Category Linkin Park
I Don't Need Your Help
Don't know, don't own. Enjoy.
“Brad, you have to eat something.”
I’m sitting here with Brad in the kitchen of his house and for the last 30 minutes I’ve been trying to persuade him to eat a small carton of yoghurt. But he just sits there, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring angrily at the food in front of him.
I sigh. “Brad, please. Just two or three spoonful,” I try to compromise with him and hold the spoon with yoghurt up in front of his face.
“You don’t need to feed me, Mike. I can eat on my own.” He’s still not looking at me.
“Fine, then why don’t you do it?” I ask him, slowly losing my patience.
“Because I’m not hungry.” I can hear his stomach growling.
“Brad! That’s fucking bullshit! You haven’t eaten in days, you are hungry!” I know I shouldn’t be yelling at him, but it’s damn hard to stay calm when one of your best friends is starving himself in front of your nose.
I try again, pick up the spoon and hold it up. Brad turns his head away and wraps his arms tighter around himself. “Fine!” I throw the spoon on the table, hitting the carton of yoghurt and sending it’s contents splashing all over the wooden surface. Brad flinches. “Then don’t! Just do whatever you want, I don’t care!” I storm out of the kitchen, out of the house, slamming the door shut behind me.
‘I don’t care.’ That must be the biggest lie I’ve ever told. I do care, more than I should probably...
I walk down the road at a fast pace. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get away from Brad for a while and calm down before I hit him or do something equally as bad. The walking helps me think.
Ever since that night when Dave and I found out about Brad’s little secret, we’ve been trying to help him. But it seems like we’re failing. He’s not getting better. We noticed that pretty soon, maybe after two weeks, and carefully brought up the topic of starting a therapy, but Brad went completely psycho on us. He started screaming and yelling that he wasn’t crazy, that he refused to see a shrink and that we should leave him the fuck alone because he didn’t have a problem.
But that night, when Dave phoned me and I talked with Brad, he sounded completely different, like he wanted help. Deep inside he knows that he isn’t alright, I’m sure of that. I just don’t know why he won’t admit it to himself and to us.
He made Dave and me promise not to tell anyone else. Now I regret having made that promise. Do you have any idea how hard it was to convince Rob, Joe, Chester and the management that we needed a break for at least two months? Dave and I figured that this period of time would be enough to get Brad a little better, a bit more stable. I honestly don’t know how we convinced them, but we did.
Chester was bitching about it because we were in the middle of recording and everything needed to be postponed for two months, but he calmed down surprisingly fast. Probably because of the prospect of a three week vacation on some Caribbean island with Sam.
Rob didn’t mind because this meant he and Dave could have more time for themselves and Joe was happy because he could visit some relatives in Korea.
However, our little plan obviously isn’t working. We’ve been on this break for four weeks now and Brad still isn’t getting better. In fact, he’s getting worse. He hardly ever eats, drinks nothing but water and tea. I don’t know if he’s still bingeing and purging afterwards, but I think he is because when I asked him, he didn’t answer.
I guess he’s lost even more weight. Must have because how could he probably gain any when he’s not eating? But I’m not sure because he’s wearing way too big pants and sweaters and because I’m not allowed to hug him anymore. Not even Dave is. I don’t see the reason behind that, but Brad freaks out if someone touches anything except his hands and so we stopped.
I look up and notice that I’m standing in front of Rob’s house. I didn’t plan on coming here, but now that I am, I might as well have a look if Dave is home. I don’t know what to do with Brad anymore, maybe he has an idea.
I’m just about to ring the bell when I hear noises from inside. I press my ear against the wooded door and...
“Fuck! Rob, harder!”
“Ugh, you’re... so... tight!”
I have to grin. Guess I’m not gonna ring then.
It’s nice to see, or to hear in that case, that things are looking up at least for those two. I remember two weeks ago when Dave called to tell me that Rob had ‘repaired’ their picture. I had no idea what he was talking about, but he sounded so excited and happy that I couldn’t help but feel happy for him, too.
I take a look at my watch. It’s half past six, which means that I’ve left Brad alone for more than half an hour. I should better go back sometime soon, it doesn’t feel right leaving him alone for too long.
