Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with RENT. Story is most
definitely rated R and not for the kiddies or close-minded.
Chapter 9
-Wrap Their Arms Around A Shrinking Somebody-
I sit between Mark and Maureen. They answer the questions, they give me hesitant, apologetic looks. I just glare.
"What is your relationship to the patient?"
"Close friend." Says Maureen.
"Same." Says Mark.
"Boyfriend." Corrects Maureen. Over time she's sort of figured the whole thing out. She's more comfortable about it than we are.
Mark glares at her. The doctor doesn't seem to notice. He writes something down.
"We usually treat women for anorexia." He says. "We only have one other male patient."
"So?" I say loudly, shocking them all.
"Just making conversation." The doctor says. I fix my eyes on his bald spot, trying to feed the fire in my eyes powerful enough to burn through him and make him feel worthless.
"How are you paying for this?" The doctor asks.
Mark takes a deep breath. Maureen calmly pulls a check out of her pocket.
"It's from Joanne." She says. "She wanted to help a little bit, give you time to get a job or whatever."
Mark looks touched and relieved. Maureen hands it to the doctor.
"This is enough for about one month. We can discuss additional payment later."
There is silence save the scratching of the pen on the paper. I watch it writing out my fate.
"Allergies? Medical history?"
He looks at me, but Mark answers.
"He's HIV positive."
The doctor nods, writes it down. When he looks up again he points with his pen to my arms, I had pushed the sleeves up because of the heat in the office.
"Where are those all from?"
No one answers him. I return his cool gaze, glaring furiously.
"I did it." I tell him.
"Why?"
"Because it feels good."
He nods, writes it down.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"This is your room." The nurse says, showing me a small box of white with two beds. "You're sharing with Adam."
"Great." I don't fucking care. I gaze sullenly around the room, wishing Mark and Maureen hadn't left.
She shows me around the rest of the hospital, all the places I'm allowed to go, then leaves me back in my room. The bed bothers me. It's on a frame and it's hard and thin. It's not a mattress on the floor. It's a fucking hospital bed.
A thin teenage boy in jeans and a stretched out Van Halen shirt wanders in.
"Are you Roger?" He asks.
I ignore him. He's not worth my time. He's thin, not really sick at all, nowhere like what I am.
"Why are you here?" He asks.
"Why do you think?" I growl.
"You bulimic? Ano? What do you do?"
"Fuck off." I say bitterly, turning away.
He shrugs. I catch sight of his arms. Little scratches. Like a fading sense of doubt. I resist the urge to take my shirt off. To show him what it all really looks like. It's like when I tried to go to rehab once. I tried to go, but I couldn't take the other patients. Possibly even more than the doctors.
Addiction is not glam. It's not something to be admired or aspired to. Most of the people there were little rich kids. Poor little girls whose parents had caught them snorting coke. I laughed at them. They'd never seen someone who'd done so much coke they'd worn holes in their nose. They'd never seen someone's life ruined by one hit of acid. And they'd never seen tracks like mine.
I hated them all. I never once felt sorry for them, or understood why they were there. I don't feel sorry for this kid, and the skinny little girls I saw on my way in, I don't feel for them either. None of these kids are half dead. None of them spend hours curled up on the floor of the bathroom laying in their own vomit and fucking crying from the pain.
I don't care that they want to be skinny like the models. I don't care that they couldn't get a date because their size was two digits instead of one. It's not cool to fuck yourself up, and once they've actually done it, they'll know.
I take off my sweater, only my thin little white t-shirt on underneath. Adam stares at my arms, his eyes drift up and over my body. He doesn't say anything, but he leaves a moment later. Maybe there is some good in this. Stop being stupid, you dumb kids. Stop before you become someone like me.
I throw the sweater down on top of the bag of clothes I brought with me. A nurse comes to the door and looks around the room, then at me. Before I can ask her what she wants, she's gone. I walk out of the room and find my way to a main room. There's a TV no one's watching. A couple girls are playing poker for jewelry. Adam is talking to another girl adamantly. When he sees me, he stops for a moment and looks away, then continues talking to the girl, but in a more subdued manner. I sit on an empty couch looking around me. This is fucking stupid. I wish Mark was here.
