Manorexic

Chapter Four

There were several times when Cameron had wanted to dart from the car. Thankfully, however, he had two anchors in the car with him. His mother sat in the front, her eyes empty as she stared blankly at the road before them, and Ariel sat with him in the back. Their arms were twisted together, his hand on her thigh, rubbing his thumb against it. They hadn't talked about what they were together, granted it wasn't the time, but it itched at the back of Cameron's throat to be asked. The car was immensely quiet.

"Hey," Cameron said, his throat dry, "we should get something to eat." His mother's eyes made contact with his through the rearview mirror.

"Are you sure you're up for it?" Cameron nodded, despite the threat of weight gain in his head. He instead focused on the hunger pains lashing in his stomach, trying to convince himself that food would numb it and not cause a pain in his head from the never ending degradation of himself. Ariel looked at him, her eyes tired and sad. She turned the corners of her lips up, trying to give Cameron a smile. What she didn't know was, Cameron knew she only smiled with her eyes. He sighed deeply and flashed her a toothy grin in return. She laid her head against him, taking his hand in hers. He tried his best to keep happy, but the hunger in his stomach bit, and the voices in his head screamed.

He had a long road to happy.

Cameron didn't remember most of the three and a half hour ride to the hospital, just that he managed to down a chocolate milkshake and half a bag of fries from Happy Days before he fell into, what his mother called, "a talkative food-coma." They'd marched the steps to the gleaming hospital and stopped at the front desk to simply say, "We'd like to check Cameron Stager into the mental health and illnesses center." For a heavy man to huff, "floor three" at them and hand each of them yellow passes.

"Tough security, huh? All you need is a yellow card to get in..." Cameron said, holding it between fingers.

"Mhm..." Ariel said, staring down at her own laminated pass. They followed signs down three different hallways until they reached the elevators, stepping onto one as others stepped off. Cameron had never felt as if anyone was staring at him, he hid his eating disorder well behind some fabric and a smile. However, it was here that Cameron felt the most judged he ever had in his life. As he passed several medical professionals, their eyes widened. Why was a skeleton walking the halls? He looked too rail thin to be doing any kind of excessive walking. Cameron sighed as they reached the third floor, there was no going back.

"Hello, my name is Melissa Stager, I'd like to check my son into care here." A small lady behind the counter, thin boned and short, looked up to Cameron's mother. She took out a paper from the cabinet beside her.

"You're aware you're on the mental health floor?" She asked, pulling out a pen.
"Yes." His mother stated.
"Diagnosis, please?"

The woman filled a small portion of the paper out, handing the rest to Cameron's mother. She then pressed a button on the phone next to her.

"Patient checking into room 405."

Cameron sighed, looping his fingers around one another.

"These questions are insane," his mother said, "why is the patient here? who diagnosed the patient? how long ago? My child is sick, for Christ's sake, who gives a damn about who found out he's sick and how long ago?! He's SICK!" Cameron winced a little at his mothers high strung voice, and shot a sympathetic look towards the oblivious desk worker. It was him she was angry at, no one else. Cameron cleared his throat.

"They have limited beds in places like this, mom. They're just checking on what help I need."

"Well, if you weren't sick, I wouldn't of brought you here!"

Cameron sighed, popping his knuckles and looking to Ariel. She gave him a half smile, the same one she had given him when her mother had just kicked her out, and she was standing in the middle of the road waiting for him to bring her to her temporary home with him. It didn't say, "I love you." It didn't say, "it'll all be okay now." It said, "I am nothing more that exhausted with this life." Cameron ducked his head down, suddenly wanting to avoid eye contact.

"You shouldn't do that, you know," Ariel piped up, "cracking your knuckles, I mean." Cameron didn't raise his eyes, fearful to see the disappointment in hers. Men weren't supposed to be like this, men weren't suppose to show fear or hurt. Men didn't care about self image, men didn't cry, men didn't have emotions. He laid his head back on the wall behind him, what else would he fail at in this life? He'd failed at holding his parent's relationship together ("lets stay together for the kid!" was not a sentence that had ever once left his father's mouth), he'd failed at maintaining a good mental health, he'd failed at keeping his own relationship together, he'd failed his mother, he'd failed his gender...

He'd failed himself.

"Cameron Stager?" a voice called through the waiting area. Again, Cameron didn't want to raise his head fearful for any eyes washed in disappointment, even if it was a stranger. Unluckily for him, his mother was standing, yanking his arm with hers.

"Yes, yes this is Cameron Stager. Are you going to help him?" Wincing at his mother's oh too eager voice, Cameron raised his sunken eyes to view the doctor. She was an attractive woman, and Indian with board straight brown hair and a scar on her left cheek.

And no disappointments in her eyes.

"One of the individuals that will be, yes, will you follow me?"

Cameron, his mother, and Ariel were led down three corridors. Doors were left open on some rooms, others cracked, but none completely shut. Privacy, it seemed, was not a key factor here. A girl with nearly too wide eyes sat on a bed in one of the rooms they passed, a long scar tracing over each of her collar bones. Ariel winced, and Cameron turned away. He knew what it was like when people stared.

"This room, please. My nurse will get Cameron's vitals while I check that his room is ready. We'll discuss his condition before he's fully admitted." The tall doctor (or, rather who he assumed was a doctor) said. "Oh, and pardon my manners. I'm Doctor Gisele."

Cameron sat first in one of the chairs against the wall, until his mother patted the medical bed. He pushed himself onto it, paying careful attention to how light his body felt in the pressure of palms. It'd be gone, before long. Paper thin wasn't achievable anymore, not after his confession. He settled himself on to the bed, the toe of his shoe grazing the floor. He remembered thinking to himself how lucky he was to have such long limbs, the added length giving his extremities an even slimmer look. He hoped they'd be assistance in keeping a slim physique with weight gain.

He turned his face, again, to look at Ariel. Her face was downturned, concentrating on picking at the navy polish that was chipping away on her nails. Her eyes were puffy and red, her face looked so tired. Cameron couldn't help but feel at blame, he knew when Ariel chose to abandon him, she was trying to come from a place of love. A reason to push and persevere.

It had worked, obviously, or he wouldn't be staring at the scuff marks his tattered shoes were smearing into the mint colored linoleum. But something was itching at the back of his throat, and it wasn't the food he'd forced himself to incase in his stomach trying to resurface, it was a question he wanted to blurt out to her that didn't quite make sense.

Why was she here?