vitreous / hs. (DISCONTINUED)

act like everything's fine

V I T R E O U S - S E V E N
atlas









LUNCH was fast approaching; it was the only time of the day that I was actually excited to have come around.


The rest of the time they had Ines and I locked up in our rooms, with next to nothing to do to keep the boredom from creeping up on us.


It had only been about a week since I was here, though I wasn't too sure. Keeping track of the dates and such was more than enough of a task what with no way to remember them.


I noticed throughout the times I was with Ines that she seemed to have different personalities. One was more of a calm, passive one, and the other could become quite aggressive and deranged.


I stayed away from her at those times and made sure to keep my distance. She didn't make an effort to talk to me, so why should I?


I remembered Arrow telling me about how his roommate committed suicide, and pondered about what I would do if Ines did such a thing.


In all honesty, I don't think I would do very much. There wouldn't be anything I could to to help nor to prevent it, though I don't think I would enjoy watching it either.


Maybe I would let one of the psychiatrists know, and they could take care of the rest. It seemed responsible enough, and I wouldn't have to live with the guilt of not having helped at all.


"Girls?" A woman's voice sang through the door. Ines and I both lifted our heads, and I took my hands off of my lap. "Lunch time."


-X-


I sat beside Arrow once again. I didn't like sitting next to anyone else. I was somewhat comfortable around him, and he wasn't absolutely mental like most of the patients here.


"Arrow?" I asked him as I finished drinking my glass of water. He looked over at me and raised his eyebrows as I bent down to slip the pills into my sock.


"Your roommate," I said. "Quinn."


"He's dead."


"Yes I know," I sat back up straight, resting my arms on the table. "What was he like?"


"Completely mental," Arrow said, wiping his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. He let out a breath. "Always whispering things, getting up in the middle of the night to bang on the walls, just... crazy."


"Did you like him?"


"Of course I did," he said, seeming to go back into his memory. "He always talked to me about things."


"What things?"


"Just," he made small gestures with his hands on the table. "Things."


I nodded my head and took a spoonful of soup, sipping it slowly off of the spoon as if it would fill me up faster than taking it all at once.


Arrow tilted his head down to look at his stomach, and then his thighs, and then his arms. He lifted his head to look at all of the other anorexics sat at the opposite table and pursed his lips.


"They're almost like skeletons," he said it as if he had just realized. I nodded. "I'm not like them, am I?"


I hesitated for a second. Was he really asking me this? Couldn't he see that he was - if anything - worse than the others?


"You are," I told him.


He seemed confused. "No no no, I'm not like them at all. They're skinny, I'm fat."


"You are skinny, Arrow."


"Stop lying to me."


His posture slouched over, and he seemed less content than before. He picked at his food with his fingers, making a slight grossed out expression with his face.


If anyone hadn't know better, you would have thought he hated food. But really, he hated himself, and food only enhanced that hatred.


"Arrow, you're skinny. You have an eating disorder for God's sakes."


"I'm too fat to have an eating disorder." He mumbled quietly. If I hadn't been looking at him then, I wouldn't have heard him.


Silence consumed the both of us, for I did not know how to reply to him. I wanted to give him some piece of advice, but I hated giving advice because I never followed it myself.


I watched the steam slowly begin to stop floating off of the surface of my soup as it got colder and colder until it was nothing but a bowl of disgusting green liquid.


I picked up my plastic cup and scooped up some of the soup, only to pour it back in the bowl again. I kept doing so to keep my attention latched to something other than the ticking clock on the wall.


"Atlas," Arrow said. I turned towards him, setting my cup on my tray. He had his chin on his hands and his hands on the table, one over the other.


"Hm?" I acknowledged.


"You know what Quinn used to tell me?"


"What was it?"


He blinked. "He said the hardest part about recovery is when you're not so sure you even want to recover at all."














that was very short and i am very sorry