THINNER
by
Antigone
Chapter 23
The Chapters
Frank
walked into the men’s room, bent over the sink, filled his hands with
water, and splashed his face, then rested his palms flat on the porcelain
and tried to catch his breath. He was furious with himself, first of all
for letting it get this far, and second for not being able to control
himself enough to hear out everything the doctor might say.
It’s words, that’s all Hardy,
just names for the behavior your brother’s been exhibiting what you
can’t handle that? You can’t handle the fact that you’ve been in
just as much denial as Joe, that you’ve been weak in trying to help
him, that you should have had the sense to check on him after meals? That
if Callie hadn’t been there you wouldn’t even have thought to check
on him? That the person you love the most is killing himself and it’s
all your—
“Easy son,” his father’s voice came from behind him, and
Frank came back to awareness realizing he was on his knees before the
sink fighting for breath, terror suddenly seizing his lungs and
threatening to send bile into his throat. “Relax. Frank, relax. It’s
all right.” Fenton’s hands were on his shoulders, rubbing slowly, and
Frank sucked in a deep breath and stood up, composing himself.
“I’m all right,” he murmured, “I’m all right now. Sorry.
I’m a little…I don’t know…shaky. Freaked out.”
Fenton nodded and patted his son’s back. “Delayed reaction.”
“Do you have to put a label on everything?” Frank shot,
shaking off his father’s hand. “Why do we have to classify it all,
huh? To make it neater, prettier, able to fit the psychology charts? Is
that why we have to give Joe these names? So they have something to
circle on the admittance chart? Does anyone even care that he’s a
person, who needs to be with people who care about him, not some hospital
where they’ll force feed him fat and pills and say it’s all fine?”
Fenton set his jaw and ran a hand through his hair. “Frank,”
he said calmly, “I know you’re upset. And if I know you at all
you’re angry at yourself for not doing more—“ he glanced over, saw
his son flinch, “and if you want to yell and scream at me that’s
fine, if it’ll help you. But don’t act like your mother and I don’t
care about him just as much as you do, or that we don’t want the best
for him. We want both, you know that.”
Frank’s shoulders slumped; he sighed and crossed his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m…you’re right. Blaming
myself. Which I should! Dad, I’ve known there was a problem
longer than anyone, and somehow I just let it go!”
“So you’ve done nothing?” Fenton almost snapped. “You’ve
said nothing, you’ve never confronted him, you’ve never asked him
about nutrition, you’ve never gotten angry or tried to show him how he
was wrong, you’ve never gone to talk to the Coach, you’ve never told
us anything about his pills or walking or wrestling? Is that right?”
Frank sighed, recognizing the all-to-familiar logic he’d seemed
to have inherited from his father. “No. But—“
“But what? What could you have done that your mother and I
didn’t? Forced him to eat? We did that. Stopped him from wrestling and
exercising? We did that too. Gone and picked up psychology books?
That’s what your mother and I were doing when we went out tonight. Yes,
we should have checked on him after meals. Maybe we should have forced
him into therapy already. But Frank, you and I both know that Joe was
born stubborn, and this disease makes him all the more so. He’s
seventeen, son. We can’t baby him. He’s made his own choices, and
he’ll have to face their consequences.”
The elder Hardy boy looked away, wondering how it was possible
that only a few hours ago he was going to watch a movie with his
girlfriend and try to put all this out of his head. How could he, when
his brother never did, when his brother never could, when he was
so sick and obviously caught up in such self-hatred that he’d force his
body to go hungry, to push itself to the end of its endurance, to give up
the food it needed to stay healthy?
I should call Callie, he thought, sighing. She’d wanted
to come with him, but he’d asked her not simply because he wanted to be
alone, needed that time to himself before his parents arrived at the
Emergency Room. In truth he’d also believed that he needed to be
punished with solitude for trying to use her to forget about his brother
for awhile, while Joe was upstairs vomiting blood and blacking out on the
bathroom tile.
“Dad…” Frank trailed off, not knowing how to tell his
father, or anyone for that matter, the swirl of emotions going on inside
him. Only Joe would know, would understand, would know what to say, would
be able to help him sort through them.
But Joe…
Fenton put an arm around his son’s shoulders and squeezed, hard.
“I know son,” he murmured. “Come on, let’s get back and see what
your mother has to say.”
Frank nodded, new determination seeping in to him with the warmth
from his father’s arm.
I’ve never let anything separate us before, brother, he
thought to himself, and I won’t let this
either. I won’t lose you.
And if you do? Frank
asked himself, if this is the one fight
you’re sure to lose?
The
elder Hardy boy walked straighter as he approached his mother, feeling
the grip on his emotions tightening.
Then I’ll do whatever it takes to follow him, he answered
himself.
Let the author know what you think of this story
Home Library Authors Rogue's Gallery Vehicles Chums Message Board Rap Sheet Links Contact
Disclaimer
The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.