TW: Eating disorder/depression

If it wasn't a nervous breakdown before, there was no doubt in me that it was after the failed lunch with my parents. 

I had modelling jobs scheduled but even if I wanted to go, I was much too tired to face them. I turned off my phone so I didn't have to see the angry emails and messages asking where the hell I was and for two days, I let the chain continue to drag me further into the tunnel. 

I ate very little. Partly because the effort of deciding what to have was too much but mainly because I didn't care anymore about what I was doing. It was easier to starve than it was to try and recover. 

When the doorbell rang one rainy evening, I was sure it'd be my parents come to insist I was being rude for abandoning them at Zeff's, but when I looked out through the living room window which had a view of the front porch, it was Ambrose who stood there. His car was parked neatly beside mine in the driveway and he was wearing a shimmering leather jacket. I considered not answering but then he rang the bell again and the thought of him caring enough to come encouraged me to leave the living room and open the door. 

It was clear by the way his expression shifted that I didn't look well.

I didn't know what to say or whether I needed to say anything, so I stayed quiet, one hand holding the door open, watched the rain come down behind him. 

"Hey," he begun. "I'm sorry to come round uninvited. Uh, I just-I haven't heard from you for a few days and wanted to check you're okay?" What he didn't say but could have was, clearly, you're not. 

I swallowed. Tears were almost constant. "Oh," I said weakly. "That's...that's very nice of you." I stepped to the side. "Come in," I offered, and let the door slam behind him. 

Ambrose took off his jacket and hung it on a peg, turned towards me, must have noticed my wet eyes because he took me in his arms. 

Trying not to cry was pointless. I pressed my eyes closed and took a heavy breath. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry. You're - you don't need to waste your time like this, I-" 

"Hey, no," he interrupted. "Don't you think like that. You're not a waste of mine or anybody's time. It's okay. I'm here because I want to be. Shh, it's alright. Don't be sorry. Don't be sorry. Talk to me. Is it getting worse?" 

I blinked until I could at least partially see through the fuzziness, found his eyes with mine. 

He lifted a hand to my face, stroked my cheekbone with his thumb, tilted his head. "What's going on?" He asked. "You said it went well with your parents?" 

Closing my eyes again, I dropped my head forwards. 

"It didn't? Oh, honey, why didn't you say?" 

I shook my head. "It's not - I - I don't wanna - I don't wanna be unfair on - on you - I -" 

"Sorry, what? Unfair on me? No, no, no, my love, never. The only person this is unfair on is you. You don't deserve this." Lifting my head up with his fingers under my jaw, Ambrose made me look at him. "Listen to me. What you're dealing with is horrible and no one should make you think it's unfair of you to need help. It's not. Okay? It's not." 

"Okay," I mumbled, though I wasn't sure I believed him. I could feel tears running down my cheeks. 

Ambrose wiped them away with his fingers. "Come and sit down," he suggested. "We can talk, if you want? You tell me what you need and we'll do it." 

Quietly, I let him walk me into the living room, sat on the nearest couch and pulled my legs up. I said nothing as he sat beside me and started running fingers through my hair. 

"What happened with your parents?" 

I shook my head. I wanted to sleep.

"Are you eating?" 

I brought my hands to my face, started again to cry. 

"Oh, honey." Ambrose turned sideways on the sofa and pulled me into his chest. "It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna help you. You're gonna be fine. Let yourself cry, it's okay. I got you." 

His tenderness made my heart ache and I leaned into him, listened to his steady breaths until I could match them. "I don't - I don't know what to do anymore," I stuttered. 

"I know. It's okay. We'll figure it out." Arms around me so that I was part of him. 

I took in a long, slow breath. 

"Can we have some dinner together?" He asked. 

I nodded. 

"How about we order in?" 

Again, I nodded. I didn't care anymore. If he was willing to help me, I was willing to give up the control. I just needed him to stay. I didn't care about anything else at that moment. 

