Crash & Burn || Roadtrip Tv

n i n e - a n d y

"Andy, honey, dinners ready!" Samantha shouted up the stairs to her son that had basically locked himself in his bedroom over the last few weeks. "I'm not hungry, mum." He called back sluggishly, his voice dry and emotionless.

Samantha sighed from where she was stood at the bottom of the stairs, running a hand through her short, shoulder length brown hair that matched Andy's natural hair colour. She made her way up the wooden stairs, moving quietly until she got to the door. She knocked gently on the wood, getting a "come in" response from her son.

She cautiously opened the door to see Andy led on his back on his bed, shirtless, in only a pair of black sweatpants. Samantha's eyes widened as she took in her son's appearance. She rushed over to his bedside, sitting down on the mattress by him where he laid.

"Andy, honey, you've lost so much weight." She said, looking her son over, noticing that his rib cage was dangerously visible, and how bony and thin his arms were.

"You need to come and eat something, Andy."

"I told you, I'm not hungry." He mumbled again, covering his face with his arm.

Samantha sighed, placing her hand on Andy's skinny forearm, to which he winced at the sudden touch. "Andy, honey, this isn't healthy. I know you miss Rye, and I know you're grieving, but you need to eat."

He sat up suddenly, surprising his mum at the quick movement. "But I'm not hungry, mum. I don't want to eat, I don't want to eat anything. I just want to lie here and cry and grieve him, okay? I just want to be left alone." He cried, looking his mum in the eyes.

Her heart broke even more for her son than it already had. She could see the brokenness in his pale, blue eyes. She could read the devastation in them. He was so in love with Rye, and he missed him more than anything. She could see this. "I'm sorry, Andy, I truly am." She whispered, placing her hands on his shoulders. "I know how much you loved him, but he's gone. And you need to move on, for your sake."

Andy just shook his head. "Maybe I don't want to." He replied stubbornly.

Samantha sighed. "But you need to Andy, otherwise you're not going to get any better."

"What do you mean 'get better'?" He asked inquisitively, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Andy, honey, you haven't eaten a proper meal in three weeks. You've lost so much weight." She told him, pointing out the obvious. He raised an eyebrow. "What are you hinting at?"

"You're anorexic, Andy. Your anxiety and grief has taken a hold of you and now you're suffering." She explained. "You need help, Andy. I'm worried about you."

Andy shook his head abruptly. "I don't need help, mum, I'm fine. I'm not anorexic." Samantha sighed again, massaging her temples briefly.

She hated what she was going to say and what actions would follow it, but it needed to be done. For his sake, he needed help.

•

That following week, Andy had gone to several therapy sessions, where he was assessed and evaluated based on his state of mind and mental health.

A week after that, Andrew Robert Fowler had been admitted into a psychiatric hospital, where he would be kept under close observation, and tested regularly for any improvements regarding his mental state.

He spent his days either crying, staring at the blank walls, or sleeping; still refusing to touch any source of food. He didn't know what it was, but after Rye's death, he had lost his appetite and could no longer find the strength or will to eat anything. The doctors were worried about him. They were worried that he wasn't going to make any progress. They were worried that he was on a downwards spiral, destined to crash and burn at the bottom.