It's Nothing

Chapter 2

The days start to merge together as I spend more days in bed. I've stopped getting out of bed for everything except the bathroom. I notice that my mother starts to visit my room more often. She leaves food on my nightstand that I don't touch. She sighs when she returns to a plate of food. The only thing I appreciate about her is that she hasn't pushed me. She hasn't even attempted to get me to eat. At least, she didn't until today.

"Honey, it's been four days since you've eaten anything." She whispers as she takes a seat foot of my bed.

Wrong. It's been six.

"I know you're upset about your ankle and the fact that you can't train, but you still have to eat." My mother states as looks toward me. "Is there anything I can make you?"

"I'm not hungry." I answer blankly. She sighs as she looks down at her lap. "Get out."

"Jacks, I need you to eat something." She pushes as she pulls my comforter off my body.

I groan as I sit up to look her in the eyes. "And I need you to get the fuck out of my room, but that's not happening is it?" I snap at her. I watch as he eyes grow wide and she clears her throat. She sniffles softly as she stands herself up from her bed. As she reaches the door, she turns to face me.

"I'm coming back with a bowl of soup," she states. "And I'm going to sit by your side as you eat every single bite." With that she shuts the door and I am left to face the reality of the situation.

The thought of eating any significant amount of food makes my stomach churn with disgust. Not only that, my own mother is going to watch me eat. I don't know why, but that terrifies me just as much as eating.

"Hey you need to stop talking to Mom like that." Dylan demands as he comes in my room. "It makes her feel like shit." He explains leaning against my wall. "Also what's with this whole not eating thing?" He asks as I lay back down.

"Shut up." I mutter as I gently pull the comforter over my body again.

"Dude, I'm just saying it's kind of stupid." Dylan jokes as he looks around my room.

"You don't know shit." I growl from under my blanket. "Go away."

Dylan huffs in an annoyed tone. "See I would do that, but I kind of want to know if you're doing some eating disorder shit in here."

I sit up and turn to face him. "I don't have a fucking eating disorder!" I scream loudly. I watch as he is taken back my my sudden outburst. "Jesus, fucking, Christ! I just want some damn privacy! Is that too much to ask!"

"Jacks, calm down." Dylan says in a calm tone.

"Calm down?" I ask sarcastically. "You want me to calm down? I can't fucking train and all anyone in this damn house wants me to do is fucking eat." I exclaim. "If I can't train, I can kiss the chances of getting scouted next year goodbye!"

"It's literally only six to eight weeks." Dylan tries to reason with me. "All you need to do is rest up and you'll be good to go."

I huff as I sit myself up to stand. I grab my crutches and wince as my foot grazes the wooden floor of my bedroom. I hobble to over where he is standing. "You don't get it, do you?" I ask standing face to face with Dylan. "I can't get faster if I don't train. If I don't train I'm gonna get f-," I stop myself as I realize that what I'm about to say.

Is that what I'm afraid of?

"Fat?" Dylan asks softly. I take a deep breath and swallow. At this point, my anger is threatening to explode and I'm fighting back tears. "Holy shit." Dylan says as he connects the dots. "You really do have an eating disorder."

I don't say a word after he makes is claim. I can't tell him he's wrong. If anything, he's never said anything more right in his life. I slowly make my way out of my room and make my way to the front door.