Davy pulled a face and shook his head, "I just got up for a glass of water."

Mike, Micky and Peter were sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner.

"You want something to eat?" asked Peter innocently, holding up his plate.

Davy put his hand over his mouth and ran out of the room.

Mike and Micky rolled their eyes.

"Oops," said Peter, "Guess not."

Micky took another bite, "What d'you think's wrong with Davy?"

Mike shrugged, "I don't know, I thought it was heartache at first, after that girl broke up with him, but that was weeks ago, and he's not acting like he normally does when going through a break up, you know, moping around the Pad. Maybe it's the 'flu or something like that. It'll probably be gone by next week."

Chapter One

"Come on Davy, you've got to go to a doctor."

"No, it'll cost too much. I'll be fine, I'm not sick any more."

Mike shook his head, slipping easily into the position of 'the father'.

"Alright, how are you feeling now?"

"Fine! I don't need to go to the doctors!"

"Really?" asked Mike skeptically, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes!"

Mike put a plate of one of Peters creations in front of Davy. "If you're so fine, why don't you eat that?"

Davy looked up at him incrediously, "Mike, no one could eat that."

"We had it last night, it tastes fine."

Davy knew he'd been backed into a corner. He picked up a small spoonful of the food and raised it to his mouth. He didn't want to eat it but Mike was still watching him, so he took the mouthful and swallowed.

"There," he said, "Happy?"

Mike frowned, "I will be, when you eat the rest of it."

The look Davy gave him shocked him; a look of complete revoltion, as if the suggestion of eating the whole thing was disgusting and unheard of. Mike didn't say anything but he didn't forget either.

Davy forced down several more mouthfuls until Mike was satisfied.

"Fine," said Mike grudgingly, not liking to admit defeat, "You don't have to go to the doctors."

He sighed, he was sure that Davy was sick, even if Davy didn't admit it. He ran his fingers through his hair, "I'm gonna go down to the beach, d'you wanna come?"

Davy shook his head. Mike shrugged and left the room. Davy got up straight away, went to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet bowel to rid himself of everything Mike had forced him to eat. He didn't know that Mike was outside, listening and confirming his suspicions.

Dinner time came quickly, as things do when you're dreading them. Davy didn't doubt that Mike would watch him eat. He had to get out of it somehow, so when food was ready, Davy headed for the door.

"Davy, where are you going?" asked Mike sounding frustrated.

"I've, uh, got a date," Davy lied.

Mike frowned. He had the suspicion that Davy was lying but he wasn't sure. Anyway, he really had no reason to object to Davy going out and he couldn't stop him.

"When will you be back?" he asked.

Davy shrugged and opened the door. "You want us to save you something?" asked Micky, motioning to the food spread out on the table.

Mike recognised the look of disgust and horror on Davys face before he quickly shook his head and left, closing the door after him. Mike shook his head slowly and sat down.

"What's the matter Mike?" asked Micky, noticing Mikes distraction.

"Nothing," said Mike, staring at the closed door.

Micky shrugged and went back to eating, but now he was getting a strong vibe that something was wrong.

On the other side of the door Davy sighed in relief, then quickly walked away. He didn't know where he was going but he knew he had to get away from the smells of food coming from the Pad.

Eventually, he found himself at the beach, sitting on the sand. It was still early and there were quite a few people on the beach. Davy ignored them as best he could, but when he saw a girl with long blonde hair walking along with a tall man, memories of Sandra flooded into his mind. The girl he'd been dating only a few weeks ago, the girl who'd cheated on him! He'd seen the guy Sandra was dating now, he was tall, tanned and muscular. Handsome, that's what he was. Davy was no where near as good as him, but he would be. A lot of people didn't realize that Davy had a perfectionist streak in him. He wasn't good at many things, all he really had was his music and his looks,and, according to Sandra, his looks weren't good enough, weren't perfect, and they had to be. He sat there for hours, thinking about it furiously. He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice Micky coming towards him until he was close enough almost to touch him.

"Hey Micky."

"Hey Davy, date over already?"

"Huh?" Davy had momentarily forgotten his alibi, "Oh yeah, yeah, it's over."

Micky gave him a funny look but let it pass. "Why are you out here on the beach?" he asked.

Davy shrugged, "Why are you out here?"

"I was going for a walk. Mike's in a bad mood, I think he's got something on his mind."

"Oh," was all Davy could say. He had a pretty good idea what Mike had on his mind. There was a moment of silence. Micky could sense that Davy was hiding something from him. There wasn't much that Davy and Micky didn't tell each other. They'd been best friends for almost two years and they both trusted each other completely. It was because of this trust that Micky didn't question Davy about whatever it was he was hiding.

