Joe felt the room begin to spin, shut his eyes, pulled the covers closer, heard his brother sigh.
Two and a half-days. In two and a half days he hadn't eaten a thing.
Neither had Frank.
The elder Hardy was beside him now, rubbing his eyes, clearly as dizzy Joe. But despite Joe's insistent arguing, his brother refused to go near the kitchen unless his brother agreed to go with him.
"Frank," Joe murmured, reaching out to touch his elder brother's hand. "You've got to eat."
"So do you."
"Look at you, you're dizzy, you're—"
"What? And you're healthy?"
Joe clenched his jaw shut, sighed. "I need to…"
"No you don't. This is bullshit Joe, all of it. It's bullshit your messed up brain's feeding you and you're buying it brother, in a big way. Damnit to hell Joe, when are you going to realize I love you?"
The younger Hardy felt his eyes fill with tears. "I do…"
"No, you don't. Because if you did you wouldn't do this to yourself. Because it hurts me, Joe. It's killing me." He raised his eyes to meet his brother's light blue ones. "Literally," he murmured, reaching out to the headboard for support.
Joe closed his eyes, wiped a tear that made it out from under his lids, drew a deep breath. No matter how badly he hated himself, no matter how harshly his mind restricted him, he could never bear to see Frank in pain. Even now.
"Okay," he whispered.
"What?"
"I'll…I'll eat something."
Frank's eyes lit up. "You mean it?"
"You have to eat with me."
"Bite for bite. What do you want? Soup?"
"Something easy."
"Soup, then. I'll bring it up." He reached down, squeezed his brother's hand. "Hang in there, kiddo."
Joe opened his eyes as his brother left the room, half wanting to call him back as the voices started:
Evil disgusting unloved unwanted don't you go near that food don't let a bite touch your lips don't give in after all this work, all this time, don't—
"Stop it," Joe mumbled, covering his ears, "I can't do this to Frank. I don't care about me, but I won't hurt him. You won't convince me to."
But the voices continued, chanting insults spewing falsehoods igniting hatred of himself, of his body, of his very existence.
Frank, ignorant of his brother's internal struggle, came through the door a moment later and set two bowls on the nightstand.
"Come on," he murmured, "sit up."
Joe, trembling, obeyed slowly, gripping the headboard and his elder brother's arm for support as the conviction of a moment ago wavered.
"Frank…"
"You said you would."
"I will…but…you first?"
The elder Hardy shook his head. Joe couldn't remember ever seeing his face so set, the features so hardened. As if Frank were beyond caring, or so far into it that the compromising side of him couldn't be reached. "I'll eat what you eat."
The smell of tomato and vegetables reached the younger boy's nose; he moaned.
"I'm scared…" he whispered.
Frank nodded and moved to the bed, slipping an arm around him and pulling him close.
"Listen to me. I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, right? Come on. Bite for bite. We'll do it together."
Joe shivered, stared down at the bowl suddenly in his hands, feeling the heat seeping into his palms. Swallowed; looked to his brother's pale features—thinner already?—and nodded, dipping the spoon in beneath the broth and emerging with a chunk of potato.
And so they went, Frank eating as his brother did, both relaxing, until Joe realized that he was actually enjoying the flavor of the soup, of the tomato and his aunt's seasoned potatoes, his mother's stir-fried vegetables, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of fullness, enjoying—
"I want to get rid of it," he sobbed suddenly, reaching across his brother to drop the bowl on the night table and moving toward the edge of the mattress, fully intending to run to the bathroom, drop to his knees and shove his finger down this throat until he was empty again.
But Frank was too quick; he set his own bowl down and seized his younger brother, pulled him almost roughly close.
"Stay strong for me," he murmured. "It'll pass. The urge will pass. See? Nothing happened…"
Something is. You're growing, expanding, becoming a giant…
"Frank I have to get rid of it!" Joe begged, trying to twist away.
"No," the elder Hardy remained firm, his arms clenching almost painfully around the frail younger boy. "Joe, listen. Nothing happened, right? You're the same size. And even if you weren't, I wouldn't care. I wouldn't care if you were three hundred pounds Joe, which you'll never be anyway. You're my brother, do you understand that? Nothing will change that, certainly not half a bowl of vegetable soup."
Joe felt something in his chest, something that had been ever on the verge of collapse sever, and he was crying in spite of himself, in spite of the voice calling him weak, in spite of his hatred of his body and himself, he was crying because he knew this was madness, he knew he was weak and he was depressed and that he needed help he just couldn't ask for.
"Oh Frank," he sobbed as the elder Hardy smoothed his hair back, "what happened? What have I done?"
"I don't know," Frank whispered, his voice husky. "But we can fix it. Just let us help you, brother."
"But I'll have to gain weight."
"Yes."
"I can't do that."
"Would you rather die?"
Joe fell silent.
"I don't know," he finally whispered, and it wasn't at all an avoidance but a painful, unforeseeable truth.