teach me gently on how to breathe || tradley/brad

علاج

"Is there anything you'd like to say about yourself, Brad?" Dr. Hans asks. Brad's eyes travel across the room. Everyone already looks uninterested and aggravated.

"Um," he begins. He frowns at some kid glaring at him before directing his brown eyes back towards the doctor patiently waiting for him to continue. "I can't think of anything at the moment. Sorry."

"That's okay. We'll have you share something a little later in the week then," he decides.

"Sure," Brad automatically replies, even though he'll rather not talk in front of a group of teenagers who look like they have one more problem just by his presence.

"So," Dr. Hans loudly begins, giving everyone a sheet of notebook paper and a book to write on. "I have a challenge that everyone has to participate in." Brad takes the blank sheet and book and sets it on top. "But first thing's first, I'm going to have all of you write a little for me. I want you to write about the foods that negatively affected you the most, what they've done to you, and any word or sentences that come to mind when you think about this food. And yes, it can be more than one food. It can be one food, or thirty-five. Write whatever food comes to mind."

Brad looks down at his stupid paper, irritated, as the doctor works his way around the circle again, handing every patient a pencil or pen. I don't want to do this, he thinks, twirling the blue ink pen in between two fingers.

Three minutes in and his paper still remains blank. He curiously glances around the room to see everyone else's progress so far. All the other patients are writing, or at least thoughtfully staring at their paper like whatever they write will determine their whole future. In brief, Brad is the only one not completing it. Letting out a quiet sigh, he looks back down at the sheet.

The foods that most affected me, he thoughtfully repeats in his head. The boy can think about almost any type of food that has negatively affected him, making this assignment way more difficult than it has to be. He glances over to his left, seeing in so little time, James is already on food twenty-one, and drawing deliberate doodles on the edge of his page. He pulls his eyes away and blankly stares at his blank paper.

This shouldn't even be hard.

He tries to rewind back to a few months ago, before he started taking control of his body, and what his favourite foods were. He's never actually sat down and thought about how it used to be. Because it's better to forget about it. Brad doesn't want to end up as that guy ever again.

Favourite foods, Brad thinks. He mentally repeats the word over and over again until a repugnant memory of him finishing a whole bucket of ice-cream by himself in under an hour flashes into his mind. He almost cringes at the horrifying image, and how he felt so disgusted with himself for eating all of it so quickly. The guilt had felt so heavy, he unintentionally told his parents his sister, Natalie, took it with her on her way back to Uni.

It still surprises Brad that he was once like that. Thinking about how many times food ended up in his hands without him even thinking about it was scary and disgusting. He was so weak, and completely out of control then. But he's not in contact with that person anymore. He likes to believe he doesn't even know him. Lying has always been easy for him.

Brad writes down ice-cream and 'no control' as the words that come to mind. The next food is easier to think of. Pizza. He almost gags at all the toppings he used to eat. How did he even manage to consume all that without feeling like he was digesting the whole world?

Pizza — unhealthy and fattening

"Two more minutes until we move on," Dr. Hans announces. Brad absentmindedly drums the inside of his wrist on the side of his chair as he thoughtfully stares at his paper. What did I binge on the most? Brad asks himself. Without even having to think any further, he presses the blue ink to the paper and jots down 'chips — disgusting'.