Three Weeks Later

The Monkees were sitting at the table, eating dinner. Mike watched Davy raise his napkin to his lips. He knew that Davy was spitting out his mouthful of food into the cloth, he'd been doing it every night. Mike knew because he'd checked the napkins. He knew a bit about eating disorders because a friend of his had had one in highschool. He'd been over to her house for dinner one night and he'd seen her magically make the food disappear without swallowing any. She'd spit it into her napkin or her cup of water. Secretly feed it to the dog tht sat under the table, waiting, by now used to getting fed table scraps. His friend had been down to 34 kilos before she was hospitalized. He wasn't going to let that happen to Davy.

He didn't say anything all through dinner. Not while Micky and Peter were there. He'd talk to him when Micky and Peter were gone. It wasn't always best to come in with tanks and bombs. Before any form of attack, you should send ina negotiator.

By some stroke of luck, as soon as Micky had finished eating he announced, "I'm going down to the beach, anyone want to come?"

Peter nodded and they both got up and cleared their plates, leaving Mike and Davy alone at the table. Neither of them could think of a way to start a conversation. Mike knew, and Davy knew that Mike knew, and neither of them wanted to bring it up, so they sat there in silence, Mike chewing a mouthful of food and Davy swirling his food around on his plate. Finally, Davy got up, his plate still half full. He tipped it into the rubbish bin then made to leave.

"Wait," called Mike.

Davy stopped on the second step of the stairs and leaned over the banister, "What?"

"Come and sit down."

"Why?" asked Davy suspiciously.

"Just come here."

Davy went back to the table and sat down. Mike took a photograph out of his pocket and looked at it for a moment without speaking, then he looked back at Davy.

"Davy," he said seriously, "I know what you've been doing."

Davy didn't say anything.

"Davy, it's unhealthy. You'll get sick."

Davy still didn't say anything but Mike saw a glint of defiance in his eyes. He sighed, he hadn't known how to get through to his highschool friend and he didn't know how to get through to Davy but he knew he had to try. He handed over the photograph. Davy looked at it.

"This is a photo of one of my friends from highschool." The girl in the photo was so thin her bones jutted out. "She had anorexia."

Davy looked back up at Mike, "So?"

"You have it too Davy, don't you see?"

Davy shook his head, "I don't have anorexia."

Mike rolled his eyes, getting frustrated, "Stand up."

"Why?" asked Davy.

"Just do it."

Davy recognized the tone of Mikes voice and knew that he should do as he was told. Davy stood up, protesting as he did, "Honestly Mike, I'm not anorexic, I'm fine-"

Mike siezed Davy by the shoulders and marched him over to the mirror. "Look Davy!" he interupted, "Just look at yourself!"

Mike watched Davys eyes scan up and down. Eyes that didn't see the pale skin, the shirt hanging losely, the wrists thin enough for Mike to wrap his thumb and index finger around and have the tips touch. To these things, the eyes were blind. They didn't even see the dark circles underneath themselves.

"I don't see anything wrong," Davy muttered.

Mike almost screamed with frustration. He spun Davy around and shook him hard. "Why can't you see what you're doing to yourself?" he cried.

Davy just looked at him. Mike turned and strood to the door, "I want to help you Davy, you look at that mirror again, maybe you'll see what you really look like and trust me Davy, it doesn't look good!"

He slammed the door. Davy turned back to the mirror. He couldn't see anything wrong, well, it wouldn't hurt to lose a few more kilos.

Mike made dinner that night, with lots of banging of pots and grumbling. It wasn't so much Davy that he was angry at, it was himself. He'd made a plan to talk to Davy about the problem, just talk, but instead, he'd yelled and completely lost his head. He set the table for four people but only three turned up.

"Where's Davy?" he asked.

Peter looked up from him plate, "He said he wasn't hungry."

Mike rolled his eyes angrily but didn't say anything. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"Mike?" said Micky finally, "What's wrong with Davy? It's obvious that he's sick. He's lost so much weight."

Mike sighed, "That's what's wrong with him."

"What?"

"He's lost too much weight."

"I don't get it."

Mike grunted impatiently, "He's got anorexia."

"Anorexia?!" asked Micky incrediously, "Only girls get anorexia."

"Not true shotgun," said Mike, "Anyone can get it."

"But Davy?" asked Peter, "Why would he get it? He looks fine. or he used to before he got sick."

"It's all in the mind," Mike explained, "It's playing tricks on him."

