My Personal Noise

Are you dead yet, or are you still thinking about it, Anorexia?" he said, as if it weren't my diagnosis, but my name.
I didn't answer. That seemed unnecessary.
My plan was simple: curl up into a ball, don't get in anyone's way, and wait until my body just gives up. No scenes. No screaming.
Mother played her part perfectly. She shoved me into this hospital. A quick smile to the nurse, a check for the room, and she had already vanished without even looking me in the eyes.
That suited me fine. Until Nate appeared.
And my perfect plan for death fell apart.
Loud. Impudent. Alive enough that it's physically annoying. He barges in on me as if it were his own room, strums his guitar, is rude, and craps up my walls with his terrible drawings. He says it's therapy. As far as I'm concerned, he's just vandalizing government property.
I hate him. Especially for that look. He looks at me in a way... as if he were there. At the moment when I broke.
It seems this arrogant idiot has decided that I must become his victory. And that scares me the most. Because the closer he gets to me, the more I want to live.