I decide to take the short-cut to his house, this will save me a good ten minutes. I have this feeling I should hurry up, I don’t know why, and I quicken my pace. I’m feeling guilty for yelling at him earlier. First thing I’m gonna do is apologize once I’m back at his house. I know that yelling doesn’t help when dealing with Brad. It’ll either make him cry or make him angry, but it won’t make anything better. I’ve learned that in the past few weeks, but I can’t help it. Sometimes I just get so frustrated with this whole situation.
I’ve practically moved in with Brad since Dave is living with Rob. We both agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea to leave him all alone there. I was feeling way to lonely in my house since my girlfriend broke up with me, anyway, and I like Brad a lot so I don’t mind spending most of my time with him.
Brad, however, wasn’t very excited about this idea. He said he didn’t need me to look after him, that he was a grown man and could very well do that himself. But in the end he didn’t protest much.
I’ve tried several times to find out what the reason behind this all is. He was in love with Dave who didn’t return his feelings, yes, but I don’t think that this is all. He’s not telling us the whole truth. Well, he’s not telling us much of anything anymore. When Dave or I bring up the subject, he either ignores us or leaves the room. We can’t get through to him anymore, that seems nearly impossible. I’m not gonna stop trying, though. I won’t just stand here and watch my friend destroy himself emotionally and physically, because that’s exactly what he’s doing.
When I reach the house, a little out of breath, I see a car with a sign on top pull out of the driveway.
“Luigi’s Pizza,” I read out loud. Oh fuck. Brad and pizza, that can only mean one thing.
I run up to the house and unlock the door as quickly as possible. My keys fall down and I curse them silently. Finally the stupid door is open and I burst inside, rushing into the kitchen because this is where I thought Brad would be. But no such luck, the kitchen is empty. I notice that the table has been cleaned and the empty carton of yoghurt is standing next to the sink. But I don’t suppose that Brad ate it.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. The damn yoghurt is unimportant, I have to find Brad before he can stuff himself with food only to throw up.
Seeing that Brad is neither in the kitchen nor in the living room, I storm up the stairs. The door to his room is closed and I can hear him inside. Not bothering to knock, I carefully open the door a few inches and scan the room. Brad is kneeling on the floor, an empty pizza box next to him, another in front of him. All around him there is food, chocolate, cookies, ice cream.
Where does all this food come from? I didn’t know we had that many sweets here.
I take a closer look at Brad. He’s grabbing blindly at the foods, stuffing them down hastily. Then he sips on a bottle of coke, probably to make it easier to swallow. I watch as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then his eyes. He’s crying.
I can’t stand the sight any longer, I have to stop this.
Opening the door all the way, I step inside and clear my throat to make my presence known. Brad is just about to bite into a slice of pizza, but when he sees me he lets it drop down and it lands in the carton.
“Mike! Go away!” He’s panicking. “Go away, go away,” he mumbles while trying to hide the food. He’s crawling around on the floor, searching for all the plastic and paper wrappings, shoving them under the bed together with half-eaten chocolate bars, a tub of ice-cream and the two pizza boxes. Once done with that, he pulls down the blanket so I can’t look under the bed and sits down on the floor in front of it, clinging to the covers. He looks like a scared child, his lower lip quivering and his eyes glistening with tears when he repeats: “Go away.” Only this time it sounds like a desperate plea.
I sigh, running my hands over my face before kneeling down in front of Brad. He tries to back away, but the bed prevents him from doing so.
“Brad, we both know that I won’t.”
I reach out one hand to wipe away his tears, but he holds up his arms in defence, hiding his face behind them.
“Go away, go away, go away,...” he repeats over and over again, slowly rocking back and forth.
I open my arms and try to get his attention.
“Brad, baby, come here.”
Baby? Baby? Where did that come from? I have no fucking clue, but right now I don’t even care. I want to hold him, comfort him if this is possible.
Brad lowers his arms and looks at me with big, frightened eyes, and shakes his head. He wraps his arms around his stomach and I notice that he’s retching without even doing anything.
“I have to...”
With that he quickly stands up, but I instantly know what he’s gonna do and so I jump to my feet, blocking his way.
“Brad, no.” I say sternly, grabbing his arms. He struggles against my grip and protests.
“Mike, please, you don’t understand...”
“Exactly, and that’s why I want you to explain it to me.”
“Please, Mike, let go off me,” he whimpers and lowers his head. His struggling ceases and I figure it’s safe to loosen my grip.
Big mistake. The second I let go of him, Brad’s out the door. I run after him, but it’s too late and when I enter the bathroom he’s already bent over the toilet, coughing and retching.