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

ذكريات

Brad pauses when he realises he isn't by himself anymore. The teenager doesn't have to turn to realise who it is. Jack's hovering over him, a little smirk on his face indicating he's evidently not over here to welcome the curly-haired boy back to the cafeteria.

"When did you start eating in here?" his ex questions, sliding into the seat next to him. His annoying friends plop down across from Brad, placing their trays on the wooden table. "Isn't the gudiance counselor supposed to be making sure you're not like throwing up or some other weird shit you people do?"

"You're thinking of bulimia," Brad quietly responds. "I'm not bulimic."

"Whatever, it's all the same," he stupidly says causing the younger boy to mentally roll his eyes in annoyance. He wonders what James would do if he were listening in on this.

"No, it isn't. I don't throw up."

"Maybe you should start," Jack suggests, eyeing the boy's uniform. His friends across from him laugh. "Anorexia was doing you well for a while. I guess someone like you can't stay away from food for long, yeah?"

"Just fuck off," Brad mumbles, glancing back down at his book. Jack snatches it away from him, like a little kid. The younger boy huffs. "Give it back," he lowly demands.

"Come get it," his ex childishly replies. "Or is that too much work for you, fatass?"

"Picking on my weight isn't funny, okay?" Brad angrily tells him, reaching for his book, but the older boy pulls it out of his reach. The curly-haired boy wonders why everyone surrounding him has abnormally long arms.

"I wasn't trying to be funny. I'm encouraging you. Just like I did last time, remember?"

"Stop it!" he shouts as the memory nearly returns to his mind. He's been deliberately avoiding thinking about that day. It kills him just by knowing it happened.

"Why? Are you going to cry?"

"Please!" Brad finds himself pleading. "Just leave me alone."

He chuckles and slides the book back across the table to him, sending it hitting the three squares of his sandwich and sending them falling to the floor. "Oops, my bad," Jack unapologetically says. "But doesn't seem like you need anymore food, though, right?"

The brown-eyed boy blinks to prevent the tears threatening to escape his eyes from falling. But the universe seems to hate him and tears easily spill down his cheeks causing Jack and his friends to laugh at his sensitivity. Brad jumps up from his seat and quickly zips up his lunch box. Whatever else Jack says, he doesn't hear it as he hurriedly gathers his things and rushes out, breathing heavily. He jogs until he reaches the toilet and hurries through the door. Brad rests his back against the wall and automatically pulls the bottle in his pocket out. Screwing off the lid, he shakes two pills into his hand and quickly swallows both of them without water. They feel weird and thick as they travel down his throat, but Brad has a chance to catch his breath as he screws the lid back on.

Please don't remember, Brad begs himself. He slides his back down the wall until he's sitting on his legs. Please. Please. I don't want to remember.

The memory doesn't have a chance to touch him, but Brad thinks that's mostly because he can't stop crying. The curly-haired boy wishes he could disappear and return as anyone but himself. Maybe if he weren't so fat then people would actually like him.

Brad sits there, crying like a baby until he hears the bell ring, and then he unscrews the bottle to down another pill.

. . .

The teenager's dad picks him up shortly after, and Brad's starting to feel sick. He assumes it's because of all the crying. The tears still haven't stopped, except Brad's emotions have. He's crying, but his face is blank as he stares outside the window, and the only thing he feels is the ache in the pit of his belly.