With me against his chest, Ambrose ordered from his phone to my address, stroked my hair while we waited for it to arrive. I was close to sleep but the hunger was keeping me awake. My entire body ached with it. 

When the doorbell rang, I sat up so Ambrose could stand, leant forward with my head in my hands until he returned with the bag. He disappeared into the kitchen to find cutlery and plates, pulled the coffee table towards the couch once he had found everything. I let him distribute what was in the containers onto both plates and took the one he handed to me, my hand catching his when he passed me a fork. 

I looked at him and couldn't look away; I had never felt such adoration for a person before.

One hand keeping my plate secure and the other lifting to his shoulder, fork balanced between two fingers, I kissed him. He kissed me back almost immediately, and when we broke apart, he was smiling.

"Okay?" He asked softly. 

I nodded. I said, "Sorry, that was out of nowhere." 

"No it wasn't," Ambrose said, chuckled. "I was gonna do it if you didn't." 

"Oh, well, then you're welcome." I looked at my food. Chinese noodles and spring rolls. I swirled my fork in the noodles. "Thanks," I said. "For checking on me. You don't know how much I needed it." 

"Anytime, hon. I'm glad I can help." 

"Will you eat first? I don't - I can't eat if someone else isn't eating first." 

"Of course." 

The noodles were like heaven in my mouth, but maybe that was because I was starving. I did what I could to ignore the creeping shame, talked to Ambrose about his sister, who was currently embarking on an online course about, "talking to ghosts." Ambrose's words. 

"Talking to ghosts?" I echoed. "Like, Ouija boards?" 

"No, like, talking to ghosts. Like, going into a 'haunted' room and just...talking." 

I raised an eyebrow. "Interesting." 

"I'm not sure that's the word I'd use." 

I finished what was on my plate and unsurprisingly was still incredibly hungry. 

Ambrose said, "There's more. Here, if you want it." And handed me the half-full container of noodles, which I took uncertainly. "It's okay," he assured. "I'm having the rest of the rice."

Tipping the contents of the box onto my plate, I said, "Will you stay tonight, please? I need to sleep in a bed with someone. Ideally you." 

"Of course." 

"Thanks." 

"I can't believe I've never been in your house before." 

"Is it everything you hoped for?" 

"Oh, absolutely." 

"I haven't done any sort of cleaning for at least a week so ignore that." 

"Don't worry about it. I'll help you tidy up tomorrow. But it's really not that bad, you know. How're you feeling now?" 

I shrugged. "Food helped." 

"Good." 

"Probably won't be in an hour, but for now I'm okay. Less hysterical. Still definitely not stable." 

He hummed. 

"I definitely needed you to be here so thanks." 

"I'll be here as long as you need me to be." 

"Are you sure-" 

"Yes." 

"You didn't let me finish." 

"The answer is yes."

I smiled and shook my head. 

"You're so cute, you know that?" 

"Shush right now." 

He chuckled. "Oh, but it's true though," he whined, drawing out the words. 

I lifted my fork to my mouth, started to laugh when he knocked his plate with his elbow and sent a small amount of rice into his lap. 

"Oh, fuck," Ambrose muttered, laughing. "This is why no one asks me out to posh restaurants." 

Fighting laughter, I said, "I'll go with you to a posh restaurant. I'll even wear a tux." 

"I can't imagine you wearing a tux." 

"Well, neither can I." 

"Do you even own one?" 

"Nope." Laughter starting up again so that I had to lower my fork and cover my mouth. Ambrose held his plate with both hands to avoid making further mess. I hadn't laughed like that in a long time. It felt good. 

I'm not sure who leant in first, but we were kissing again, still giggly, and after, we finished the food and found a pack of cards on my bookcase to play a game of Spit which ended in hysterics (the good kind). 

I don't know how he did it, but Ambrose had successfully managed to keep my mind off what I had eaten for the entire evening. Nothing I said or did could have been enough of an appreciation for him that night.