Outside the Lines (lashton)

(48)

When we arrive to the house, Ashton's hand is still in mine. The first words out of Calum and Michael's mouths are How did it go?

Ashton looks at me to answer, so I do. "It went alright. They were all really nice, no one asked for a photo or autograph or anything. They just wished me well, which was good. I was expecting worse," I say with a shrug.

They both breathe a sigh of relief, glad that it went well and not badly.

"I think I want to come clean about what I've been going through," I say, surprising everyone, even myself.

"Why the sudden change?" Calum asks me.

"You weren't there, you didn't see how much they cared. All they did was care for me and I'm just lying to them."

"Babe, you're not lying, you're simply not telling them what's going on," Ashton says soothingly.

"Lying by omission," I state, "and I don't want to do that anymore."

"I mean, yeah, okay. But how are you going to tell them?" Michael asks.

I pause for a second, I haven't thought this one through. Twitter? A livestream? "I don't know yet, I haven't decided," I say instead.

"Well, whatever you decide, we'll be here through it all," Calum says, patting me on the back. "Through everything."

His words make me smile, reminding me I'm not alone. Reminding me that if I can't recover for myself, I can try to recover for them.

And I want to try. I really do.

So that's how I find myself sat at the table with Ashton thirty minutes later, with a meal in front of me, instead of hiding in my room.

I sort of miss exercising during meal time, it made me feel really good, made me know I was doing something about my body.

And that's the hard part of all of this, I guess, the fact that I could have all the positivity in the world and still struggle just to eat a simple meal.

I try to eat the lunch in front of me, I really do, but it's pizza. Pizza! I can't do that. I push the plate away from myself and head straight to my room.

Ashton follows in soon enough, asking me, "Did you want to try to eat a little bit?"

"It's pizza, I can't eat pizza. I'm sorry Ash, I can't do it," I tell him, practically begging him to understand how I feel. But you can't possibly understand unless you've been through it, so there's no way for him to get it. He pats me on the back, as I'm laying down on the bed, and he sends me soothing words, trying to help me calm down. I hadn't even realised I got worked up over the pizza, but I find myself breathing heavily. After a few more moments with Ashton, my breathing seems to go back to normal.

Time passes until I have to call in for my intake for the Partial Hospitalisation Program.

The hour phone interview is a lot like the first intake I had for the Walden Center. They ask the same questions: how much I'm eating, what I am eating, if I purge, if I take laxatives, if I restrict, if I exercise to control my weight, if I'm safe, other treatment centres I've been to in the past, what I wanted to get out of this treatment center... a bunch of questions along those lines.

In the end of the intake they say I'm suitable to go to their day program, which is good because the hopelessness has been swallowing me.

They did say it was an issue that I wasn't eating anything at the moment, but I assured them I'd eat in a controlled environment, that it's too hard to do it without supervision. That might have not been the truth, because I'm unsure if that's the reason as to why I can't eat. I mean, I haven't tested the theory so it may not be a lie.

After getting off the phone, I immediately go to Ashton. He's sitting on the couch right now listening to music and bopping his head. I'd curl up in a ball next to him like usual, but my stitches won't allow that, so I settle for slouching next to him.

"Hey cutie," he says to me.

I giggle from the name and greet him back. I sink into his touch as he puts an arm around me.

I can tell he's itching to ask are you okay? but he knows how much I hate that question. I'm glad he holds himself back from asking. If there's something wrong, I will say it.

Well, that's not completely true. I'm not the best at voicing my thoughts yet. Over four months of therapy and I'm still bad at voicing when something's wrong. I feel like I'll bother people, but everyone assures me that I won't. It's their word against my mind, and my mind is very powerful.

"They said I'm suitable for the Partial Hospitalisation Program there," I tell Ashton.

He looks to me with a smile on his face. "That's great baby, you're going to do so well."

"How do you know?" I ask him nervously, not believing his words for a second. "What if I'm not able to do it? What if they kick me out? She did say they have a strike system there, three strikes and you're out," I tell him. That's not exactly what she said, she said it in a much nicer way.

"If you strike out, that just means you need a more intense treatment program. There's nothing wrong with that," he lets me know, and I guess he has a point.

I decide to stay silent after that, and he plays with my hair while we listen to the music flowing from his phone. He hums along to the music and it relaxes me, enough that I'm being lulled to sleep.

I'm not sure if I fall asleep or not. The next thing I know, Ashton is gently shaking my side, letting me know it's dinner. I must have fallen asleep, because it was 2:30 before, whereas now it is 6:30. I shove the sleep from my eyes and stretch, forgetting about the stitches on my thighs momentarily, only to feel the tugging from the stretch on them.

Oh yeah, I think to myself, I'm still suffering. I wish I could stay asleep forever.

Then I remember the reason I was woken up and I really wish I could stay asleep forever.

Dinner is oatmeal and fruit, surprisingly. The rest of the boys are having tacos.

"Why a different meal for me?" I ask, shocked.

"We thought there'd be a bigger chance of you eating foods that were safe foods to you. So, we made a list of your safe foods, went shopping while you were napping, and will be making them for you until treatment starts," Calum says, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

And it means everything to me that they've thought of this. It does make it a little easier to eat foods that I know I can tolerate. So I slowly start to eat the oatmeal. It's more than I've ate in a while, what I do finish that is. I attempt to finish the fruit, but I'm unable to. The only reason I've ate this much at all is because I have the support of these three boys.

After deciding I can't finish, I push the food away from me. They cheer... cheer? Why are they cheering?

"Mate, you almost finished! Super proud of you tonight! You did an amazing job," Michael says, patting me on the back. I can feel the food sitting in my stomach like a rock.

"Yeah man, you did so well!" Calum says. Their praise makes it easier to keep down the food - I don't feel completely guilty and disgusting about eating. Ashton comes over and hugs me, whispering about how proud of me he is. I don't hug him back, not having the energy to do so, feeling extremely drained from the meal.

"I... uh, I want to go exercise but I guess I'll just... go to bed," I say in all honestly, awkwardly. The boys wish me a good night sleep, but Ashton follows after me.

"Want to sleep in my bed tonight?" He asks me. It makes me feel less alone and also loved, so I accept. I crawl into bed, clothes still on, the exhaustion washing over me. I curl the blankets around me so Ashton can't feel my body in the night, and snuggle into the covers. Ashton lays down next to me, not in his pyjamas either. He's currently playing on his phone, probably because it's only 7:30pm. I drift my eyes closed slowly as he starts rubbing comforting motions into my back.