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.
Notes: sorry this took so long, I've got a lot of shit to deal with and not a lot of time to deal with it in. well anyway, enjoy this. Uh... Roger's weight loss amount is taken from an online article I read a while ago, happened upon it on Monday again and stole the guy's weight and whatever. Well then, have fun. I'll try to be quicker next time. ;)
Chapter 10
-Hold Me In Your Arms, I Want To Be Your Only Posession-
Two days into this bullshit they take me out of group therapy. I wouldn't stop attacking the skinny little girls when they'd cry over two pounds they'd gained the day before and how fat it made them feel. They cried because they were getting better and it pissed me off. I have my own therapist now, and I hate her just as much. She's condescending, and just generally mean.
"Why are you anorexic, Roger?" She asks, folding her hands over her desk.
I glare at her in silence, hating the way the light reflects off of her glasses, hating the strand of hair that has escaped from the rest that's tied up neatly. Mark hasn't come to visit me. I start to hate him too. I wrap my arms around myself and glare.
"Why do you cut your arms?" She tries, gets no reaction.
She sighs and opens a folder on her desk.
"You do realize, Roger." She says. "That you currently weigh 113 pounds. The normal weight for someone of your stature is about 180, at least."
"I'm thin." I tell her angrily.
"You're killing yourself." She takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose then looks back up at me. "Is that what you want?"
"Maybe." I snap, staring at the floor.
"Have you considered suicide before?" She asks.
"Fuck off."
She sighs. "I see we're not getting anywhere today." She puts her glasses back on and narrows her eyes. "You will talk to me, Roger. I determine how long you stay here, and which medications you are put on. We're starting you on anti-depressant today. I think it will help with your emotions a little bit."
She frowns at me. "I would also like to consider family therapy, since you obviously don't respond well to groups."
I scowl at her.
"Is there anyone in your immediate family we can call to attend a counseling session?"
"Mark is the only one that knows."
She gives me a rather nasty smile. "Yes. Well, the family sessions are for immediate family only. As are visitations for the first two weeks."
"So that's why he hasn't come yet? Cause you won't let him?"
"I don't think that would be wise. Would you please sit down?"
"No! Mark is my family!" I sit down heavily. "I'm not eating till I see him."
She rolls her eyes. "They all say that." She purses her lips. "I have a lot more sympathy for a little girl starving herself than I do for you. You're old enough to know better, and you have no reason for it." She frowns. "That you've shared with me, at least."
"I don't think it's your business." I snap.
"Everything you do is my business, I'm your therapist."
My stomach clenches tightly and I wince. My hunger pains have been particularly horrible today. I haven't eaten since I got here.
"Well, then I want a new therapist."
We glare at each other for a few minutes and then she presses a button on a phone near her desk.
"Grace, can you escort Mr. Davis back to his room?"
The nurse hurries in a few moments later and gently tugs on my arm.
"Come along then, you."
I leave with the nurse, who's a sweet older woman that reminds me vaguely of my mom. One of the girls I snapped at in therapy yesterday glares at me in the hallway. I fix her with my best fierce glare right back. The nurse shows me into my room and I'm annoyed to find Adam there, laying on his stomach, flipping through a magazine. He barely looks up.
I walk over to my bed and rub at my arms. They're sore again and the most recent cuts from a few days ago ache horribly. I lay down on my back and try to ignore the empty pit in my stomach.
"How was therapy?" Adam asks.
"Fuck off."
"Went well, I take it." He says, turning a page.
I turn onto my side and try to ignore him. Eventually I fall asleep.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Adam is poking me in the back.
"What?" I snap, sitting up, feeling my body cry from the effort.
"Uh, it's time for lunch." He says.
"I'm not fucking hungry." I tell him angrily.
He frowns. "If you don't eat, they'll give you a tube."
"A what?"
He shrugs. "A tube. It goes in your nose and to your stomach. They'll feed you through it."
"That's disgusting."
"So's their food, but it's better than the tube."
"I can't eat." I tell him.
"Why not?"
"I don't feel like it."
He shrugs. "I tried." And then he leaves.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
When I lie down again to sleep, my throat hurts, my nose hurts and my stomach is angry. I'm going to have to throw up soon, I know, but I try to ignore it. All I want is to see Mark. I just want to see him and hold him and have him kiss me and tell me that I'll be all right. I turn onto my back. And I want to be able to believe him.
"You awake?" I hear Adam ask from somewhere in the darkness.
"What the fuck do you want?"
He doesn't say anything after this and I almost feel bad. Almost.
I even miss Maureen. I'd do anything to see either one of them right now. I can't help but be fucking pissed that they dumped me here. You need help my ass, it was just an excuse to get rid of me. I bet Mark doesn't even fucking care, he just got sick of dealing with my bullshit.
