Unicorns and Rainbow Sprinkles
Chapter One
Dane stared, unblinking, at the blank walls of his cell. He’d had weeks to memorize the lines, count the ceiling tiles, and listen to footsteps in the hallway. It wasn’t a prison, they reminded him daily. He had checked himself in—he could check himself out, but they all knew he wasn’t ready for that.
This world was so different than anything he’d known. Quiet. Almost too quiet. Like a strange stillness that only isolation could offer.
Peaceful? A little. No phones, no internet, no connection to the rest of the world. No fans screaming at him, and no paparazzi lurking around the corner to photograph his every error.
He glared at his bandaged lower arms. They were a mass of scars now, but he couldn’t bear to look at them. His tiny bathroom had no mirror, just a sink, a toilet, and a shower stall. He’d been in thousands of hotels much more luxurious. This was not the Hilton.
Someone tapped on his door, and a moment later it opened. A nurse walked in, older, white hair, gentle smile. But Nurse Hansen had a grip of steel and nerves to match.
“Lunch time. You have to eat in the cafeteria with everyone else.” She stood beside the bed. “Do you need help up?”
Did he? He was still tired. Weak. Had been that way for months. No one but his therapist knew he hadn’t cut himself on purpose but had fallen through a glass table after working out for several hours.
And then there was the food thing. He hated food. Everything to do with it. The sight, the smell, the texture, the way it made him feel, in his stomach and in his head.
“I’m not hungry.”
Her smile was tight. “Up you go.”
She gripped his hand and pulled him to the edge of the bed. Reluctantly he got up and followed her from the room. The halls were long and brightly lit, decorated with canvased art and paintings. All positive images, bright colors, but nothing tangible, not scenes, pictures or even people. Color. Splatter, though more water painted than a haphazard display.
He counted them as he passed. Twelve total. And wondered who made them. It was a brief distraction from the smell of food they neared.
Dane entered the cafeteria and couldn’t help but recall his younger days in school. Back then it had been all about the noise, the groups of friends, and the who’s who of teen life. Of course he’d never been the popular kid, since he came from a poor family. All his clothes had been castoffs donated to whatever church his mother could mooch off.
Rehab was different. No one wanted you to look at them. No one cared who wore what, as they all had the same shapeless scrubs. The cafeteria was a silent place that felt more like a funeral parlor than a lunchroom. No one talked. They ate slowly, glaring at their food or into the distance with disgust. He knew the feeling.
The nurse grabbed him a tray, filled it with fresh fruits and vegetables, and handed it to him. Nothing processed. He wouldn’t touch anything not in its natural form. Apples, oranges, and bananas. Carrots, broccoli, cauliflower. No meat. He couldn’t stomach the stuff. Couldn’t even pretend to gag it down.
He took the tray, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat down beside Sandy. She’d become his lunch buddy the second day after he’d arrived. They would sit together and push their food around. Sometimes talk. She never bothered him. And since there were no other males, she’d sort of become his friend.
Dane’s therapist told him that guys had a harder time admitting they needed help, though the problem was growing in their population. Dane wouldn’t have acknowledged the problem himself if his manager hadn’t convinced him he needed more help than a medical doctor could provide. Healing from the fall was only the first step. He hoped to never feel that dizzying sense of disconnection to life again.
He picked up a carrot and pushed it aside. No one but his manager knew he was there. She’d promised to tell no one. He was ashamed, but he’d admitted himself to try to fix the problem. Food, however, was a tougher enemy than he wanted to admit. And he, famous pop star—well, formerly famous, since Vocal Growth had ended almost two months ago—had an eating disorder.
“Nibble a little of a few of them and they won’t force you to eat the rest,” Sandy told him as she shoveled the food into her mouth. She was a pretty blonde and overly thin, as a large percentage of the girls there were. It was her fourth time at the center.
“I get out this afternoon. Just for a few hours to spend with my folks, but it will be so nice to not have them pushing food at me all the time. And not have to talk to some PHD about my feelings.”
Dane closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He thought about the things his therapist had said. Food was not the enemy. Food was fuel. It was necessary to survive. He needed to eat to get better, to not feel so tired. Everyone ate food. Some too little, some too much. The control lay in a balance between the two. He couldn’t get better if he couldn’t eat.
He opened his eyes and picked up the apple and bit into it. Concentrate on the taste, count the chews, then bite again. The fruit was sweet and tart on his tongue. There was nothing hot about it, nor unappealing. His mouth didn’t burn, and he didn’t gag. He slowly made his way through the apple.
Maybe he should tell Tommy or Ru where he was. God knew AJ wouldn’t care. Five years traveling the world together should have made them inseparable, but they all had different lives now. AJ and Ru were flying solo. Tommy was touring with Ru until the fall, when he’d start college classes majoring in theater.
Ru had been the first to leave, pushed out by a record company who didn’t want an openly gay teen on their roster. But Ru had found not only fame, but love. Some boy-next-door type from Minnesota had stolen the pop star’s heart, forever changing the course of Vocal Growth.
Then Tommy had left to support Ru’s new solo career. They had goals and lives outside of the music. Dane only had this. How could he think about the future when he didn’t have the energy to get through the day?
The nurse was back with two orderlies and pills. Most of the patients hated the pills. Dane wanted them. Anything to dull his brain from the constant cycle of thinking. He peeled the banana and nibbled on it. So far his stomach wasn’t protesting.
He would know if he’d eaten too much and he’d be hurting later. He hated the gurgling and shifting of food through his system. They even monitored his workouts. The gym was supervised, and he was allowed to walk on the treadmill every other day for thirty minutes.
Walk, not run, and no unsupervised weight lifting. He got a half an hour of specific weight training once every two days. And only if he ate the calories they allotted him. He’d promised he’d eat more if they’d let him lift more often, but the therapists and nutritionists said he wasn’t ready for that.
