Before we get into this chapter, drop everything and go listen to Gabbie Hanna's "Out Loud" and "Medicate," in that order (watch the "Out Loud" music video for the full experience.) I discovered these recently and they both tie in so well with both this and my story, and I see them reflect Alexander and Nicholas' relationship (which we will be getting deeper into in both this and next chapter, you're in for a treat haha). Please listen to them, they're amazing.
TW: disordered eating, panic attack, mention of past and current self harm
X
Here are the things people tell you about eating disorders:
The thigh gap. The stately collarbones. The way you feel in control. The hollows underneath your cheekbones. The feeling of running your fingers over your ribcage, which become your very own xylophone.
Heres what they don't tell you:
The anger that comes from breaking a fast. The nights you spend in the bathroom, biting your fist to muffle sobs, as your boyfriend pretends to type in the next room as you try not to purge. The cold that settles into your bones and turns your skin pale and marbled. The way your heart flutters when you stand up, and the wave of dizziness that follows. The anxiety attacks that come after losing your calorie count. The lies. The frustration. The secrecy.
The shame.
Alex was used to all of this. It had been like that Before, and it was like that After.
The first time he was in the hospital, before The Incident, he'd been diagnosed, but not really. EDNOS, they said. Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified.
He wasn't doing it to be thin. He was doing it because he was trying to gain power over himself for once in his life.
He'd never fit inside the boxes people tried to stuff him into. He hadn't fit into that one, either. He wasn't anorexic. He wasn't bulimic. He just...was.
Glamorous. That's what people said. Having an eating disorder was just so glamorous.
(There's nothing glamorous about passing out from restriction or shoving your fingers down your throat.)
X
The tapping of a pen echoed throughout their room as Alex sat in front of his desk, a notebook open in front of him, words that had been scribbled and crossed out scrawling on the page.
Drying ink stained the tips of his fingers, black against pale skin, and he gnawed on the pen cap, an old habit not yet forgotten.
"Any progress?" John asked from across the room, and Alex looked up.
"Nope," he sighed, and set the pen down. "Nothing."
He was supposed to be writing poetry for his Creative Writing class, something about the environment around you, but that just wasn't happening.
"Write about yourself," John suggested, and Alex snorted.
"I hate myself."
"Alex!"
"Sorry, sorry. It's true, though."
"Alexander."
"Fine," he sighed, and picked up his pen.
He glanced over at John, who had his hair in a sloppy ponytail and was wearing a raggedy tee, spinning a highlighter in his hand while skimming through his Biochemistry book.
Black shaggy hair pushed back, sketching light lines onto creamy paper, grinning at Alex through thick lashes.
He started writing.
X
Here I am
trapped
beneath these waves
as water
fills everything
that you
left
behind.
Gaping holes
torn, slashed, ragged at the edges,
burning underneath
a thousand broken promises,
salt water in a wound
that cannot
(will not)
be healed.
I was
so selfish-
only thinking
of
me,
always
me,
never you,
even though
all I ever did
and have done,
was for you.
But yet,
that was what you said
that night,
with my world
smoldering
crashing
shattering around my shoulders,
dragging me
down
down
down
into this abyss,
flames snuffed out
by the water
I once loved.
And now
I'm here,
haunting the sea,
a siren
with no voice
only
a broken melody
that sounds
like
a love song
on a cracked record
scratched by a razor needle,
with your hands
spinning the
disc.
X
The lecture hall door closed with a defining clap, and Washington appeared with his ever-present stack of papers and textbooks, setting them on his desk with a small thump. He leaned against the front of his desk and clasped his hands neatly.
"Today I'll be dividing you into groups of two to begin our projects on the amendments. You'll be either defense or offense, which I will be assigning, and next week we will have a debate criticizing the amendments I've selected for you that day. You will have five minutes to prepare a speech and formulate a point, then we will debate in front of the class."
Alex tensed as Washington began to call off names.
Dear God, no.
"Hamilton and Jefferson."
A cold wave of anxiety rolled over Alex's shoulders, dousing out any other sensation. Jefferson sneered at him from across the room, his eyes maliciously gleeful.
Alex sat, frozen, for the rest of the class, trying to gather up the courage to speak to Washington about switching partners.