But I know that's not true. I sigh heavily and turn onto my side again. Fuck this. I want to go home.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
At my next therapy session there is a thoroughly annoyed looking therapist, and a blond head barely showing over the back of the other chair. I feel my breath catch in my throat and the nurse closes the door behind her as she leaves.
"Mark?"
My therapist glowers at us when he stands up and I hug him tightly. I feel my eyes start to tear when I grip handfuls of the fabric of his shirt so tightly my hands ache. I press my body against his and my face into his neck and shoulder, and I emit a few low deep sobs. He rubs my back soothingly and kisses my face and lets me tear at him.
"Get me out of here, Mark." I say to him quietly, but not caring if the shrink hears. "I can't do this without you."
"Hey." He says softly. "I'm here now. It's alright."
He makes an attempt to untangle himself from me when she coughs into her hand. He kisses my mouth gently and pushes me toward the other chair.
"Since our attempts to contact any members of your family have not been successful, we called the person listed as your emergency contact." She gives Mark a withering look. I've never loved him more than when he smiles back at her.
"Well," she says, picking up a chart and giving me a bitter forced smile. "Let's begin, shall we?"
I shrug and look over at Mark. He reaches over and takes my hand and smiles at me encouragingly. The therapist looks at her chart.
"You've been getting meals through a nasogastric tube." The therapist says, looking up. "Why aren't you making an effort to eat on your own?"
I look over at Mark and then shrug. "I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to be here." I say angrily, still looking at Mark who's staring at the floor.
"You need to be here, Rog." He says. "I can't help you. You don't want me to help you." He says sadly.
"I need you to help me, Mark! I can't do this without you!"
"I'm here now, Rog! I'll help you, but you need more than I can give you." His voice has an edge to it. He casts a look down at my body. "You've lost too much weight..."
I stand up. I can't help myself. I'm furious. "You don't care! You don't fucking care. You and Maureen dumped me here and now I'm going to die here without you." I want to say more but I stop when I hear another cough to my left.
"What?" I ask her viciously.
"This is not helping your situation, Mr. Davis. Please sit down."
I sit and glare at her. She looks over at Mark.
"Mr. Davis has shown no interest in helping himself. He's antisocial, angry, aggressive and otherwise a general pain to treat." She looks back at me. "We've gotten his weight up to 118, but he's still severely underweight and not able to eat on his own. If he's released now he could relapse into old habits."
"I don't want him released now." Mark says firmly, looking at me. I cross my arms and hate him.
"Good." She says, nodding. "Now we also have Mr. Davis on a strong anti-depressant, to help with his self-esteem."
I feel very much like a twelve-year-old girl.
"An anti-depressant?" Mark asks cautiously.
"Yes. Anorexia is usually rooted in deep self loathing, or an inability to see past one's faults."
"You think that's Roger?" He asks, throwing me a horrified look.
"Yes. Don't you?" She asks, opening a notebook and picking up a pen.
He shrugs. "I know he's been a little, I don't know, sad, recently." Mark says and I let out a short bitter laugh. He glares at me. "But I didn't think he'd need that." He gives me another funny look. "How addictive is it?"
"Fuck you." I say quietly, under my breath. I know he hears me.
"It's possible to be addicted to anti-depressants, but we are monitoring his dosages."
The therapist taps the pen against her lips. "Let's get into a little of the idea of anorexia. What could have made Mr. Davis a candidate?"
"His girlfriend," Mark says. "His girlfriend died. He was depressed." He looks over at me. "He stopped eating. He stopped doing everything, really."
"Girlfriend?" The therapist says with interest. "You've never mentioned a girlfriend, Mr. Davis."
"Just call me Roger." I snap, not bothering to acknowledge her comment.
"Roger." She says. "Would you like to tell me the circumstances of your girlfriend's death? Or perhaps her name?"
"Mimi." Says Mark. I shoot him a furious glance and he has the decency to look ashamed.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The rest of the session went about as well. She pried and poked and made me hate Mark for long stretches at a time. When she announced our hour was up we didn't know how to act toward each other.
Mark stands up awkwardly and smiles cautiously.
"Well," He says. "I'll, uh, I'll see you then, huh?"
I push down the anger I've felt at him for the past hour and wrap my arms around him and hold him tightly.
"Come back, Mark. Please visit me. I can't take it."
He rubs my back. "It'll be alright, Roger."
When he pulls away he looks in my eyes. "Will you try? Make an effort? You're hurting yourself, Rog, and it's hurting me to watch it."
He kisses me gently, it only lasts a small sweet little second and I don't want to let go of him.
"Don't leave me, Marky." I beg him.
He kisses me again. "Make me proud, Rog."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Notes continued: sorry it's not happier or anything. It was a hard chapter to write. Roger's getting out of the hospital soon, just because it's hard to write hospital junk and I want Mark back in it more.