Lunchtime comes. I don't move until they tell me I have to. They try to feed me but I don't want it. A sweet nurse with a nice face is negotiating with me but I just keep shaking my head. I don't want it. I want Mark to be here. I'm not eating until Mark is here.
I don't know when they'll come, I don't even know if they can. But I've never wanted him near me more in my life. I go back to my room and sit on the bed. I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them. I've never been more miserable. I feel sick, but not as sick as I do when I eat. My stomach pushes around inside with empty boredom. I ignore it.
Adam comes in later. He sits down on his bed and tries to avoid looking at me.
"What?" I ask him harshly, when he won't stop his charade.
He shrugs. "What the fuck happened to you?" He asks.
"Life."
"Life didn't do that to me."
"Because you're some stupid kid from the suburbs with delusions about what's glamorous and cool."
"I am cool." He says stubbornly.
"You're a fucking idiot." I tell him. "You think you have a problem? You don't know anything about problems."
He stands up. "I have plenty of problems. You don't know me. You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough to know you're full of shit." I look over at him. "Just sit down. What are you going to do?"
He clenches his fists. "I have problems."
I roll my eyes. "What, you don't get along with mommy and daddy? I'll tell you a secret kid, no one gets along with their parents."
"No..." He says weakly, under his breath.
I lay back on my bed. "Just leave me alone. Don't fuck with me all right? But do yourself a favor and stop trying to destroy yourself. It's really not all it's cracked up to be."
He doesn't say anything, but leaves the room a few minutes later. I close my eyes and think of Mark. I can admit I love him. I can admit that I want him with me right now. That I don't want to be here. All I want is to feel his arms around me and hear him tell me it's all right. All I want is to sink into this bed and never wake up. But I'll have to take what I can get. I pull the cover over my body and try to sleep.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Notes: I've got a little research to do, so it'll take a little while for another chapter. But definitely not more than a week. I just have to budget my time. I've got a lot of shit to do this week.
Chapter 9
-Wrap Their Arms Around A Shrinking Somebody-
I sit between Mark and Maureen. They answer the questions, they give me hesitant, apologetic looks. I just glare.
"What is your relationship to the patient?"
"Close friend." Says Maureen.
"Same." Says Mark.
"Boyfriend." Corrects Maureen. Over time she's sort of figured the whole thing out. She's more comfortable about it than we are.
Mark glares at her. The doctor doesn't seem to notice. He writes something down.
"We usually treat women for anorexia." He says. "We only have one other male patient."
"So?" I say loudly, shocking them all.
"Just making conversation." The doctor says. I fix my eyes on his bald spot, trying to feed the fire in my eyes powerful enough to burn through him and make him feel worthless.
"How are you paying for this?" The doctor asks.
Mark takes a deep breath. Maureen calmly pulls a check out of her pocket.
"It's from Joanne." She says. "She wanted to help a little bit, give you time to get a job or whatever."
Mark looks touched and relieved. Maureen hands it to the doctor.
"This is enough for about one month. We can discuss additional payment later."
There is silence save the scratching of the pen on the paper. I watch it writing out my fate.
"Allergies? Medical history?"
He looks at me, but Mark answers.
"He's HIV positive."
The doctor nods, writes it down. When he looks up again he points with his pen to my arms, I had pushed the sleeves up because of the heat in the office.
"Where are those all from?"
No one answers him. I return his cool gaze, glaring furiously.
"I did it." I tell him.
"Why?"
"Because it feels good."
He nods, writes it down.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"This is your room." The nurse says, showing me a small box of white with two beds. "You're sharing with Adam."
"Great." I don't fucking care. I gaze sullenly around the room, wishing Mark and Maureen hadn't left.
She shows me around the rest of the hospital, all the places I'm allowed to go, then leaves me back in my room. The bed bothers me. It's on a frame and it's hard and thin. It's not a mattress on the floor. It's a fucking hospital bed.
