Dead or Destitute (Lams)

Chapter Eleven

"Why aren't you eating?" Alexander's voice was firm but kind.

John stared back blankly, not able to find the words to answer. He felt sick to his stomach, an ache from lack of food. His eyes were puffy underneath and his skin retained its usual sickly pale.

Alexander sighed, clearly exasperated. This stuff always took its toll on him. He couldn't understand why he couldn't get through to John. Was he not enough?

"The nurses said you stopped eating. 'Liza told me." He paused, examining John's face for some sort of reaction. He received none. "They say you refuse to take your medications either."

"You keep cutting too. I can tell by looking at you. What do you find?"

John's face turned red suddenly and he began to lash out in response. "You act as though I haven't been trying!"

"That's not what I said," he corrected. "Tell me why you stopped trying. Why aren't you taking your meds? Why won't you eat? And why the cuts?"

"Communication is key," John taunted, recalling prior conversations.

John knew very well the look looming on Alexander's face. It was pity, pure and unadulterated. "I'm not here to fight with you, John."

"Then don't."

It was hard to explain, but deep down, John didn't want to be helped. He didn't want to be fixed. His whole life people tried to fix him. Everyone did. While his mom was in the picture, she pushed him as hard as she could to be the most academic he could be.

His father attempted to fix him all the time. He tried to beat the gay out, to correct the fag. It was a futile attempt, and each bruise and scar left behind by his father showed that. Each one was a reminder of what a disappointment he was, what a failure he was.

Alexander was next. He tried to correct every way John was corrupted. He wanted to fix the cuts and clean up the mistakes which trailed behind John. The only problem, however, is that John was the mistake. The only way to fix the problem was for him to disappear forever.

"The cuts are always for the same reason. I deserve it."

"Not true," Alexander butted in.

John took a deep breath. "Don't interrupt. Just let me talk."

Alexander nodded in response and John continued. "I do it as a punishment to myself. I get mad and I do it. It's simple as that. I haven't been eating because I'm mad at myself. It's another way to make me suffer."

"And the medication?"

"It makes me feel like a freak. It's not real happiness. It's all fake. I'm a freak and I'm fake."

Alexander watched every freckle on John's sick face. He counted them.

John counted scars. Alex counted freckles.

"It's not fake happiness. You have a chemical imbalance. It's your brain's fault. You don't have the capability. So the medication corrects it. It isn't fake, I swear. It's the only happiness your brain can make."

"I bought you a roll. It's shaped like a heart." He said, changing the subject abruptly.

John rolled his eyes but he thought the notion was sweet. He placed it in John's hand, smiling brightly as though he were a kid in a candy store. "Eat it for me?"

And he did. He bit into the sweet roll, feeling it melt in his mouth. The butter was gentle on his taste buds and smooth down his throat. It stuck to the top of his mouth, but he flicked it off with his tongue. He ate the whole thing, watching Alexander, making sure he saw it.

John loved the roll, and he hated himself for it. He didn't deserve such a nicety. He didn't deserve a single flake of the bread. Yet he smiled, and Alexander was convinced.

"Where'd you get it?" he questioned, his stomach yearning for another.

"Maria bought it for me."

John's heart sank, and he tried not to show the tears welling in his eyes. "I didn't realize she was still in town."

"Yes," Alexander answered, planning out his next words. "She's staying in a hotel not far from here. She thinks it's a good idea for us both to talk to you."

"Explain what you can't?" he hissed in response.

"John, I don't know how to explain it to you. I need assistance."

The past was tainted with secrets and they were each a delicate secret. They each held a truth for the future, a story Alexander couldn't bear to think of. The whole tail would break John's fragile soul.

"Please have patience. Truth is given in time."

"Okay. Just leave me alone, okay?" John turned his face away, ashamed. He couldn't bear this. He couldn't stand the mound of lies and secrets.

Alexander placed a hand on John's shoulder. It was stained with ink like always. "I just want to help you. The Doctors are so close to releasing you. Just take care of yourself. Please?"

"Fine. I'm going to sleep."

He was curt, practically shoving Alexander out the door. He slammed it shut, throwing himself on the bed after.

His options were slim and his brain ran fastest when he was alone. He had few ideas, just knew he had to get rid of the food. He had to punish himself. He was more calm than usual, making sure each action was deliberate and not out of anxiety. He pulled out a toothbrush, holding the bristled end in his hand.

He took a deep breath, pushing the toothbrush handle down his throat. He gagged, immediately feeling sick. Nothing came up, so he repeated. After the third try, he could feel the food shifting in his stomach, hear the swish in his gut.

Once more he plunged it down, and the vomit followed. He moved the brush out of the way just in time. There wasn't much vomit, but it was just enough. It tasted like bile and butter.

He felt sick and more disgusting than ever. He looked at his reflection and realized, he didn't recognize it anymore.