"How do you know all this?" asked Micky.

"A friend of mine in highschool died of anorexia."

"Died?" cried Peter, "You don't think Davy will."

Mike shrugged. There was silence for a moment.

"Well. what do we do?" asked Peter finally.

Mike shrugged again, "I guess we should talk to Davy."

It turned out that that night from 5pm onwards, there was a storm so none of them went out. First it started with a gentle rain, but from rain it went to hail, then to thunder and lightning and the sky turned black. It seemed like a perfect time to talk to Davy.

"Monkee Meeting!" called Mike.

The rules of Monkee meetings were obeyed by all. They had to listen to what the others said and weren't allowed to leave until it was over. They all found seats; Micky on the floor, Peter and Mike on the couch and Davy on the raised platform where their instruments stood.

"We all know what this meeting's about, don't we?" asked Mike.

Micky and Peter nodded. Davy looked at them, pretty sure that he also knew what was coming.

Mike turned to him, "Davy, you're sick-"

"No, I'm not!" Davy cried.

>"Hey," reminded Peter, "Monkee Meeting rules, no interuptions."

Mike cleared his throat, "No matter what you say Davy, we can all see that you're sick."

Davy shook his head, "I'm not."

"Until you admit it you're going to keep getting sicker. We want to help you but we can't until you realise what you're doing to yourself," said Peter sincerely.

"I'm telling you, I'm not sick."

There was silence for a moment, then Mike got up, "I'll be right back."

Davy looked at the ground while Mike was gone, wondering what he was going to do. He knew he was trapped. Mike came back a few minutes later, carrying the
bathroom scales. He placed them on the floor in front of Davy.

"Get on," he ordered in his most forceful voice.

"Why?" asked Davy, even though the answer was clear.

"Because you're anorexic, and I'm going to prove it."

Davy didn't move.

Mike growled with exasperation. "Get up!" he almost yelled.

Davy reluctantly stood up and Mike pushed him onto the scales. Davy closed his eyes, afraid of the tell-tale figures. He heard Micky gasp and Peter start a sentence with 'oh my God.' and Davy had never heard Peter swear before.

"Open your eyes Davy," Mike ordered.

Davy obeyed reluctantly. "Look at those numbers! Look at them Davy, you're seven kilos underweight!"

Davy snapped out of his trance, "Huh?"

"I'm calling the doctor, maybe if you get a professional opinion you'll finally see yourself the way everyone else does."

Davy felt a jolt of panic as he thought of the doctor forcing him to eat, forcing him to gain back all the weight he had worked so hard to lose, but he took a deep breath and calmed down, the doctor couldn't force him to do anything.

The doctors appointment was set for a week later. Davy spent most of the time in his room. They didn't discuss the doctors appointment, in fact, they said nothing more about Davy being sick, not even at meal times, when Davy refused to eat or even to come to the table. Davy suspected that they were hoping that the doctor would straighten him out. Davy was dreading the doctors appointment. He'd never liked going to the doctorsand he wasn't going to start liking it now, and anyway, he wasn't sick, there was no point.

Mike, Micky and Peter all went with him to the doctors. The waiting room was small and white and so was the examination room. The doctor, called Dr Black, made Mike, Micky and Peter wait in the waiting room while he examined Davy. No doubt Dr Black was a good man but Davy didn't see him as one.

He handed Davy a list of phone numbers. "I know you probably wont call these people, although they are very qualified in the field of psychiatry, so I'm going to give this list to your friends as well, if you'd send them in. I also want to talk to them about the results of some of the tests we took."

Davy took the list and left. Mike, Micky and Peter stood up when he came into the waiting room. "The doctor wants to see you," he muttered, taking a seat.

"You're going back in four weeks to be weighed again," Mike told him on the way home.

Davy didn't say anything. "You've already lost so much weight that if you lose anymore they're going to consider hospitalization."

Davy looked up, startled, "You mean I'd have to go to the hospital?"

Mike nodded. He was driving so he couldn't see the fear in Davys eyes but he knew it was there. Davy had had some bad experiences in hospitals. His mother had died in one and so had his father. To Davy, hospitals didn't mean recovery, they meant death.

"Mike, I don't-"

"If you don't want to go to the hospital, you'd better tart eating again," Mike said as they pulled outside the Pad.

Davy frowned and climbed out of the Monkeemobile, slamming the door after him.

Mike followed quickly, holding the list of psychiatrists phone numbers, "Davy, I think you should call someone."

