The next day at lunch Taylor and I still hadn't spoken with each other. By the time we stopped the bleeding we were late getting on the stage. We got on the stage and didn't interact at all. After the show we went to the hotel and immediately went to bed, and then managed to avoid each other. Eventually one of us was going to have to say something and I knew it wasn't going to be him. He was too bullheaded for that, but I decided to keep waiting for an apology. I shouldn't have to apologize; he hit me first.
Not surprisingly, last night wasn't exactly the best show we'd done. Isaac was thinking about Rose and the baby, as he had been lately, and that hadn't been bothering anything but he told our parents and couldn't stop thinking about it during the show. Since Taylor and I fought there was tension between the two of us so all in all we didn't put everything we had into the music, which was stupid. We weren't supposed to let anything affect the music because it's what we were in this for. The whole reason I never told my brothers I wanted to quit was because of being on stage. I was as nervous as hell before the show and I never wanted to go on, but once I was up there I was happy. If we were going to start to affect live performing with our problems offstage, I didn't want to do music anymore.
Right after we ate lunch at a little eatery outside the next town, Taylor excused himself to go to the bathroom. He'd been doing that a lot over the past week. He would eat a ton of food then get up and go to the bathroom. I didn't think it was anything weird but I decided to follow him. He's followed me before--it was the only logical explanation for him knowing about the lighter in my pocket--so it was only fair to follow him in return. I left the table a few minutes after he did and walked to the bathroom. I stood outside the door; it sounded like someone was throwing up. I looked around; Taylor wasn't in sight. Tapping my thumbs against my jeans, I figured he was the one in the bathroom.
I turned the doorknob and opened the door slightly. He didn't seem to notice as I peered into the room. What I saw disgusted me and I froze. Taylor was not just throwing up. He was making himself throw up. He exuded everything I'd been taught about bulimia before. It fit the exact picture. He had his finger down his throat, bent over and heaving because he wanted to do it. I gently shut the door so he wouldn't hear or see me, and I walked back to the table, shaking.
His plate was completely empty. I tried to remember what he ordered. He ordered a lot, more than usual, and he ate it all. Binging. He was just binging. Then he went into the bathroom and started purging. I put my elbows on the table and let my head fall on my hands. I couldn't believe it. No wonder he hit me after I commented on his weight. He was really bulimic. That was why he looked like he lost weight. He did lose weight. He was going to continue to lose weight.
Taylor came back to the table about five minutes later. I glanced at him. He was so cool about it. No one knew his secret. Everyone around, all of our family, saw him eat; they were fine with it. They knew he was eating so in their minds they didn't worry about him. They had no idea.
He had this quaint sneaky smile on his face. He had them beat. He could continue to do it, waste himself away, and no one would think a thing. Thank God I followed him. I wouldn't have known. I joked about bulimia all the time, saying he was throwing up, but I never actually thought he had it, not for a moment. I always thought Taylor was better than that. If he thought he was getting heavy he'd just stop eating junk food and start exercising more. He did things like that before. He managed his weight the right way before. Why did he think he had to do it like this now? Maybe he needed a quick fix. Lose weight and quick and this was the only way he knew how.
I couldn't help but think it was my fault. I did make a lot of jokes about his weight, but I was always just kidding around. I never actually meant anything by them. When his pants ripped, I only laughed at him and joked about it. I wasn't sure what to do with myself...to know I was the cause of him killing himself. It must have been my fault.
"Can we go now?" Taylor complained. I looked up. The table had pretty much been cleared and the check was already paid. That happened fast. I must have zoned. I had a tendency to do that in deep thought. Without letting anyone answer his question, Taylor stood up and left. I did the same. I didn't want to spend any more time in this place than I had to. It wasn't a bad place--the food was actually pretty good--it was just being in there with Taylor and having just found out what he was doing. It was horrible.
Back on the bus I sat in the front near the door while Taylor stayed in the back so I wouldn't have to look at him. We were still avoiding each other however at the moment I felt very compelled to apologize. I knew why he hit me. He had a secret and I touched on it. He probably thought I knew. I found out but I didn't when we had the fight and he needed to know that I was sorry. Once I discovered where he was coming from, I felt absolutely terrible. I didn't even want to look at him. The name Taylor brought the image of him with his finger down his throat in my mind, and I knew I had to apologize.
I reluctantly got up and walked to the back of the bus. Taylor was alone there. I sat across from Taylor and thought about what I was going to say. If I didn't think about it I'd end up yelling at him or complaining about something or another that I shouldn't be complaining about and we'd end up back at square one.
"You know I didn't mean anything I said last night," I told him. He nodded, not looking up. I knew he was going to make it hard on me. "And I in no way think I'm wrong because you were the one who hit me and you shouldn't have, but I apologize for anything I said that might have offended you."
