THINNER
by
Antigone
Chapter 31
The Chapters
The next two weeks were slow, painful, but Joe
carried on along an undercurrent of grim triumph as his doctors,
counselors, nutritionist and therapist, slowly gave up.
First there was the family session. Joe refused to
speak to anyone during it, refused to respond to questions about his
outburst, the skipped meals, his feelings about being there. His mother
and father had been firm that the only way he was getting off the ward
was to respond to treatment: and to them. Frank had seemed confused at
first, getting more so as Joe’s intention to stay silent continued, but
slowly that confusion had receded to fear.
“Joe,” he’d pleaded, interrupting his
therapist’s speech about denial, “please, brother, just say something.”
But Joe stayed silent: through the group sessions,
through his individual therapy, through the family sessions, through his
nutrition and psychiatric appointments. At meals he refused all food, and
when he did allow himself to eat he’d pick the lock on the faculty
bathroom, sneak inside, and vomit it all up.
By the end of the week he’d been dropped from
Level Three to Level Two—partial bedrest—and by the end of the
weekend he was on Level One—full bedrest. He’d lost ten pounds in
that week, the most he’d lost so far, and despite the pleadings of the
counselors, his family, the girls on the ward, and Jamie, Joe was
unwavering in his desire to get off the ward, anyway possible.
He was no longer allowed to participate in group
sessions, nor walk to meals or his appointments. All was brought to him,
meals he refused supplements he wouldn’t touch therapists he wouldn’t
speak to doctors who brought him for weights and vitals at five a.m.
before the others woke to get their own measured.
On Sunday, visiting day, Frank arrived alone. He
obviously hadn’t been sleeping and was beginning to look more slender
himself. He sat on the edge of his brother’s bed, took Joe’s hand in
his own, and spoke quietly about their Aunt, who had arrived to help run
the house, and Vanessa, who was half-sick with worry and calling almost
non-stop, and Callie, who was trying to organize their friends to make
cards and such.
“Everyone’s worried,” he said, his eyes
filling slowly. “But Joe, I’m terrified.”
The younger Hardy had felt terribly guilty, sat up
and embraced his brother and apologized softly, the two holding each
other, talking little, throughout the next two hours, until Frank was
ordered to leave so that Joe could have lunch, a lunch he hadn’t
touched.
How could he have known that Frank, six stories
below, had walked out the hospital doors, made it to the car, only to
break down and sob in the front seat of the van they’d once shared?
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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.