Unfortunately, he never got the chance.
Jefferson was already shoving his way over to Alex the moment Washington dismissed them, and Alex steeled himself for the verbal abuse to start hitting him.
"So." Jefferson's eyes were narrowed, his jaw set. "I want the top grades out of the class. Where and what time do you want to meet so that we can get this over with as quickly as possible?"
"Cafe, I guess," Alex grumbled, keeping his head down, and started shoving materials into his bag. Jefferson rolled his eyes. "Fine. What time?"
"Um..." Alex grabbed his coat and started to pull it on, the sleeve catching the edge of his sweater and tugging it up with the jacket. "Tomorrow? Three works for me."
Jefferson nodded, then dropped the uninterested mask as his eyes widened. "Holy shit-"
Quicker than Alex could process, Jefferson's hand darted out and closed around his wrist, turning it over.
Alex's stomach dropped out as Jefferson's eyes skimmed lightning-fast over the web of scars.
"What the fuck, Hamil-"
Alex snatched his arm back and yanked his sleeve down, shaking as panic swiftly rose in his throat. "I have to go."
He grabbed his bag and ducked around Jefferson, booking it out of the hall and out onto the sidewalk before breaking into a sprint, panic flooding through his veins.
Dorm dorm dorm dorm dorm-
He flung open the door to his dorm building and thundered up the stairs, trying to breathe through the quickly closing gap in his throat.
He fumbled with the key before finally getting it into the lock and burst through the door into his room before slamming it shut behind him and dropping his bag to the ground.
"Alex-?"
John's voice was distorted through the sharp static in filling his ears, and Alex lunged for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and flipping the lock.
His entire chest was alight with a buzzing sensation, tingling underneath his ribs and crushing his lungs.
He knows he knows he knows-
"Alex!" John's voice was muffled through the door, but Alex could still hear the worry in it. "Can you open the door please?"
Alex dropped onto the edge of the bathtub and wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to breathe through the crushing weight on his chest.
"Lex, if you don't open the door I'm gonna have to get the key," John called, sounding frantic.
Alex slowly uncurled an arm and fumbled for the knob, blinking back the black spots dotting his view of the bathroom. As soon as the lock was flipped, John burst through the door, panic written all over his face. He knelt in front of Alex, "Hey, hey, hey. What happened? What's wrong?"
Alex's chest heaved and his fingers slipped under his sleeve, running over the ridges on his arm.
"He saw," Alex gasped, and John's eyebrows contracted. "Jefferson saw," Alex repeated, and dug his nails into his arm, relishing the pain. John's gaze flickered down, and then realization dawned across his face.
"Hey." John caught his eye. "It doesn't matter, Lex. Okay? Who cares?"
He took Alex's hand in his, "Everyone's been through shit. Seriously. And if he mentions it, I'll punch the asshole personality right out of him."
Alex managed a half-hearted snort, and took a breath.
"Yeah," he agreed, still coming down from the panic attack. "Yeah, okay."
X
The next day dawned cloudy and bright, with the forecast calling for yet more snow later in the afternoon.
Alex shuffled along the sidewalk, taking his sweet time. Maybe if he took long enough, Jefferson would leave from impatience and he could put this off longer.
He had no such luck, however, and pushed open the door to find Jefferson sitting at a table, books already spread out in front of him.
Alex ordered a coffee and sat down, pulling out his notebook and pens. Jefferson looked up, "I'm just putting ideas together."
Alex nodded, anxiety churning in the pit of his stomach, and started flipping through pages, gathering information.
Minutes passed, dragging long and slow, but he could still feel the burn of Jefferson's glances at his arms, which were covered by his sweatshirt.
"If you're going to ask, just ask," Alex said finally, slamming his notebook shut and setting down his pen.
Jefferson paused, taken aback for a second.
"How'd you get those scars."
"First of all, it's none of your damn business, and second, I think you already know." Alex smiled sweetly at the other man and re-opened his notebook.
Jefferson rolled his eyes. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, more to himself than Alex, and tugged up his sleeve.
Alex had to squint before he realized.
It was hard to see against the older boy's darker skin, but they were there-silver ladder lines, thin railroad tracks leading up to the crook of his elbow.