"Well you're just the everyday saint, now aren't you?"
"Taylor, don't be such a prick. I'm apologizing here and you're not making me want to continue. I'm not trying to be better than you by apologizing but you didn't look like you were making any effort to say anything so I figured I should. We're not supposed to be fighting, especially if we have to see each other all the time, and I'd like to abide by that rule. There are enough problems going around for the both of us that we don't need to add to the tension."
"What's your problem?" he asked, finally looking up at me. He hadn't lost the superior attitude but he had lowered his voice to a more gentle tone.
"What's yours?" I knew he wasn't going to tell and I wasn't going to tell him what my problem was. I didn't even know what my problem was. It could be anything from depression to nervousness to just being tired of all this. He didn't say anything, which I expected. "Yeah, you're not going to tell me what your problem is so why should I tell you what mine is? Maybe when you decide to talk I'll join in." I got up and walked to the front of the bus again.
Zac's change was becoming more and more obvious. For moments it felt like he became the old Zac again, but then that was gone and he became a vacant shade of a person. Sometimes after a show he'd just go out on the balcony for hours. He was losing sleep and it wasn't quite affecting his performance yet but it was going to if he kept doing it. I hadn't caught him with anything just yet but I knew he was doing something and it looked like cocaine--something he could snort or smoke. He wouldn't inject anything; that was too distinguishable.
I watched him sitting out on the balcony again. He was smoking. Isaac said he was all right with cigarettes. He was allowing his little brother that he was supposed to be protecting to smoke. I didn't like it but I didn't say anything. I was almost tempted to ask Isaac if he would allow his child to smoke, but Ike and Zac were making me the outcast already.
While Zac sat and clouded his lungs with smoke, Ike was on the phone with Rose. Since he had a little while to think over the whole pregnancy thing, he found himself actually happy to have a child. He snatched Zac away when we had some free time a few days ago and found an engagement ring. I saw it. It was pretty nice; Rose would cry when she saw it because it was huge. I wasn't sure when he was going to propose, but it would still be a while until he could see her again.
When Isaac hung up the phone, Zac was still outside on the balcony. He'd finished his cigarette already and was just out there staring off into space like he'd done so many times lately. I couldn't handle seeing him out there like that, obviously disturbed and possibly high. Ike just let him do it.
"How can you let him smoke, Ike?" I asked, watching as Ike started to get ready for bed.
"It's better than him doing drugs."
"But Ike, can't you see? He is doing drugs! He's acting completely different, even more different than he was a week or two ago. He's doing something and he's doing it a lot. Aren't you noticing how much he spaces out? How his mood keeps changing? How sometimes his eyes are glazed over and he comes up with these ideas that seem very similar to when I was on drugs?"
"You're just looking for problems, Taylor."
"No I'm not," I whined and crossed my arms over my chest stubbornly. Isaac gave me a look. When his back was turned I mockingly returned it. My gaze drifted back over to Zac on the balcony. I could see his pack of cigarettes on the table. How can everybody just let him do that?
I was hungry. I was always hungry. My stomach growled all the time because I expelled the food from my stomach so much more quickly that it barely had a chance to go down my throat. I hated it. I couldn't win with how I controlled my weight, but I was determined to continue until I did win, until everybody believed I was skinny again. It was the band; being the front man of the band hurt because I had to keep myself a certain way so everybody liked me. I had to be absolutely perfect and I hated it, but it wasn't my decision.
My clothes were getting looser, to the point where I had to go out shopping to get a completely new wardrobe because none of the clothing I had fit me. I tend to shop frequently, so neither of my brothers noticed when I spent a ridiculous amount of money on new clothes. Isaac didn't say anything about my weight besides the first comment on the bus a few weeks ago. Zac didn't say anything at all to me about my weight since our fight. He was being a lot nicer to me since the fight as well. I stopped yelling at him before shows but I didn't stop completely. Someone had to keep the boy in line and I hated to be the bad guy but I was the only one who would do it. Everybody else let him smoke whenever he wanted and indirectly they were letting him do drugs because they refused to believe me when I said that he was doing it. Ike was in denial about the entire ordeal. I didn't do drugs for long because I never liked it, but what I did to try to hide it from the family was exactly what Zac was doing.
I was surprised to look up and find Isaac asleep already. I was lost in my thoughts again. It was something Zac and I had in common, but when he spaced out it was because of other reasons than thoughts. I wanted to approach him about it but I knew I shouldn't. There's no way that the family would let him get away with drugs, so if I were to approach him, it wouldn't turn out the same way it did when I asked him about smoking. I asked him about smoking and he was able to do it freely. The boy had all the luck sometimes.
