Hold on || dreamnotfound

chapter twenty seven

george's point of view
tw: eating disorder/ throwing up
~> be careful <3

A strange sound made its way to my ears, causing me to confusedly blink my eyes open. I needed a few seconds to identify my surrounding.

But when I did, I also noticed that the part of the bed where a warm, familiar person was supposed to be, was empty.

Within half a second, I sat in an upright position, kicking the blanket away from my legs and getting up.

The sound repeated and a queasy feeling went through my sleepy body.

Following my ears, I ended up standing stood in front of the bathroom door, silently listening to the sounds that came out of it.

I knew this didn't mean anything good.

Determined, I pushed the door open, finding exactly what I didn't want to see.

Dream, my beloved Dream kneeled in front of the toilet, gagging the tiny amount of food that he actually ate this evening into the ceramic lavatory.

No! Please no!

The sound of the opening door made him flinch and his wide open eyes flickered around.

When he noticed me, he looked even more scared and it made my stomach clench together painfully. Why was he so afraid that I saw him in this condition?

I knew he struggled and the only thing I wanted was for him to get better. But I would never ever judge him for having this mental illness. It wasn't his fault so why would I ever blame him for it?

"George- You shouldn't- I," he stuttered before leaning over the toilet again and gagging out pure stomach acid. I instantly kneeled down next to him, closing the toilet to stop him from throwing up again.

His whole body was shaking as he tried to reopen the toilet lid but failing. I wouldn't let this happen again. Trying not to scare him, I leaned foreword and brushed a strand of hair behind his ear while inspecting his facial expressions. He looked so scared, almost like he expected me to yell at him every second. But what would make me do so?

When I saw tears prickling in the corner of his eyes, I couldn't stand it any longer. I immediately embraced him, ignoring the thick air that smelled acidic. Because I didn't fucking care. The only thing that mattered was my helpless friend.

"I'm sorry I- you were so happy and- gosh I'm such an idiot" he whispered, his voice hoarse and thin. It was only a matter of time until the first tears would start falling. And it broke my heart when I realized I was right, the crook of my neck slowly but surely getting hit by tiny droplets. Carefully, I separated myself to look him into his eyes. They were so empty, so grey and full of sadness.

"No. Please stop apologizing for things you can't control. I'm your friend, Clay, and I don't want you to suffer. Why don't you talk to me when you feel the urge to- to throw up?" I wanted to know and as soon as I had spoken the words, I realised how desperately I needed to know the answer.

Why did he never talk to me about his problems? I wanted to help him, for god's sake!

"I- this is not- I don't want you to- I can't do this, George," he sobbed, streams of tears falling down his cheeks.