Chapter Text
How are you so good with numbers when you can't remember the last time you ate? Counting everything from minutes to seconds to calories, heart beats and syllables in words you'd never get to say.
You had been getting so strong lately; able to deny even the most tempting of meals. Everything you had loved to consume as a child, you now frantically scraped down the garbage disposal. Panic. Satisfaction. Relief. Guilt. Panic. And over again.
There were days where you ate of course. Little things that you made sure to swallow down in front of your brother to avoid suspicions. And afterwards, you'd crawl off to your room and do sit ups till you felt sick.
You lie in your room, dragging your fingers across your bare stomach. You remembered and cursed the time you weren't able to feel your ribs. You touched them top to bottom, taking in every ridge. They weren't completely visible yet, but if you were to stretch in front of a mirror properly you'd be able to count. It felt like the bones you could feel were keeping you anchored.
You moan quietly and contently, feeling your stomach grumble in complaint. The hunger pains are powerful, but luckily, you're much stronger. They only make this more satisfying.
Twelve cups of water, you figured for the day. Spread out every hour. You pester your friends to keep distracted from food. You play video games and make comics; things you're pretty sure you enjoyed, but have no idea why.
Your first obsession was a gap; that beautiful space that a lot of people had right between their legs. Gorgeous people. You wondered, if you were to get that gap, you would become one of them. You wondered if your brother would even be able to see a difference. You ran every morning and afternoon, your legs in motion constantly for a month and a half.
Your legs would begin to shake as you ran and once they did, you knew your run was halfway through. It reminds you of that awful Saturday.
The mirror clapped for you, seeing the space between your thighs. Feet together, legs apart. You felt proud, all of that hard work had really payed off. In fact, you even found reason to treat yourself to something small.
You left your home, had a slice of pizza and an ice cream cone, then walked home as the sun went down.
The moment you put your hand on the door, something felt off. Your heart raced but you shoved it open, denying what you saw. Your brother was sprawled on the couch with a woman you had never met, and she
immediately sat up and smiled at you.
She giggled and apologized, and you just stared. She was so small. So lovely. The pizza churned in your stomach, the guilt rotting you, you were sure. 400+350 it was not okay, not okay. As for your brother he just kept his normal expression, not saying a word. You ran off to the bathroom, tried to get it up, but all you got was watery eyes and a tight stomach.
Maybe if you were that small....
Your second obsession, little thing that made you keep going, was collarbones. You noticed girls at school started wearing these lovely little shirts that were cut right below those arches, and immediately knew you wanted them too.
You rubbed below your neck, feeling for the bones that showed so clearly on most people, but were hidden on you. You looked up why that was so, and the most common answer was that everyone was built 'differently'.
You're sure that they're just buried under fat.
You dropped your reward days, replacing food treats with things like new headphones and nice supras. It felt much better.
Rewarding yourself with food, Dave? Are you a fucking dog?
The third obsession was ribs. And look, here they were finally beginning to say hello. Took long enough really, bastards.
You forget where your mind was even going when you hear a knock on your door, your brothers silhouette coming into your room. He's holding something and your heart skips a beat, your chest tightens and you want to cry.
A relatively large cupcake, bright red frosting coating the top. There's a lit candle as well, and his grin is telling you that he's proud; like he had made it or something. That thing has to be at least 430, 500 since he baked it.
A bomb, really.
He tells you happy birthday and sits on the side of your bed. There was always a fight to get you out to the dinner table for things like this, so he just let you do your thing in your room for the most part.
You nod at him, fake a decent smile, then tell him you're too tired for sweets. He cocks a brow, unconvinced. It was alright, you had plenty more of these. You try to explain that ever since that snickers bar he gave you that your tooth hurt. He laughs and tells you to eat the fucking thing. Your brother, charming as always, attempts to maneuver it into your mouth. You sputter, pulling away, pulling, moving, and then you snap. How dare he barge in to break what you had worked so hard on? You grab the cupcake and crush it before throwing against the wall, your breathing a bit more erratic than it should have been.
He stares, lost at why you would be that way. You want to cry and apologize, but you know it's too late. You've hurt him now. He leaves and slams your door, and you crumble in your bed.
Your phone beeps repeatedly, happy birthday from your dear friends, and you feel sick. You wonder why TT speaks with you even though she's so smart, and why a nice girl like GG bothers with some asshole. GT is a dumb ass, that you loved, but forbid yourself from doing so a long time ago.
You fall asleep crying and then you wake up to the smell of bacon and something else sweet. You figure he's cooking, but when you feel a weight beside you, you know this is much more dangerous.
He's hovering over you with a plate.
You try to run out of the room, and it only takes one arm to shove you down. He's obviously confused at this; as many strifes as the two of you had, he figured you'd be able to leave a god damn room. He tries to smile and shoves you playfully, you crumble under the touch.
He puts the plate down and helps you up, muttering a holy shit little man and puts you in bed. It was dizzying to stand. He looks afraid, and firmly grips your sides. Your expression changes feeling the leather of his gloves on you. Your expression drop and your heart sinks when he pulls your shirt right off of you.
He just stares at you, for why feels like forever but you know it's only been a moment. 14 seconds actually, you counted. Your heart flutters momentarily, the sick realization sinking in. He's looking at you, you have his full attention. Those pounds you dropped? They're making him see you. You smile at him.
He mumbles something along the lines of Jesusfuckingchrist and leaves, being careful to close the door without slamming it.
Maybe if you dropped five more? He wouldn't walk away. Perhaps he would have stayed and said you were beautiful, maybe ruffled your hair. You cough and you know you need to cry when everything tightens, but nothing comes out but a neurotic laugh that makes you laugh harder. You're so awful. Just the worse. But you'd probably less awful if you lost seven.
He's finally noticing you and the way he stared so intensely at you? As if you were the only thing in the room that mattered and he wanted to pull you out of yourself in the most beautiful of ways. As if behind that shocked expression, he maybe thought wow Dave, you look lovely?
That was worth ten.
You'd keep going, and become stronger just like he had taught you.