A thin teenage boy in jeans and a stretched out Van Halen shirt wanders in.
"Are you Roger?" He asks.
I ignore him. He's not worth my time. He's thin, not really sick at all, nowhere like what I am.
"Why are you here?" He asks.
"Why do you think?" I growl.
"You bulimic? Ano? What do you do?"
"Fuck off." I say bitterly, turning away.
He shrugs. I catch sight of his arms. Little scratches. Like a fading sense of doubt. I resist the urge to take my shirt off. To show him what it all really looks like. It's like when I tried to go to rehab once. I tried to go, but I couldn't take the other patients. Possibly even more than the doctors.
Addiction is not glam. It's not something to be admired or aspired to. Most of the people there were little rich kids. Poor little girls whose parents had caught them snorting coke. I laughed at them. They'd never seen someone who'd done so much coke they'd worn holes in their nose. They'd never seen someone's life ruined by one hit of acid. And they'd never seen tracks like mine.
I hated them all. I never once felt sorry for them, or understood why they were there. I don't feel sorry for this kid, and the skinny little girls I saw on my way in, I don't feel for them either. None of these kids are half dead. None of them spend hours curled up on the floor of the bathroom laying in their own vomit and fucking crying from the pain.
I don't care that they want to be skinny like the models. I don't care that they couldn't get a date because their size was two digits instead of one. It's not cool to fuck yourself up, and once they've actually done it, they'll know.
I take off my sweater, only my thin little white t-shirt on underneath. Adam stares at my arms, his eyes drift up and over my body. He doesn't say anything, but he leaves a moment later. Maybe there is some good in this. Stop being stupid, you dumb kids. Stop before you become someone like me.
I throw the sweater down on top of the bag of clothes I brought with me. A nurse comes to the door and looks around the room, then at me. Before I can ask her what she wants, she's gone. I walk out of the room and find my way to a main room. There's a TV no one's watching. A couple girls are playing poker for jewelry. Adam is talking to another girl adamantly. When he sees me, he stops for a moment and looks away, then continues talking to the girl, but in a more subdued manner. I sit on an empty couch looking around me. This is fucking stupid. I wish Mark was here.
Lunchtime comes. I don't move until they tell me I have to. They try to feed me but I don't want it. A sweet nurse with a nice face is negotiating with me but I just keep shaking my head. I don't want it. I want Mark to be here. I'm not eating until Mark is here.
I don't know when they'll come, I don't even know if they can. But I've never wanted him near me more in my life. I go back to my room and sit on the bed. I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them. I've never been more miserable. I feel sick, but not as sick as I do when I eat. My stomach pushes around inside with empty boredom. I ignore it.
Adam comes in later. He sits down on his bed and tries to avoid looking at me.
"What?" I ask him harshly, when he won't stop his charade.
He shrugs. "What the fuck happened to you?" He asks.
"Life."
"Life didn't do that to me."
"Because you're some stupid kid from the suburbs with delusions about what's glamorous and cool."
"I am cool." He says stubbornly.
"You're a fucking idiot." I tell him. "You think you have a problem? You don't know anything about problems."
He stands up. "I have plenty of problems. You don't know me. You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough to know you're full of shit." I look over at him. "Just sit down. What are you going to do?"
He clenches his fists. "I have problems."
I roll my eyes. "What, you don't get along with mommy and daddy? I'll tell you a secret kid, no one gets along with their parents."
"No..." He says weakly, under his breath.
I lay back on my bed. "Just leave me alone. Don't fuck with me all right? But do yourself a favor and stop trying to destroy yourself. It's really not all it's cracked up to be."
He doesn't say anything, but leaves the room a few minutes later. I close my eyes and think of Mark. I can admit I love him. I can admit that I want him with me right now. That I don't want to be here. All I want is to feel his arms around me and hear him tell me it's all right. All I want is to sink into this bed and never wake up. But I'll have to take what I can get. I pull the cover over my body and try to sleep.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Notes: I've got a little research to do, so it'll take a little while for another chapter. But definitely not more than a week. I just have to budget my time. I've got a lot of shit to do this week.