Chapter Text
Langdon stares at the feeding tube on the counter before work, packing his lunch for the day in neat acrylic containers under Abby’s watchful eye.
For nearly 2 months after his hospitalization, no food besides broth and applesauce would stay in his system. Most of his nutrients were fed to him through those silicone tubes. They had told Tanner that daddy’s body just wasn’t taking in food like it should anymore, which wasn’t really a lie. His stomach had almost shut down on him, heart almost gave out.
The windows are wet and fogged with the morning dew, the sun just starting to slice through darkness. The cherry blossom tree in their front yard is blooming soft shades of white and pink, covering their lawn with its petals. It’s been 4 months, and Langdon is back to normal.
He throws his jacket over his shoulder, just in case, though he doesn’t get nearly as cold as he used to. Perks of having a layer of fat, he supposes. Kisses Abby goodbye, a sweet peck on the lips, and heads into the dawn.
*
He finally catches a break at 1 pm. He slinks into the bathroom, feeling the heat of multiple pairs of eyes on his neck. Langdon avoids mirrors now. Avoids the nervous tick of rubbing his chest to feel his sternum under his scrubs. He tells himself he doesn’t care that the bones aren’t as prominent anymore. He’s better now.
After a short-lived battle, Langdon gives in and looks at himself. His waistline has filled back out, his cheeks no longer sunken in. He stretches one arm down, palm facing the sink, and closes his pointer finger and thumb around the middle of his forearm. They don’t touch. He’s even got a little tan, the spring sun dotting his face with a few freckles, and his cheeks are dusted with pink.
He wouldn’t say he’s recovered, not really, but he sure looks like it. Langdon sneers at his healthy-looking reflection, and it sneers back. He washes his hands, flicks the water off, and walks back out to the loud noise and bright lights of the ER.
*
The next day, Langdon counts all the calories of his lunch quickly and expertly. Water, 0 calories. Leftover grilled chicken breast would be 170, but Abby had used oil, butter, and seasoning so it was closer to 220. Rice was 100 calories, and the roasted vegetables were 60. It’s all laid out plainly in front of him, the smell making him nauseous. Abby used to sneak in a couple of cookies in a plastic bag, but gave up a couple of weeks ago when she saw that they would just come back with him every time.
If he does 15,000 instead of 12,000 steps today, he will have burned it all off. That way he can allow himself to eat dinner when he gets home. Abby’s always so sad when he goes straight to bed. Tonight will be different.
He eats everything except a few spoonfuls of rice, and the fatty part of the meat.
*
“How’re you holdin’ up, kid?” Dana asks him, leaning slightly over the computer where Langdon’s seated.
“Good,” Langdon says while chewing mint gum, eyes not leaving the computer screen. “Better, I mean.”
Just like with his addiction, the actual words “eating disorder,” “anorexia,” and “bulimia” were never uttered between staff, at least not while he was there, but everyone knew. With so many people knowing his problems, it sometimes felt as though everyone had a personal copy of his diary to flip through, or something.
“You need anything, you just tell me.” She says it quietly, voice scratchy from cigarettes, like it’s a secret.
Langdon looks up at her and nods, one small dip. It’s a delicate thing. He used to be a lot closer to Dana, but everything feels short and awkward since his return. He thinks about their conversation in the break room, when Robby had found out he’d been stealing medication. It feels miles away now.
“I mean it.” She says. Makes unwavering eye contact, like she can see into Langdon’s brain. It feels like she can.
“I know.”
*
Langdon kicks off his shoes and gets on the scale, faced backwards as always so he doesn’t know the number. It’s in a secluded area, away from prying eyes of staff and patients. He hears the plastic pieces slide across the top of the scale, counterweight beams clinking against metal. Robby jots something down on his notepad, glasses tipped on his nose. He doesn’t say a word, and Langdon tries not to grit his teeth at the ridiculousness of it all.
Langdon stares forward at the cream colored wall in front of him. Tries not to think about what the number could be. 140? 145? Has he crossed over into the 150s yet? He hopes not. He shivers as he recalls his nutritionists words. ‘The goal is to get you back to 180.’ He’s not sure whose goal that is. It’s certainly not his. He can feel his hands and forehead get clammy, his chest rising and falling faster than usual. He takes a deep breath, which only reminds him of the tightness in his ribcage. He scratches his arm, a nervous tick he’s had since his benzos addiction.
“Okay. Step off.” Robby says quietly, pulling Langdon from where he’d drifted off to. Langdon tries to think of being anywhere else, being with Abby and Tanner, a weak attempt to stop his mind from spiraling too deep. Between the mandatory urine tests and mandatory weigh-ins, Langdon’s not sure how much more he can take. He’s suddenly aware of his lunch sitting in his stomach, heavy and churning. Probably adds at least a pound to the number on the scale.
“Frank.” Robby says, looking down at him with those reader glasses perched on his nose. Langdon loathes that condescending tone. That fatherly, “I-know-what-you’re-hiding” voice.