I looked at the balcony and Zac wasn't there. I glanced to the bathroom. The light wasn't on but the door was closed. I knew Zac didn't leave and he wasn't in the main room so he must have been in the bathroom. I didn't understand why the light wasn't on, but Zac knew better than to get high while I was sitting five feet away. He knew I wasn't asleep and I hadn't even started to get ready for bed yet. For all I knew he could be using the bathroom for the normal reasons but something in my mind said that wasn't true. I began to worry about him when ten minutes had passed and he still wasn't out.
I stood up to check out what was going on. I had no idea what was going in there and if it was what I think it was, I wanted to stop it. Also, I was getting tired and I had to brush my teeth and wash my face before I could go to sleep. I knocked on the door to the bathroom. "Zac? Did you fall in or something?" I joked.
"Fuck off, Tay."
"No, I'm serious, Zac. Are you okay? You've been in there quite a while," I said, trying to sound concerned. I wasn't.
"I said fuck off, Tay."
"You know you were being real nice to me until now. I'm trying to return that attitude but if you change I'll change too. Now I don't want to have to yell at you through the door but if I have to, I have to," I said, crossing my arms again. When Zac didn't answer me, I grew more upset. "Zac!" I pounded on the door. He opened the door a few moments later, fuming.
"Here you go, your majesty. Would you like me to kiss your shoes on the way out too?" he yelled at me. He breezed past me and I grabbed his wrist to stop him. I saw him wince slightly at my touch and he quickly pulled his wrist away. "Don't fucking touch me!"
"Shut up, Zac. Ike is sleeping and I don't want to wake him up. Are you always this bitchy at midnight or are you just in need of some more drugs?"
"I'm not on drugs!" he yelled at me, not even bothering to lower his voice. "Let it go! I know you'd like to think that is what's going on, but you're not even close." He shook his head. "Man, I feel sorry for you. You don't even have a life." Zac walked past me and plopped on the bed. I huffed and walked into the bathroom.
I closed the door and turned on the water to a nearly scalding hot, steam rising from the sink. I touched my hands under it a few times before turning on the cold water until it evened out. I washed my face and brushed my teeth before glancing at myself in the mirror. I didn't look even a single ounce thinner. I couldn't believe it. I stepped back and took off my shirt, glancing at my body. Everything was so distorted.
I couldn't look at myself anymore. I sunk down to the floor to avoid seeing myself in the mirror. We had a pretty spacious bathroom, lots of room to just sit and be alone for a while. It was bigger than the bathrooms at any of the other hotels we stayed at. That was probably why Zac was in here so long. I bit my lip. When Zac came out of the bathroom he didn't have anything with him. So if he were doing anything in here it'd still be in here. I started going through the cabinets. There was nothing much--toothpaste, toothbrushes, a razor and some shaving cream, and soap.
I was upset when I didn't find anything only because it meant he didn't do anything in here. That was actually good because that meant he didn't do anything with his brothers in the next room. It meant he had some kind of respect for himself and his family. That was good. I personally didn't think he had any respect for anything at all. I got up and glanced at myself in the mirror again. I didn't like what I saw. I had a feeling in the back of my mind that I never would again.
I shut off the light and left the bathroom. The light in the main room was still on but it looked like Zac had fallen asleep. I walked over to him; the light was next to him anyway. He was lying on his stomach, a hand near his head as he snored lightly. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt that covered his hand. Zac never wore a shirt to bed; he was always too hot and would sweat in his sleep if he wore too much clothing. I couldn't help but wonder why...he'd been wearing that shirt all day.
Glancing at Ike and at Zac again, I pulled his sleeve up; perhaps Zac was injecting and he was trying to hide it with the shirt. When I pulled the sleeve halfway up his forearm, I noticed something besides tracks. He had a scar peeking out the inside of his forearm. I checked to see if he was still asleep. He was. As long as I heard his snoring and I was very careful I wouldn't wake him up. I gently turned his arm; if I tried to lean in and see the inside of his arm I'd bonk my head into his and that was sure to wake him up.
When I could see the inside of his arm, I froze. He had one or two cuts on the inside of his wrist. They looked controlled, like he knew what he was doing. I carefully checked his other arm. Two cuts on the inside of his wrist. Dropping his arm I backed away and ran out onto the balcony. Once there I bit my lip and plopped onto a chair he'd been sitting in earlier. It wasn't at all what I expected. I expected drugs and sex and problems that were so superficial to someone in the music business. I expected him to have a substance abuse problem. I didn't think for a moment he'd try to kill himself. He didn't try to kill himself. If he would have done that the cuts would have been deeper and he wouldn't have done anything to stop the bleeding. This was different. He was cutting himself for reasons unknown to me. He could be depressed. That would explain it a lot better than drugs.
I glanced on the table. He'd left his cigarettes out here. I grabbed the pack and threw it over the balcony.