Notes: sorry this took so long, I've got a lot of shit to deal with and not a lot of time to deal with it in. well anyway, enjoy this. Uh... Roger's weight loss amount is taken from an online article I read a while ago, happened upon it on Monday again and stole the guy's weight and whatever. Well then, have fun. I'll try to be quicker next time. ;)
Chapter 10
-Hold Me In Your Arms, I Want To Be Your Only Posession-
Two days into this bullshit they take me out of group therapy. I wouldn't stop attacking the skinny little girls when they'd cry over two pounds they'd gained the day before and how fat it made them feel. They cried because they were getting better and it pissed me off. I have my own therapist now, and I hate her just as much. She's condescending, and just generally mean.
"Why are you anorexic, Roger?" She asks, folding her hands over her desk.
I glare at her in silence, hating the way the light reflects off of her glasses, hating the strand of hair that has escaped from the rest that's tied up neatly. Mark hasn't come to visit me. I start to hate him too. I wrap my arms around myself and glare.
"Why do you cut your arms?" She tries, gets no reaction.
She sighs and opens a folder on her desk.
"You do realize, Roger." She says. "That you currently weigh 113 pounds. The normal weight for someone of your stature is about 180, at least."
"I'm thin." I tell her angrily.
"You're killing yourself." She takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose then looks back up at me. "Is that what you want?"
"Maybe." I snap, staring at the floor.
"Have you considered suicide before?" She asks.
"Fuck off."
She sighs. "I see we're not getting anywhere today." She puts her glasses back on and narrows her eyes. "You will talk to me, Roger. I determine how long you stay here, and which medications you are put on. We're starting you on anti-depressant today. I think it will help with your emotions a little bit."
She frowns at me. "I would also like to consider family therapy, since you obviously don't respond well to groups."
I scowl at her.
"Is there anyone in your immediate family we can call to attend a counseling session?"
"Mark is the only one that knows."
She gives me a rather nasty smile. "Yes. Well, the family sessions are for immediate family only. As are visitations for the first two weeks."
"So that's why he hasn't come yet? Cause you won't let him?"
"I don't think that would be wise. Would you please sit down?"
"No! Mark is my family!" I sit down heavily. "I'm not eating till I see him."
She rolls her eyes. "They all say that." She purses her lips. "I have a lot more sympathy for a little girl starving herself than I do for you. You're old enough to know better, and you have no reason for it." She frowns. "That you've shared with me, at least."
"I don't think it's your business." I snap.
"Everything you do is my business, I'm your therapist."
My stomach clenches tightly and I wince. My hunger pains have been particularly horrible today. I haven't eaten since I got here.
"Well, then I want a new therapist."
We glare at each other for a few minutes and then she presses a button on a phone near her desk.
"Grace, can you escort Mr. Davis back to his room?"
The nurse hurries in a few moments later and gently tugs on my arm.
"Come along then, you."
I leave with the nurse, who's a sweet older woman that reminds me vaguely of my mom. One of the girls I snapped at in therapy yesterday glares at me in the hallway. I fix her with my best fierce glare right back. The nurse shows me into my room and I'm annoyed to find Adam there, laying on his stomach, flipping through a magazine. He barely looks up.
I walk over to my bed and rub at my arms. They're sore again and the most recent cuts from a few days ago ache horribly. I lay down on my back and try to ignore the empty pit in my stomach.
"How was therapy?" Adam asks.
"Fuck off."
"Went well, I take it." He says, turning a page.
I turn onto my side and try to ignore him. Eventually I fall asleep.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Adam is poking me in the back.
"What?" I snap, sitting up, feeling my body cry from the effort.
"Uh, it's time for lunch." He says.
"I'm not fucking hungry." I tell him angrily.
He frowns. "If you don't eat, they'll give you a tube."
"A what?"
He shrugs. "A tube. It goes in your nose and to your stomach. They'll feed you through it."
"That's disgusting."
"So's their food, but it's better than the tube."
"I can't eat." I tell him.
"Why not?"
"I don't feel like it."
He shrugs. "I tried." And then he leaves.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
When I lie down again to sleep, my throat hurts, my nose hurts and my stomach is angry. I'm going to have to throw up soon, I know, but I try to ignore it. All I want is to see Mark. I just want to see him and hold him and have him kiss me and tell me that I'll be all right. I turn onto my back. And I want to be able to believe him.
"You awake?" I hear Adam ask from somewhere in the darkness.
"What the fuck do you want?"
He doesn't say anything after this and I almost feel bad. Almost.
I even miss Maureen. I'd do anything to see either one of them right now. I can't help but be fucking pissed that they dumped me here. You need help my ass, it was just an excuse to get rid of me. I bet Mark doesn't even fucking care, he just got sick of dealing with my bullshit.
