Disorderly

Mornings

Warnings: Eating disorders, purging (vomiting)

I do not approve of nor do I encourage eating disorders or eating disorder-like behaviors. I highly recommend you not read this if you have/are triggered by eating disorders or behaviors related to eating disorders.

A set of ankle weights, weighing ten pounds each. A waistband made out of plastic wrap, with coins and rocks superglued on it. Drew was even wearing a sports bra, with BB pellets where the gel inserts were supposed to be.

"110.3," Dream said, writing Drew's weight down. "You've gained three pounds since Tuesday."

Drew nodded. If only you knew, he thought to himself.

"Breakfast will be ready soon," Dream said, snapping the notebook shut. "Make sure you're ready for school."

"Do I have to eat it all?" Drew whined.

Dream gave him a look that made him feel bad. Drew sighed and stepped off the scale. "I'll eat half of it, okay?"

Dream's shoulders relaxed. "That's fine. As long as you eat."

"And I don't want butter on my toast."

"Your daily quota is three thousand," Dream reminded. "You're getting butter, whether you like it or not."

Drew pouted. "I don't like butter."

"It's on your diet plan," Dream said. "Toast with butter."

"My diet plan can go to hell."

Dream sighed, knowing well that Drew would keep complaining. "Drew..." He muttered as he left the bathroom.

Drew slipped into his bedroom. He removed all of the weights and put them in their hiding spots, where they belonged. He actually weighed 90.4 pounds. If Dream found out, he'd send Drew back to the treatment facility.

And Drew would not let that happen.
*********************
Isaac placed the rest of the toast in the napkin on his lap and wrapped it up. Luckily, Ink's back was turned, so he didn't even notice. Isaac slipped the food into his pants pocket. Ink was pretty easy to trick.

"Did you finish your breakfast?" Ink asked, placing the Tupperware with the turkey sandwich he had made for Isaac into the lunchbox.

"Yeah." It wasn't really a lie. He had eaten half of his toast, hadn't he? And it wasn't as if Ink was strict about how much he ate. Drew had told Isaac that Dream was really strict about his caloric intake and his weight, which he loathed.

"Good." Ink nodded, closing the lunchbox and handing it to Isaac. "I don't want Boss to be right about this. How you being around Drew is making his recovery burst into flames, and the other way around."

"Yeah, yeah." Isaac shoved the lunchbox into his bag. "We're both doing fine."

"Speaking of, how much do you weigh?"

Eighty-seven pounds and three ounces.

"A hundred and seven," Isaac lied. If Ink found out he was that skinny, he'd call Dream and ask for the name of the eating disorder residential treatment facility that Drew had been to twice.

"Didn't you weigh a hundred and ten a few days ago?" Ink asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They've been doing a lot of fitness tests in gym lately." Another lie. They had been doing a unit in soccer.

"Don't push yourself too hard or I'm pulling you from the class, understand?"

"Fine."

I'll push myself even harder.
*******************************
Chris was on a high.

He weighed not a hundred, not a hundred and ten, but ninety pounds. It was anesthetic.

At first, Chris didn't feel like he was in control. The stuffing/puking/stuffing/puking didn't really work at first. It just made him blew him up, which made him cry. But then he decided to stop the stuffing part and just continue the puking. Then the pounds slipped away into nothing but nothingness.

Chris felt stronger. He could see and think clearer, and he was sure he had the strength to stay in control.

Control.

That was the key word here.

Articles written by real doctors had whispered to him that he had an eating disorder. Bulimia, if you wanted to call it by its name. Bad things happened to bulimics, they said. Your heart could get messed up. The acid from your puke could wear down your tooth enamel. Your esophagus could rupture. It should have scared Chris into stopping it cold turkey. But it didn't.

Because he didn't want to stop.

Everything was great for him, it seemed. So why should he stop?

That's what Chris thought as he approached his favorite puking spot. He liked to purge outside, in a secluded area. He only purged in the bathroom at school, and that was only because he drank a lot of juice every morning with his breakfast, so Edward and Nevin didn't suspect anything.

Chris walked underneath a tree and stuck two fingers down his throat. All of his breakfast came up; two helpings of chocolate chip pancakes, four strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, and half a carton of orange juice, with extra pulp. It burned the back of his throat, but he paid no mind to it.

7:02. Time to go to school and not think, at least for a while.