TW: Eating disorder

While I wait in the car, I consider what he's doing, why he couldn't do whatever it is when I get home. The only thing I can think of is that he's moving out. The idea makes me feel sick. Everything makes me feel fucking sick.

I also consider driving home anyway, avoiding him just to avoid the potential heartbreak. Like, if he can't find me, he can't hurt me. But that's a child's way of thinking, and besides, running can only get me so far. And in my state - having barely slept or eaten in the past twenty four hours - doing something as anxiety inducing as avoiding my boyfriend would only make things worse. 

Though it seems everything is making it worse. 

As the evening drags on, the carpark empties out until only a few vehicles are left, no doubt the cleaners hoovering the floor and pouring bleach into the toilets. 

It should take Noah about forty minutes to get here, providing there's no traffic. It makes no sense why he would rather drive out here and then all the way back when I could have gotten home by now. 

My stomach won't shut up. I wish that the excessive hunger would have caused it to quit. But for fuck's sake, it never fucking stops. 

 I watch the light fade as the sun sets behind the building, my eyes desperate to close. I let them, leaning against the window and trying not to fall asleep. 

I don't open my eyes until the passenger door opens and sends a gust of cold, wet air into the car. Without a word, Noah sits and pulls the door closed. His hair is stuck to his head and his jacket shines with water. I look away because I can't stand the tension between us.

"Andy," he says finally.

When I don't meet his gaze, he repeats my name. I turn my head towards him. He's frowning.

"What's going on?" He asks.

I don't know what to say, what he wants me to say, so I stay quiet.

"You're not...you're not being yourself, Andy. What's going on?"

"Not being myself?" I echo dumbly, as though I don't agree. As though I haven't been thinking that for the past month. 

He pushes his hair back from his forehead. "Look. Jinxx texted me. He said you've been off today and they're worried."

"So you came here to lecture me," I mutter. 

"No, not lecture. Andy, Jesus. Why do you do that? Why do you make everything sound negative all the time?"

 What the fuck do I even say to that?

"I'm not trying to lecture you. I'm trying to work out what's wrong because I love you and I care."

"If you wanna leave, just...do it."

"What are you talking about? I'm not leaving you. You think I'm gonna break up with you over a small argument? Andy, come on."

I look out of the window so I don't have to look at him, so he can't see my face.

"Andy," he says. "Seriously, what's going on with you?"

I swallow. My head throbs so badly that it's making my eyes teary again. There isn't anything I can say to his question because it all sounds so stupid.

"You have to talk to me," he tries.

How do you talk when what you need to say is beyond words?

"Please," Noah goes on. "Clearly something's wrong."

"Fuck off," I mumble. 

"You've been avoiding me like the fucking plague, Andy, and I thought it was just me, but then your band tell me you've been acting weird around them, too. Like, distant, they said. And, look, I know you don't like admitting when something's wrong, but how long are you going to do this before you tell me what's going on? Because it's helping neither of us." 

"You drove all the way here," I mumble. "To tell me off." 

"For fuck's sake, Andy." 

"You're literally having a go at me." 

"No, I'm not. I'm trying to get to the bottom of what's making you act like this." 

"Act like what?" I snap. I don't know why I'm so defensive when I want him to know, but I seem too far in to stop now. 

"You know what." 

"I don't understand why you came here just to yell at me." 

Noah sighs and is quiet for a moment. "I came here because Jinxx said you seemed way too tired to drive." 

"So now I'm incapable." 

"Andy, stop it." 

"I can drive just fine." 

"You were literally falling asleep when I got here." 

"No I wasn't, fuck you." 

"Can you please just be honest for one minute?" 

I can't look at him.

"Seriously, what the hell is going on?" 

"Why does something have to be going on? Maybe I'm just sick of being told off!" 

"I'm not telling you off, I - Jesus, Andy, are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." 

"You've gone whiter than a sheet of paper." 

"I'm fine," I repeat pointlessly. My body suddenly feels very hot and fuzzy, my head heavy. 

Noah grabs my chin to make me look at him and I pull away violently for no reason other than that I don't know how to let him see what's wrong. I open the door and get out, attacked by rain and an overwhelming dizziness that makes me feel like I might vomit my lungs out. 

"Shit," I hear vaguely through the hammering of rain and the rushing of the blood in my head. 

I press my hand to the curve of the car, where door meets roof. The metal is cold against my palm, and then it's gone, and for a few moments, all I can hear is a loud fuzz as though I'm under a trainline. 

When everything comes back to me, I realise I'm almost on the tarmac of the carpark, the only thing between me and the hard ground being Noah's arms.

He's looking at me with undeniable worry. There's no way he hasn't figured out what's going on now. He's not stupid.

I blink hard. My entire body feels slightly numb, like it doesn't belong to me.

With a hand between my shoulder blades, Noah keeps me from falling back against the ground.

I can't stop panting.

"Alright," he says calmly. "Okay. You're okay. I've got you. Breathe."

I stare at him, my heart running away with my breath.

"Andy, breathe. You're okay."

"Fucking get off me," I splutter, trying to stand but losing balance and ending up falling back into him so that he barely manages to stabilise himself and catch me before hitting the ground. 

"Jesus Christ," he says, exasperated. "Andy, stop. Calm down. You're gonna hurt yourself." 

"No, I'm...I'm fine," I insist, and it's such a stupid, obvious lie that I don't even know why I say it. I just don't have a clue how to accept that now I have to stop starving myself. That now I have to let go of the coping mechanism again. And it should be easy, because it hasn't done anything but make me miserable and lonely. 

And yet I can't. 

"You are not fine," he tells me decisively. "You're clearly not fine." 

"Yes I am. Get off." 

"Andy, you just collapsed." 

"No, I just slipped. It's wet-" 

"Bullshit. Stop lying. It's useless. You're clearly not fine." 

"Stop saying that." Again, I attempt to stand, this time remaining upright. 

"Are you going to be like this all night? You're seriously not going to admit something being wrong?"

"There is nothing wrong, you fucking genius!" 

"Alright, fine. Then will you get back in the car so we can go home?" 

Silently, I comply, not asking what he's going to do when he wakes up tomorrow and his car is outside my bands' studio and not our house. 

Noah says as he's driving, "You're relapsing, aren't you?" 

I stare straight ahead and give no response.