FicWad

Everyone sat around me in the hospital, staring, hoping. Hoping that I would live, and be magically cured of this curse. Because that's what anorexia is. People argue over whether anorexia is a lifestyle or a disease. They're both wrong, it's a curse.
"Rosie? Why are you in hospital?" my little brother asked, tears forming in his eyes. He was four years old.
"Because I'm out of control, Georgie. I'm not well. I might have to go away," I whispered, wondering why on Earth any thirteen year old would have to tell her four year old brother that she was dying.
"Where will you have to go?" he asked.
"I don't know. I hope it's somewhere nice," I said with a reassuring smile.
I was terrified. I was dying, and here I was, discussing it with my little brother. I was thirteen, too young to die. Far too young. Too young to even be trying to lose weight. Too young to have all this pain thrust upon me. Too young.

"Will we ever see you again?" he continued.
"Maybe eventually," I told him.
"George, why don't you go with Jake to the play room?" our mother intervened.

Jake, my older brother would have normally protested and forced me to take him, but given the circumstances, he stood up glassy eyed and took George's hand.
He bent down and gave me a kiss on the forehead, and I felt a tear splatter onto my face.

"Stay with us, little sister," he whispered.
Georgie gave me a hug and said, "If you get well soon, I'll let you watch Doctor Who whenever you want, even though it's scary."
"You don't have to do that, George. You can watch Spongebob all you want," I said fondly. I loved him so much.
"Let's go, Georgie," Jake said, choking back tears.

When they left, I turned to my mother and looked her in the eyes. "Look after them when I'm gone. Don't tell George I'm dead, and make sure Jake takes him out every Saturday. Don't let them fall behind in school. Please don't ruin your lives because of me."
She nodded, and looked like she was struggling to find gentle enough words. Suddenly she burst out, "I can't lose you too Rosie! Why did you do this?"
"Do you think I chose it? Mum, look at me. Do you think I'll be able to make it through the night?"

She stared at me. My stomach caved in and my ribs looked sharp enough to draw blood. My hips bones looked like they were about to burst through my skin. My knees were thicker than the rest of my legs and I had a 'thigh gap' about fifteen centimetres wide.

"No," she whispered. "It's my fault, isn't it? I shouldn't said all the things I did. I should have been a better mother."
"No mum, I should have been a better daughter."
"It's because of me you feel that way. I'm so sorry. I killed you. I killed my own daughter!" she buried her head in her hands, and started crying uncontrollably.
"Mum, please. Don't blame yourself, it's not your fault. It's my fault. I should have tried, I should have held on. I didn't see what I was doing to you, and to George and Jake. It's too late now. I would do anything to go back, but it's too late. My time is up. Don't blame it on yourself," I said, willing myself not to cry. "I'll be dead in the morning. Oh my god. I'll be dead in the morning!"

I couldn't hold the tears any longer. They burst from my eyes, and rained down my emaciated, pale face. We held each other and cried, mum and I. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do. Maybe a few tearful, 'I love you's and careful, painful hugs.
My brothers came back some time later, and I smiled and the sight of them, hand in hand, finding comfort in the knowledge that my death would bring my family closer together, rather than rip it into pieces, like I did to all the anorexia recovery leaflets my mum gave me.
Jake sat on my left, mum on my left. George curled up next to me. It felt nice, peaceful. Here I had what I longed for all my life, my family sitting in the same room, with no shouting, and no arguments. Excluding my father of course.

When my heart rate dropped and my breathing slowed, the nurses ran in and told my family to leave.
"Rosie? Rosie what are they doing? What's going on?" George asked, terror and tears in his eyes.
"I love you," I tried to say, but nothing came out. The nurses were bustling around, and Jake broke down. Mum started wailing and George started trying to get back onto the bed with me.
"Let him lie with me!" I tried to say, but yet again, no words came out. Jake scooped the distraught toddler up into his arms, taking the kicks and blows from the frightened little boy.
"Rosie! Rosie what's going on? Rosie!"
The nurses were still bustling around, and the commotion could probably be heard a mile away.
My little brother was wailing and screaming, my older brother holding him and looking lost, my mother sobbing and trying to find a way to get to me.
And there it was. It came out. "I love you." And then I died.