He’s gonna say that Langdon isn’t gaining quickly enough, that he must be secretly vomiting when he thinks no one’s looking. That Langdon is hiding weights or coins in his pockets because the number is going up too quickly. That he’s failing at eating, but also failing at not-eating. That he’s not small enough to be disordered, but not normal enough to join the others and their nauseating ‘healthy relationship’ with food.
“Yes?” Langdon says tightly, doesn’t move his eye-line up from his feet, which are socked but still shoeless against the cold tile. Maybe his clothes caused the number to go up. Maybe he hasn’t actually gained that much. He feels that familiar ache in the back of his eyes and swallows down the urge to burst into tears.
“I need you to breathe.”
It’s at this moment when Langdon realizes the rise and fall of his chest has stopped, his whole body shaking from the effort of trying to stick together, his fists clenched and white-knuckled. He tries to take a deep breath, but it hitches. He wants to grab Robby’s stupid notepad and see what number he wrote down, what notes he has that he won’t tell Langdon. He deserves to know. He’s the one doing all the work.
Langdon squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he’ll just leave him be like he did in the break room. Like if he closes his eyes, this isn’t real. He’s not embarrassing himself in front of his boss, yet again. Maybe Robby will just leave him be. He did last time.
“Can you just-" Langdon starts, but it gets trapped in his throat. He swallows again.
His chest heaves, and he’s suddenly made aware of how huge he feels, like he could sink into the ground at any moment. He can still feel the food from lunch sloshing around in his stomach, the fat creeping up around his biceps and abdomen. He feels unclean. His distantly aware of a voice calling back to him, trying to get his attention, but it sounds miles away.
Robby tugs him forward. Embraces him with one hand on his nape like a father and squeezes. He’s solid and warm all over, making Langdon feel small and fragile. His breath hitches again, only this time it’s louder, spilling out of his mouth like bile. The man shushes him softly, cards a hand through his hair. Langdon is distantly aware of how Robby’s rocking them ever so slightly, side to side. He pulls Langdon back so they’re facing each other.
“I’m so proud of you.” He says, gaze unwavering.
That’s all it takes for Langdon to go boneless and crumble into him.
*
The lighting in his house glows a soft amber when he gets home, offering a break from the harsh fluorescents he’d spent the last 12 hours under. There’s a pleasant smell coming from the kitchen. Langdon’s stomach rumbles. Slowly, he walks towards the sound of clanging pots and dishes.
“What’s this?” Langdon asks, gestures at the state of the kitchen. Abby made his favorite tonight, grilled salmon and roasted potatoes. A big, wooden bowl sits on the table, full of fresh greens, and lit candles add warmth to everything on the table.
“I thought I’d surprise you with a date night.” Abby says, cutting crunchy French bread into one inch slices. She’s got a genuine, airy smile on her face that he hasn’t seen in what feels like a very long time. Now that he thinks of it, it’s been awhile since he’s heard her laugh. It’s a beautiful sound.
“Wow.” Langdon says, taken aback by all of the work she put into the spread. “You didn’t have to do all this.” He said, patting his pants awkwardly and shifting on his feet. He’s hungry, but he’s not sure how much he can eat. There are a lot of numbers to add up, and he’s too tired to do all of the math.
“I wanted to.” She winks, takes out the butter and red wine from the fridge. 2 more things to track. He tries not to let his face fall, chokes down the urge to bolt.
Once the food hits his stomach, Langdon is quickly made aware of how hungry he was. He closes his fist tightly around his fork, knuckles going white again, willing himself to not go too fast. If Abby notices this, she pretends she doesn’t.
The salmon is cooked to perfection, buttery with a splash of lemon juice, just how he likes it. It’s all better than he remembered. He can’t recall the last time he ate something he truly loved, something he was excited to eat. That achy feeling of dread was slowly being stamped out, if only for the night. He can give himself this, just for now.
He thinks about how Abby used to hook up his fluids and monitor his nutrient intake and blood tests when he was too weak to do it himself. All of the electrolyte replacement, the appetite stimulates that she had to keep track of. Thinks about the scared, uncertain look Tanner would give him when looking at the tube protruding from Langdon’s stomach, his bones looking like they were trying to tear through his pale skin. He sees flashes of small hands softly grabbing his, as if his father would shatter in his hold.
He’s not sure what’s wrong with him, but for the second time that day, Langdon cries. He ducks down, fork clattering as his hands try to hide his face. Abby is silent for a moment, and the only sounds in the room are his quiet, hiccuping sobs.
“Frank..” Abby starts, her hand bringing his off of his face, intertwining them together instead in a firm grip.
“I don’t-“ he starts, unsure of what to say. Langdon wipes his tears with the palm of his free hand quickly, aware of how childish it looks. His breath hitches. It’s not that she’s never made him dinner after work, but he always comes home so late that she usually just eats with the kids. He’s suddenly made aware of all he’s put his family through, how they almost watched him die.
“Oh, honey.” Abby says, turning his face towards hers so he has to make eye contact. “It’s alright.” She pulls her sleeve over her hand and wipes a tear off. Langdon sniffles. “I’m glad you’re back.” She says, which could mean multiple things. He gives her a watery smile, glassy blue eyes boring into hers.
“Me too.” He whispers.
He doesn’t count the calories this time, and it all stays down.