But I know that's not true. I sigh heavily and turn onto my side again. Fuck this. I want to go home.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
At my next therapy session there is a thoroughly annoyed looking therapist, and a blond head barely showing over the back of the other chair. I feel my breath catch in my throat and the nurse closes the door behind her as she leaves.
"Mark?"
My therapist glowers at us when he stands up and I hug him tightly. I feel my eyes start to tear when I grip handfuls of the fabric of his shirt so tightly my hands ache. I press my body against his and my face into his neck and shoulder, and I emit a few low deep sobs. He rubs my back soothingly and kisses my face and lets me tear at him.
"Get me out of here, Mark." I say to him quietly, but not caring if the shrink hears. "I can't do this without you."
"Hey." He says softly. "I'm here now. It's alright."
He makes an attempt to untangle himself from me when she coughs into her hand. He kisses my mouth gently and pushes me toward the other chair.
"Since our attempts to contact any members of your family have not been successful, we called the person listed as your emergency contact." She gives Mark a withering look. I've never loved him more than when he smiles back at her.
"Well," she says, picking up a chart and giving me a bitter forced smile. "Let's begin, shall we?"
I shrug and look over at Mark. He reaches over and takes my hand and smiles at me encouragingly. The therapist looks at her chart.
"You've been getting meals through a nasogastric tube." The therapist says, looking up. "Why aren't you making an effort to eat on your own?"
I look over at Mark and then shrug. "I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to be here." I say angrily, still looking at Mark who's staring at the floor.
"You need to be here, Rog." He says. "I can't help you. You don't want me to help you." He says sadly.
"I need you to help me, Mark! I can't do this without you!"
"I'm here now, Rog! I'll help you, but you need more than I can give you." His voice has an edge to it. He casts a look down at my body. "You've lost too much weight..."
I stand up. I can't help myself. I'm furious. "You don't care! You don't fucking care. You and Maureen dumped me here and now I'm going to die here without you." I want to say more but I stop when I hear another cough to my left.
"What?" I ask her viciously.
"This is not helping your situation, Mr. Davis. Please sit down."
I sit and glare at her. She looks over at Mark.
"Mr. Davis has shown no interest in helping himself. He's antisocial, angry, aggressive and otherwise a general pain to treat." She looks back at me. "We've gotten his weight up to 118, but he's still severely underweight and not able to eat on his own. If he's released now he could relapse into old habits."
"I don't want him released now." Mark says firmly, looking at me. I cross my arms and hate him.
"Good." She says, nodding. "Now we also have Mr. Davis on a strong anti-depressant, to help with his self-esteem."
I feel very much like a twelve-year-old girl.
"An anti-depressant?" Mark asks cautiously.
"Yes. Anorexia is usually rooted in deep self loathing, or an inability to see past one's faults."
"You think that's Roger?" He asks, throwing me a horrified look.
"Yes. Don't you?" She asks, opening a notebook and picking up a pen.
He shrugs. "I know he's been a little, I don't know, sad, recently." Mark says and I let out a short bitter laugh. He glares at me. "But I didn't think he'd need that." He gives me another funny look. "How addictive is it?"
"Fuck you." I say quietly, under my breath. I know he hears me.
"It's possible to be addicted to anti-depressants, but we are monitoring his dosages."
The therapist taps the pen against her lips. "Let's get into a little of the idea of anorexia. What could have made Mr. Davis a candidate?"
"His girlfriend," Mark says. "His girlfriend died. He was depressed." He looks over at me. "He stopped eating. He stopped doing everything, really."
"Girlfriend?" The therapist says with interest. "You've never mentioned a girlfriend, Mr. Davis."
"Just call me Roger." I snap, not bothering to acknowledge her comment.
"Roger." She says. "Would you like to tell me the circumstances of your girlfriend's death? Or perhaps her name?"
"Mimi." Says Mark. I shoot him a furious glance and he has the decency to look ashamed.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The rest of the session went about as well. She pried and poked and made me hate Mark for long stretches at a time. When she announced our hour was up we didn't know how to act toward each other.
Mark stands up awkwardly and smiles cautiously.
"Well," He says. "I'll, uh, I'll see you then, huh?"
I push down the anger I've felt at him for the past hour and wrap my arms around him and hold him tightly.
"Come back, Mark. Please visit me. I can't take it."
He rubs my back. "It'll be alright, Roger."
When he pulls away he looks in my eyes. "Will you try? Make an effort? You're hurting yourself, Rog, and it's hurting me to watch it."
He kisses me gently, it only lasts a small sweet little second and I don't want to let go of him.
"Don't leave me, Marky." I beg him.
He kisses me again. "Make me proud, Rog."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Notes continued: sorry it's not happier or anything. It was a hard chapter to write. Roger's getting out of the hospital soon, just because it's hard to write hospital junk and I want Mark back in it more.