Amnesia and Star Child

“Mike c’mon - eat... Please...” Chester pleads.
I stare up at him wearily.
He’s trying so hard, the stupid wanker.
“No.” I whisper.
I’m frail now, it’s been almost seven weeks now and I haven’t eaten a thing.
Obviously the first three were spent sleeping, and for some reason I didn’t need to eat or drink anything, but another four weeks, and in that time I needed to eat.
But I won’t - I just won’t.
Chester slumps on the chair next to my bed.
“We should’ve gone home now Mike. But you’ve got to get better...” He murmurs.
“Well no one’s keeping you here! You can go - I’m not holding you back!” I shout.
My temper’s been getting really short over this week I’ve spent in this damn hospital bed, and it’s not taking much to piss me off.
“You can leave - go home! Get lost! Don’t turn this into my fault - fuck - I know it’s my fault - BUT YOU DON’T HAVE TO REMIND ME!!!” My voice gets louder and louder, Chester stands up and tries to calm me down.
“IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BAD THIS SHIT IS THEN YOU’D FUCK OFF - DON’T YOU GET IT?!? I DON’T - NEED - HELP!!!” I roar, sitting up and shoving Chester away.
“Mike - stop it!” Chester shouts, grabbing my arms.
I can barely push him away, shit I look like a skeleton - I can’t push him away, even though I want to.
My arms are matchsticks compared to his.
I lay back down on the bed, exhausted.
“Don’t do this Mike.” He whispers.
I close my eyes.
After coming into the hospital after cutting myself, I was treated and had appointments with a psychiatrist, then after three days I was discharged. I went back to the hotel, and then I went for a long jog through the city and back, after two days of jogging I decided I could do better than that, so I started running every day. I spent the whole day out running. I never ate. I’d come back and the guys by the end of the first week began commenting on how fit I looked.
A few days into the next week they began to ask if I was eating enough, a few more days and they interrogated me about whether I was eating at all. I always lied, but I couldn’t hide the fact that my weight had plummeted from about seventy kilos to sixty or something.
Then the guys started making sure I’d eat, Phoenix or Chester would watch me as I ate to make sure I was swallowing, and then they’d follow me around to make sure I didn’t throw it back up. I gained a bit of weight, but then I started swallowing diet pills by the dozen and last Saturday my weight took a deadly dive after another run.
I had a heart attack and was admitted to hospital.
Now I’m here and my weight’s continued to drop, I’m now a lovely fifty two kilos.
I’ve lost eighteen kilos.
Depressing isn’t it?
I turn and gaze at the tubes stuck in my arm, the stupid things are keeping me alive - I’ve already pulled them out at least a gazillion times.
The nurse who’s monitoring me every hour keeps putting them back in.
She’s been threatening to strap my arms to the guard railing.
“Eat...” Chester pleads softly.
“No.” I reply stubbornly.
They used to say my only draw back was that I’m stubborn.
I must be.
Chester sighs and pushes the bed table with the food tray on it closer to me and then gets up and leaves the room.
Then right on cue the nurse comes in.
“Mike, Mike! You should be resting, not entertaining visitors!” The nurse tut tuts me. She briskly walks over and reads my vital stats “How are you doing? Have you eaten anything today?” She asks.
“No.” I mumble.
“Okay... Time for the weigh in.” She walks around to my other side and takes my hand, helping me up to my feet.
I can still walk, but I need a bit of support to keep me from collapsing.
She leads me to the scales and I stand on them, watching as the needle rises and touches a new mark.
“Fifty kilos. Okay you can get off now...” She sighs as I step off the scales and get led back to the bed.
I lie back down and watch as she starts organising the monitors again.
“Dear me Mike - you need to eat - you won’t get the T.V. until you get to fifty five kilograms remember.” She warns me.
“I know.” I reply.
I’m not gonna be bribed like a six year old - if I don’t want to eat - then I won’t, and there ain’t a thing anyone can do about it.
She does some more checking to make sure all is well and then leaves.
I lie alone for a moment and then another person disturbs my peace and quiet.
“Hey Mike.” Rob greets me softly.
“Hey.” I turn to look at him.
He’s gaining a fair amount of weight, that’s the first thing I notice - he’s getting a pot belly.
Rob sits down next to me on the bed and touches his hand to mine - the contrast is blatant - my fingers are all skinny and bony, the veins stick out conspicuously, but Rob’s hands are ordinary, plump but slender.
He’s got very nice hands, even though they’re callused by years of holding drumsticks.
“Look at what you’re doing to yourself...” Rob mutters sadly, shaking his head.
“It’s okay. How are you going?” I ask.
“Okay. I’m getting fat, which I wish you’d start doing... Anyway, we have a six month break so I can afford to gain weight - and you certainly can too. Mike - what the hell is screwing up your head? This isn’t like you...” Rob shakes his head again, caressing my hand with his.
I sigh and stare up at the ceiling.
“I dunno.” I mutter finally.
We sit in silence for a while and then I sit up, Rob shifts a little and we remain quiet for a little while longer.
Rob keeps glancing at me, and I know his feelings towards me haven’t changed, he’s still confused over the entire thing and I’m beginning to find myself blurring the lines too.
Rob puts his arm around my bony shoulders and I curl up closer to him, letting his body heat envelope me from the bitter cold of the room.
The room isn’t actually cold, it’s just that I’ve lost so much weight my body can’t take even a little drop in temperature anymore.
Sitting in Paris then probably isn’t the best thing to do, but the heat systems here are really good compared to the ones in America.
Rob buries his nose in my neck and kisses me gently, I let him go, too tired to really argue anyway.
He works his way to my lips and caresses my mouth with his, tenderly catching my breath and exploring my mouth with his tongue, his arms are holding me gently, as though I’m fragile.
I don’t know what he’s wearing, but hell does he smell nice...
I fall back on the bed and Rob kisses me harder, pressing himself against me.
I can feel his gut, and I can feel a heart beat, somewhere deep inside, and that makes me feel better.
I kiss Rob back, not caring that we may be caught, not caring that I’ve avoided true intimacy for all these years, the only thing that matters now is that I let Rob get as close to me as possible.
I’m so cold inside...
Rob kissed me harder, tracing his fingers down my gaunt face. I want the cold to go away - I want it all to end, but for now Rob’s keeping me here.
We part and Rob sits back upright, his fingertips lingering over my lips.
“You’ve got to get better Mike... The guys need you. We need the glue.” Rob looks at me with honesty.
I snuggle under the blankets, feeling a sudden chill.
“I know.” I murmur.
I don’t want to promise to him, because I just know I won’t keep it - for as long as Rosie’s gone, there’s no satisfaction in food.
Food doesn’t fill this awful void.
Rob squeezes my hand and then gets up and leaves, taking one last look at me before closing the door.
I shiver and ring the assistance bell, it only takes a minute for another nurse to come running.
“Could I have some more blankets?” I ask.
“Certainly. I’ll be back in a moment.” The nurse disappears and comes back carrying more blankets.
She fluffs them out and then tucks me in like a little kid, but I don’t care.
“Thanks.” I say, snuggling under the blankets tighter.
She smiles, nods and leaves, and so once again I’m left with the thoughts of the universe, sounds of aliens and other distant things in my ears, and the taste of blood in my mouth.
I roll onto my side and curl up tighter, acutely aware of my skeletal form as my jutting ankles knock together.
I close my eyes and slip into sleep easily.