yourself before you came." His screams hit me and threatened to knock me down.
"76..." I mumbled. I knew he couldn't hear me. I didn't want him to.
"Huh? What was that, Frankie?" He yelled. Softer.
"Seventy fucking six." I said, louder so he could hear me. He gasped and stood up, walking toward me slowly. When he reached me he picked me up like a baby. He pulled me close and I started sobbing. He walked us over to a patch of flowers and set me down. I sunk.
"Frankie," he whispered while softly stroking my cheek. "You're perfect to me. The only thing that would make me happier would be if you made it to 105 pounds. I'm 106 and you think I'm perfect. I don't care that you cant Lay on the flowers without then sinking. No one could do that. I love you, Frankie.