Roger POV:

            It's been two weeks since I tried to kill myself, two weeks since I started therapy with Dr. Gomez. I now have three more diagnoses to add to the ever growing list: atypical anorexia, OCD, and sitophobia, which is an intense fear of food and eating. I'm actually not even sure if that last one's even a diagnosis, but it sounds a hell of a lot nicer than anorexic, which is what she keeps insisting I am, even though the sitophobia caused it.

            I haven't really tried that hard to go back to a normal pattern of eating. I just don't think that I can yet. Dr. Gomez says that's because I won't talk about why I stopped eating in the first place. Which is why I'm sitting here in this office right now next to Mark, who I refuse to talk to since he's the one that called Dr. Gomez last week to inform her that I still wasn't eating. I know he must have told her something about how this whole thing started too because at our next session, Dr. Gomez said she thought it would be a good idea if Mark started coming with me to therapy once a week. And that's what I've been trying to avoid from day one. The last thing I want to do is talk about with Mark how I stopped eating because of my guilt from giving him AIDS. I know he'd just turn everything around and blame himself for it, even though it's really my fault.

            I can hear heels clicking rapidly down the hall and the door opening. She walks in, apologizing for being late, and sits down behind her big desk, waiting for me to say something. This is what she does every week. She comes in, says hello, and then waits for me to speak, which I never do. I know this is a control game she's playing with me and I won't give in. I refuse to relinquish my control over to some woman I barely know.

            After 104 seconds of sitting in silence (I count the seconds to make the silences go by faster), Mark starts to look a little uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, looking from me, to Dr. Gomez, and back again. I have to snicker at this, despite my anger at him.

            Dr. Gomez immediately turns her head towards me, her eyes digging into me like a hawk's. Damn, wrong thing to do. I lost that round. "Is something funny?"

            I shake my head. "No."

            She sighs. "Alright Roger, why don't you tell me how you're doing this week?"

            I shrug. "Okay."

            She looks at me inquisitively. "Have you been eating?"

            I nod and Mark shakes his head at the same time.

            She raises an eyebrow. "Well, now you're both giving me two different answers…and from the looks of you, Roger, I'd say I believe Mark."

            I glare at him.

            "Roger, you look angry. What's going on?"

            "He knows what's going on."

            Mark shakes his head. "No I don't. How could I know if every time I ask you just ignore me?"

            I sigh. "Yeah you do. I'm pissed because you called her last week and told her I wasn't eating, and how this started."

            "I only told her you weren't eating because you weren't, and I knew you were lying about it. I was just worried. And I didn't tell her how it started."

            Dr. Gomez looks at him. "Actually Mark, that's one of the reasons I wanted to meet with the both of you today. I can't help Roger unless I know some of the underlying issues that caused him to stop eating. And since he won't talk about it himself, I was hoping maybe you could tell me a little about it?"

            "Mark, no don't-"

            "Actually, I don't even really know myself. But I can tell you what I think if that helps."

            Dr. Gomez nods and I just glare at him.

            "Okay…Well, I caught HIV from Roger's blood and for a few days after I got my test results back I was really depressed and just angry at the whole situation, not at him…but I took it out on him anyway, and God, I could kill myself for it now because that's the reason Roger's having all these problems now."

            Dr. Gomez tilts her head to one side. "What do you mean?"

            "Well, I was so mean to him and I shouldn't have been…he felt so guilty as it was…" He stops for a second and I think I see tears forming in his eyes, but those could be the tears forming in my own eyes instead. "Anyway, I wouldn't talk to him or look at him and…and I didn't eat…and that's when Roger stopped eating too. He was probably so mad about what I did to him and wanted to show me how it felt…and God, I don't blame him…but then it just got worse and worse and he couldn't stop until it was out of control and there was nothing I could do to help him anymore. I should have noticed sooner, I could have helped before it got this big if I had realized…if I wasn't so damn ignorant."

            I have to interrupt him here. "No, that's not how it happened at all!"

            "Why don't you tell us your version then, Roger?" Dr. Gomez says gently.

            I figure I was as well, to straighten out Mark and to clear his guilt if nothing else.

            "Fine…Well, like Mark said I gave him AIDS, and he was depressed when he got his results, and understandably, he was mad about it and me since I'm the one who gave him the virus…I'm the one who killed him. So anyway, he didn't really talk or eat for about three days, but then out other friend, Collins, talked to him, and I don't know what he said but Mark started talking and eating, and being nice to me again. But having him forgive me only made me feel worse because I felt like I needed to be punished more than just getting a few days of the silent treatment, because I was the one who ruined his life, and caused him to starve himself for those three days. So I decided to punish myself by not eating for three days to make up for the time Mark went without eating because of me. Only by the time those three days were up, I couldn't stop and went another two days without food . And I know this is going to sound so sick but the pain from not eating felt so good. I felt like I was finally getting what I deserved, I was being punished adequately  for doing that to Mark." I stop when I notice Mark's red face and the tears streaming down his cheeks. God, I'm so stupid sometimes, look what I always wind up doing to him!