"No!" Davy yelled, "I don't need to talk to them, I'm not insane! Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Peter stepped foreward, "Because we're your friends and we're worried," he said sincerely, "We don't want to lose you Davy."

"But I don't need to." Davy started, but not as strongly as he had before.

"You do need to," said Micky gently, placing a hand on Davys shoulder. He intended it to be comforting, intending to give him strength, but those thoughts left when he felt Davys shoulder, felt the thinness, felt the bones. He was lost for words, not just at the fact that anyone could be that thin, but at the fact that it was Davy, his best friend. He still couldn't understand why Davy thought he had to starve himself, or why Davy hadn't talked to him. They'd always been able to talk in the past. They'd talked for hours when Davys father died, and again after a bad fight with Mike, during which Davy had threatened to leave the Pad. In any time of trouble Micky and Davy would talk it out together. The thought of Davy talking to a psychiatrist instead of talking to him made him feel a twinge of jelousy, but he knew that he'd gladly give up their one-on-one talks if only Davy would get better.

Although Micky had forgotten about the intended strength-giving, his hand on Davys shoulder gave Davy an overwhelming feeling of guilt. Micky was his best friend, and he was hurting him, and the fact that Micky was still standing by him and supporting him made him feel worse. He felt a sudden urge to please Micky, by getting better, so he wouldn't have to feel guilty anymore. He took the list from Mike and looked at the phone, biting his lip. If he rang, they might force him to eat, they might even make him go to the hospital! He couldn't do it, he just couldn't, not even for Micky. In one quick movement he ripped the sheet of paper in half. "You can't make me!" he yelled, then turned away from his friends and ran to the bedroom he and Micky shared, slamming the door after him.

"Davy!" Mike yelled, "Get back here!"

"No! You can't make me do anything!" Davy yelled from inside the bedroom.

"Arr!" Mike almost screamed with frustration. He took a few seconds to compose himself, then turned to Micky, "Can you talk to him?"

"Why?" asked Micky, "The doctor couldn't get through to him and he's a professional. You know, like, with professional opinions and facts. What makes you think I'll get through?"

"You've always been able to before," Peter pointed out.

Micky could never turn down a plea from Peter, it would be like disappointing a small child, so he turned and walked to the bedroom. He knocked on the door.

"Go away," came Davys voice.

"It's me, Micky."

There was a long pause, so long that Micky was about to knock again when he heard Davy say, "Alright, come in."

Micky opened the door slowly and shut it behind him. Davy was sitting on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest. He kept his eyes lowered as Micky walked in. There was silence for a moment.

"You know Mike's just worried-"

"Yeah, I know."

"And Peter and I-"

"Yeah, I know."

"But do you know why we're worried?"

Davy paused, "Well, you really don't have any reason-"

Micky drew in a breath sharply, causing Davy to break off mid-sentence and look up.

Micky shook his head and went to sit down next to Davy. "Look, I don't know as much about anor-"

"I'm telling you-" Davy started.

"Can you just let me talk?" asked Micky, trying his hardest not to sound frustrated. "We're not going to get anywhere if we keep cutting each other off."

He took a deep breath and continued, "I don't know as much about anorexia as Mike does. All I know is that you're sick, you're so sick that the doctor told us you should be in hospital, and the only reason you're not is that I told Dr Black that I didn't think you'd be able to handle it because I know how you feel about hospitals. I'm already beginning to regret that Davy. None of us know how to handle you, so maybe it would be better if you were in the hospital, with people who do know how."

Micky paused but Davy didn't say anything. "We made a deal with Dr Black that you wouldn't have to go to the hospital if you talked to a psychiatrist. Honestly Davy, if you don't make the call, you'll have to be admitted into the hospital and I can't do anything to stop it this time."Davy looked up at Micky, "But I don't want to go to a psychiatrist."

"Would you rather go to the hospital?" Micky asked.

"Can't I just talk to you?" Davy burst out, "We always talked before Mick! Please?"

Micky knew that this wouldn't work. He didn't know how to handle Davy, he needed professional help. He sighed, "Look Davy, you're my best friend and I hate to see you like this. We can talk, nothing has to change about thatm but you have to talk to someone else too, someone who understands, because I don't understand."

"There's nothing to understand Micky!" Davy insisted, "I'm not sick! So what if I lost some weight, there's nothing wrong with that!"

"There is when you've lost so much! Davy, please, look in the mirror and see yourself as we see you!"

Davy didn't say anything. Micky frowned and held up the list of psychiatrists that Davy had ripped in half. "You've got a choice Davy, either you go to a psychiatrist, or you go to the hospital."