Growing up (Get Scared- continued)

Johnny, You're an Idiot

Johnny's pov. 

I get home after a really long and awkward walk with Nicholas. There was absolutely no conversation between us. We didn't even look at each other. It was just a silent, dreadful walk. I could almost feel the anger radiating off of him. He walked quickly to the beat of heavy metal, passed off and fast. I was honestly terrified he would pass out again. 

I've been in my room with a notebook in front of me and a guitar in my arms. My left hand forms words before I can fully understand what they mean. 

"On and on again, you've fallen down your rabbit hole.

It almost seems you jumped in at will, so

Can't you see with your glaring eyes

If you don't kill this sickness, it will kill you.

It's only a matter of time before your skin turns blue"

Sheila walks into my room. Her face goes from "I want something from you" to "what's wrong?" in a matter of a seconds. 

"What'd you do now?" she asks.

"Nick wasn't eating so I forced him to eat, and now he's pissed off at me, which I DON'T get why. I'm trying to keep him ALIVE!" I vent out, "I don't get why he can't just eat."

Sheila gets closer to me, now looking disappointed in me. "Johnny, you can't just force someone with anorexia to eat like that."

"Well, how else do you make them eat?!" I'm making myself irritable and short tempered with this.

"You give them patience and compassion," she answers, "forcing them to eat isn't going to solve anything, because once they're out of your sight, they're gonna go right back to starving themselves." I lay back on my bed as I hug my guitar, frustrated. "You hate it when people tell you to just be happy, right?"

"Yeah, 'cause depression doesn't just magically go away!"

Her voice becomes soft, "and neither does anorexia. It's a mental disorder, just like depression and anxiety. He can't really help it."

I start to understand everything. Now I feel like a total dick. "I didn't think of it like that."

"Yeah, I can tell, you fucking idiot," Sheila laughs. 

"How do you know so much about all this?"

"Well if you weren't always locked up in your room, you would've realized that I was anorexic 2 years ago."

Oh fuck. "I'm.. I'm sorry, Sheila."

"It's okay, I am fully weight restored and recovered now," she says, "tell Nick that if he ever needs someone to talk to about this, he can come to me. 'Cause I understand. Better than you do, stupid ass bitch."

"Okay, okay I get it, I'm ignorant and stupid."

We both laugh and she hits my arm.

Lloyd's pov.

Breaking the fourth wall, I realize I've been neglected by the author. It's okay, though, it's given me time to myself to really wrap my head around everything that has been going on with everything. 

Nick's eating disorder and suicidal thoughts.

Johnny's semi-dysfunctional family.

My slight bit of jealousy and desperate need to want to solve their problems. Wanting to be the hero of everyone's tragic fairytale, has lead me to be more like the damsel in distress. I'm always emotionally exhausted and physically weak. I've been spending more and more time alone in my room that was progressively gotten messier and messier. Not to mention all I've been doing is watching Spongebob for hours at a time. 

I think I'm okay now. Fully recharged and ready to take on the world. Or as much as I can healthily handle at a time. 

Guess, I'll go bother Nick.

When I get to his house, he opens the door, looking like he wants to kill me and throw my body in a river. 

"What's with you?" I ask.

He looks behind his shoulders, as to make sure no one is listening or watching. Then after a few moments of inspecting the surrounding area, he says looks back at me and says nothing.

Maybe he lost his voice.

"So, what? You're not gonna say anything?" I question.

He shrugs then, finally speaking mumbles with a low and raspy voice,  "I'm not really in the mood for people right now." 

That's odd. Usually he either fakes feeling happy, or doesn't express that fact that he'd rather just be alone. His hair looks messy, there's circles under his eyes, his eyes are half closed and his face is slightly more pale than usual.

"What's wrong?"

"Things just happened and I really don't want to talk about it." Expressionless for a few moments, then he wincess, reaching towards his stomach, but then forcing his hand down.

"Okay, does that mean you want me to go?" I ask, kinda hoping he'll say no, but not expecting him to.

Nick nods his head. "Sorry, I just... I.. Need to be alone."

"Okay, I'll respect that, but if you ever of wanna talk, you know where I am."

"Thank you." Nick closes the door. I don't move for about 30 seconds. 

Nick's pov.

I lay back on my bed. I've taken medicine for stomach pains and cramps, drank tea, and placed a heating pad over my stomach, but it keeps hurting in waves.

There was blood. That's never happened before. There has never been blood in what I've thrown up. 

I'm ruining my esophagus. How am I gonna be able to sing with worn out and torn vocal chords? I fucked up. I fucked everything up. 

Was it really worth it? Putting my dreams, ambitions and goals at risk, all for what, to be at a deadly light weight. 

It's sad that there's still a twisted side of me that finds pleasure in feeling like this. Empty. Tired. Dizzy and sick. I'm an addict. I'll admit it.

I'm pathetic. 

I got pissed off at Johnny for trying to help, but to be fair, he did have a very aggressive way in handling the situation. I don't really appreciate being forced fed in such a manner. It was embarrassing.

The stomach pain finally subsides after a while and I can finally stand up and walk around. Not that I want to walk around, but at least I can get to the kitchen without almost collapsing.

As big of a fuss I made about not wanting to eat, I got myself a snack from the pantry. 

Hopefully this won't hurt. Hopefully, I won't regret eating a poptart.

I sit at the table, tear the package open and just stare at the strawberry poptarts. My heart starts to race and my stomach turns inside out. With shaky hands, I bring the poptart towards my mouth and take a bite. As I start to chew it, tears well up in my eyes, but I swallow and take another bite anyways.

I can't believe I'm crying over a poptart.