Trigger Warning: Eating disorder, depression, suicide

Keeping to their word, Andy's parents came to the hospital every day, despite his comments about how he hated them each time they told him he couldn't go home yet. They both knew better than to believe him, and knew that beneath the sheet of rude comments and begging, he was just scared and full of regret. 

The hardest thing for them to accept was that the regret he had was not for starving himself, but for allowing anybody to know that he was starving himself. How they were going to bring him into a healthier mindset, they hadn't a clue, and every day they would remind eachother that above all, he just needed them to be there. 

When they arrived today, they arrived to the scene of their with an open book in his hands and a hard glare on his face, as though he were trying to murder the words and the characters on the page. "Afternoon, honey," Amy said, and Andy looked at her with disapproval. 

"Unless you're here to take me home, shut up." 

"Honey, you know we can't take you home right now." 

"Then shut up." 

"What have you done today?" Asked Chris. 

Andy shut the book aggressively. "Run a marathon and been to the moon, what the fuck do you think I've done? Dick." 

"Andy, what's the matter?" 

"What's the matter? Oh, what's the matter? Hmm, I wonder. I wonder what the fucking matter is?" 

"We know you don't want to be here, and we don't want you to be here either, but you're sick and taking you home now would be stupid." 

Discarding the book on the table, Andy folded his arms. He was wearing a tee-shirt with the batman logo on the front and it looked three sizes too big. "I'm not sick," he said. "I keep telling you. I'm not sick. Alright? I'm not." 

"Really?" 

"Yes, really." 

Chris hummed, sat in one of the chairs. "Son," he started, leaning towards the bed and touching Andy's forearm, which was pulled away quickly. "You don't need to be ashamed about it. It's not your fault, you can't help it. You have a disease, it's out of your control." 

"Yes, well that's great, but it's not fucking true. I'm not sick, I'm not ill, I don't have a disease. Seriously, there's nothing wrong with me. I don't understand why you have to keep me trapped in here like I'm dying." 

"There's still a risk of that happening and you know it." 

"Fucking no there isn't! There isn't!" 

"Andy-" 

"I'm not fucking sick, alright! I'm not!" 

"Would you like a bar of chocolate, then?" 

Eyes narrowing to a slit, Andy stared at his father, spat, "Fuck you," and turned his head to look at the wall opposite, jaw clenched. 

No one spoke for a few moments, but then Amy dared to say, "We're not trying to upset you, darling. We just want you be okay." 

Andy let out a sharp laugh. 

The door opened and a nurse busied himself with various tasks around the room. The three were silent, Andy so angry that his heart was racing. He didn't move his head, didn't cast a glance at either of his parents, and when the nurse asked for his arm to take his blood pressure, he complied without speaking, though had to shake his head to the question of whether he'd been feeling lightheaded at all. 

After the nurse was gone, Andy brought his legs into his chest and finally cast his eyes on his mother. Tensely, he said, "I am okay." Noticing her glancing over his head at Chris, he exclaimed, "This is a joke," and yanked the hinged table towards himself, opened the book on it, and made a point of reading it, though really, he couldn't comprehend anything that was written on the page. 

"Talk to us, honey," Amy tried now. "If there's something you're angry about, we want to know, so tell us." 

Andy continue pretending to read. 

Chris glanced in his wife's direction. 

"It's okay to be angry that you're here, you know." 

Andy turned the page loudly. 

"Honey, please," Amy continued trying. "I don't want to leave knowing you're upset with us. Talk to us." 

"Got nothing to say," he mumbled dismissively.

Chris put a hand on his shoulder and received a hard glare.  

"Will you get off me?" With an eventual sigh, he closed the book again. "Look," he said. "You can visit me all you like, it won't change the fact that I'm not sick and I don't need to be here." 

"Darling, you are sick. You're so sick." 

"No. You're wrong. You're fucking wrong." 

"You haven't eaten for months, Andy. You can't. You have anorexia and you need help. But you don't need to be ashamed about it. We're not. We're just so, so worried. Because you're our son and we love you and we want everything to be okay for you." 

Andy shook his head. "I had anorexia. But like I keep fucking telling you, I'm better now. Why won't you believe me? Why won't you listen for once. Just fucking listen." 

Chris, too, shook his head. "You're not better." 

"Yes. I am. Fuck you, I'm fucking better!" 

"Andy, sweetheart, " Amy started in a soft voice that made him involuntarily feel like a child. "You have to accept that you're just not capable of looking after yourself right now. You spent months starving yourself almost to death. You've been in hospital once before and as soon as you left, you went straight back to starving yourself. You're not well, emotionally or physically, and you need help. That's why you're here, and that's why we're not letting you leave. Because you need help. You're so ill, sweetheart. You're so ill." 

Hanging on to his glare, Andy blinked and blinked again. He brought his hands into his lap and looked down at them. All he seemed to see was the fat in them that he had to get rid of, wished he could grab it like a string and pull it from inside him in a long bloody mess of calories he didn't want, didn't need. 

Amy glanced over at Chris, but he was watching their son with concentration and great sadness. "You're just so ill," she repeated. 

Andy finally turned his head to see her, and straight away, her eyes filled with tears at the sight of him so determined to be okay and yet so far from it that even a blind person wouldn't have fallen for his lies. "I'm fine," he whispered.

Shaking her head, she stood, sat on the edge of the bed, took him in her arms. "No, baby," she whispered. "You're so unwell, you're allowed not to be fine." 

Abandoning his fight, Andy sunk into her arms and closed his eyes. "I wanna die so bad," he told her. "I can't live anymore, I don't wanna be like this." 

"I know, baby. I know. Everything is really hard, but you're doing so good. You know, everyone is so proud of you. We all just want you to be okay, and if we don't make you stay here, you're not going to be okay. But it's alright to need help, and it's alright to wanna give up. That's why you're here, darling, so that you can be safe. If all you can do is just to make it through the day, then that's okay. You just need to let us, and the doctors, help you. There's never anything wrong with needing help."