Problems

|| Chapter 27 ||

Guess whose bacccck~

BIG TW: self-harm (cutting), mentions of purging, smoking

I don't consider this scene to be very graphic, but I know that it could be hard to read so please be warned. Love you guys

"Alex. You okay?"

He'd been asked that question so many times over the past few weeks that he didn't even know the answer to it anymore.

Still, he plastered on a smile and looked up cheerfully, "Yeah, I'm fine."

He wasn't.

He looked like it on the surface. The bout of severe depression from last week had withdrawn, tucked itself back into the dark corners of his brain until the next time it decided to creep out. His anxiety wasn't faring much better, but it had disapated a little, fading to a buzzing in his chest instead of a crushing crescendo.

He couldn't bring himself to eat. It was a fight, a war, and he was losing by a milestone. Whenever he could, he'd escape to the bathroom after meals, purging as soon as possible.

Smoking was added to his list of bad habits. John would leave, headed to the library with his study groups or to classes, and Alex would troop downstairs, stand out on the steps, and smoke.

It wasn't every day, but it was enough to make him feel calmer, to slow down the anxiety and take the weight off of his chest. He was well aware of the fact that he would inevitably be caught, probably sooner rather than later, but at this point, he was so far past caring it wasn't even funny.

He started running again, against doctor's orders. None of his friends were happy about it, and Eliza had pulled him aside to tell him about the effects of what he was doing to his body.

"Alex, you could develop stress fractures. Do you understand that? Or your heart could give out again. Any number of things could happen." Her eyes were pleading, and he felt a small stab of regret.

"I'll be fine, 'Liza. Really. I've gained weight, my heart doesn't hurt anymore. I'm fine." He smiled at her, reassuring, and saw her resolve crack.

"Just be careful, okay Alex? Promise me you'll be careful."

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "I promise."

Another lie added to the quickly growing pile.

X

Alex stopped sleeping.

He wanted to sleep, he craved it. But whenever he laid down, thoughts came rushing in, fueled by anxiety and depression. They ran circles, repeating themselves over and over until they blended into one monotonous thought.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

He can't write anymore, either.

The words wouldn't come smoothly. Instead, they came in choppy, stinted sentences, all broken and...wrong. So, so incredibly wrong.

And without the ability to write, to have some sort of release, he was left with smoking and running. Sometimes running and then smoking. Most days he'd sprint down to the bridge and stall for a few minutes, take a few drags of a cigarette while his heart wheezed erratically under his ribs.

He'd lied to Eliza by quite a lot. If anything, he had lost whatever little weight he'd gained in his week or so of recovery, and was continuing to drop by the pound. His heart hurt constantly, making his chest ache when he ran for too long or pushed it while exercising. Sometimes he'd fantasize about what would happen when it finally foundered, leaving him in a gasping, dying puddle on the floor. He tried not to think about it too much, but still found himself dwelling on it probably more than he should have.