            Dr Gomez hands him a box of tissues. "Go on, Roger."

            I shake my head and start to protest but Mark cuts me off. "Please Rog, I want to know the rest."

            I sigh, not wanting to go on for fear of upsetting him even more but I figure, I've gone this far already, I might as well finish. "Okay…So anyway, on my fifth day without eating, Mark made me eat breakfast. And I guess that's when it stopped being about trying to punish myself and more about my fear of food. After that I didn't eat because I was terrified to, not because I felt guilty. Although I still did then and do now. That's when things got really out of hand with my cleaning too. Then everything just started getting so out of control until it eventually led up to me trying to kill myself. And I guess you know the rest."

            "Roger…" Mark's voice is tiny and scared, I have to strain to hear it because he's talking into the carpet. "I'm so sorry about all of this…this is all my fault, I shouldn't have been so mean to you, I should have realized sooner…"

            "Mark, geez, it's not your fault! Listen, when I was first diagnosed I didn't talk to anyone for almost six months! I was a whole fucking lot worse to you then you were to me and you didn't go starving yourself 'til you were half dead and anorexic. It's just me, I was the one who was stupid enough to stop eating in the first place…it's my fault, not yours."

            Dr. Gomez interrupts us. "You see, this is where your problem is. You both just assume you know how the other feels and take all the blame on yourselves. Mark, it's not your fault Roger developed anorexia, and Roger, it's not your fault that Mark got AIDS." She looks at both of us. "Isn't that right?" We both nod vigorously. She looks at her watch. "Okay, we're almost out of time, is there anything else either of you wanted to say?"

            "Um…yeah, actually I just had one thing," Mark says as he turns to look at me. "It's just that you're still not eating…" His voice trails off.

            "It's so hard, it's scary…"
            "Roger, I've treated many, many patients with phobias, including anorexics with the same fear of food as yours. And let me just tell you, the ones that make it, the ones that overcome their illness and go on to leave healthy, normal lives are the ones who stare their fear right in the face…and also the ones who suffer the most trying to reach their goal. Are you going to let your fear of food ruin your life, kill you?"

            My voice is barely a whisper. "I don't want to do it alone…"

            Mark jumps up and moves closer to me. "Hello? You're not alone! Rog, I've been trying to help from the beginning, from the very first time I saw how scared you got eating breakfast. I've always been there for you, I always will be there for you, but you never want to accept my help."
            "I don't want to hurt you, I've put you through enough already…"

            "Roger, you don't think it's not hurting me watching you do this to yourself, knowing there's nothing I can do to help 'cause you won't let me? You're hurting me so much more by not letting me do anything, by just making me sit back and watch you kill yourself then you would be if you would just let me help you for once!"

            I feel tears fill my eyes again but try to hold them back. He doesn't know how hard it is for me to accept help from people, to admit that I'm weak and can't do it on my own.

            Dr. Gomez seems to sense my discomfort. "How about you think about it Roger, and then we can talk about it with Mark at our next session? Or privately at home, if and when you think you're ready to accept his help."

            I nod, grateful that she saved me from making that decision right on the spot. Me and Mark schedule our next appointment and walk back to the loft in silence, each of us replaying the session in our heads.

            When we get to the loft I head straight to my room but before I can even make it five steps, Mark calls me back and drags me into the kitchen.

            "Lunch time, you're eating." He heats up a bowl of soup for me and places it in front of me, then heads over to the living room to read a book, knowing I have to do this on my own. The familiar feelings of dread and panic race through my body and my hand start to shake, making it impossible to get the warm liquid to my mouth even if I tried. My heart is pounding so loudly that it drowns out every other noise around me and I wonder if I'm having a heart attack Though I know it's probably just a panic attack.

            I stare at Mark sitting on the couch, holding his upside down book and pretending to be very interested in what the backwards print has to say. Looking down at my trembling hands, and feeling the sweat begin to bead down my forehead, I know that there's no way I'll be able to beat this on my own.

            "Mark?" My voice is hoarse and shaky, and he nearly jumps off the couch, dropping the book on the floor.

            "Yeah?" He tries not to sound too anxious.

            "Could…could you help me?"

            A huge grin spreads across his face and he rushes to my side, taking my hands in his until the trembling stops so that I can get the soup to stay in the spoon.

            "Of course."

~The End~