Alex blinked. Thomas Jefferson, who it seemed no one could touch, who had a perfect life, a cutter?
That wasn't possible.
No way.
But the evidence was there, blatantly staring at him.
Jefferson pulled his sleeve back down before Alex could gawk any longer, and met eyes with the other boy.
"How?" Alex finally managed to get out, and Jefferson shrugged nonchalantly.
"In my house, we don't really 'do' emotions or feelings. I had some pretty bad anxiety when I was younger-still do, actually. I just deal with it better now. Back then..." Jefferson calmly spread his hand and shrugged. "It is what it is. I stopped when I was 17."
His gaze leveled with Alex's.
"When did you stop?"
Alex tightened his jaw.
"It's none of your business," he repeated shortly.
It was silent for a few beats.
"So what?" Alex said, and sat back. "You're going to tell everyone how much of a freak I am?"
Jefferson shook his head. "No, I'm not going to do that. Not when you have the same ammo against me. And anyway, it's been half a year. I'm getting tired of beating you into the ground." He smirked at Alex, who rolled his eyes.
"Fine. You keep my secrets, and I keep yours. Deal?" Alex held out his hand. Jefferson grabbed it, and they shook once before sitting back.
"I did kick your ass though," Jefferson remarked, and Alex tossed his straw wrapper at him.
"Shut up."
X
Nicholas visited him that night.
Filmy and white, thin and gaunt, he stared at Alex from his spot next to the end of the bed, eyes black, accusing.
Alex sat up, clutching the blanket to his chest.
Nicholas took a step forward, reached out his hand.
Alex jerked backward, ripping himself out of reach. His voice wavered weakly in the air.
"What do you want?"
Nicholas opened his mouth. Thick, black tears began to dribble out of his eyes and dripped down his cheeks, staining them gray.
"Your fault."
It came out as a hiss, angry and low, grating on Alex's ears.
He lunged out, grasping for Alex-
Alex bolted up, chest heaving.
Just a dream.
It had felt so real-
Just a dream.
He blamed himself for Nicholas' death, that was no secret. Everything that had led up to the one point-it was on him.
Stop it! You're drunk, stop-
God Alexander, you're such a tease-
A small, sick part of him was glad that Nick was gone. He didn't think that he could stand to be around him any longer, not after that night.
Still...
Your fault
X
"Alexander, this is extraordinary." His professor blinked at him from behind her thick-framed glasses, her flaming red hair twisted into a bun with a pencil shoved through.
"You wrote this?" She held the paper out towards him, and when he nodded, she shook her head.
"Alex, in my opinion, you shouldn't even be in this class."
His heart stuttered in his chest, and he shoved down the urge to press his hand over his breastbone.
Ugh, side effects.
"If I were you, I'd speak to the headmaster about moving you up to my advanced class. A mind like yours shouldn't be wasted."
Pride swelled, threatening to burst out of his throat, and he suppressed a grin.
"I'll email professor Adams tonight, but I think you should make an appointment to see him about getting moved up." She smiled at Alex and set the paper down in front of him.
"Thank you, professor Abigail!" he said, and she nodded, heading back to her desk.
The air outside was brisk, but Alex was used to the cold by now. He embraced it like an old friend, now that it was another side effect.
Side effect, side effect.
I'm a side effect.
He headed over to the cafeteria, where John and everyone else was waiting. Inside it was warm and loud, filled with chatter from other students.
His friends were at their usual table, surrounded by bags and books, and a few scattered papers that he presumed to be Peggy's, since they had sketches all over the margins.
He set his bag down and sat next to John, who shot him a look.
"Where's your lunch?"
"Grabbed something from the cafe on my way over, I'm not really hungry." The lie rolled off his tongue smoothly, and John nodded. "Gotcha."
Conversation buzzed around him for a few minutes, until he couldn't stand it any longer.
"Professor Abigail wants to move me up into her advanced class!" he blurted, and the table went silent in shock.
John blinked at him. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
Alex stared at John, disbelief on his face. "What do you mean?"
"'Lex, you're already stressed. Are you sure you want to add this to your schedule?"
"I'm fine, I'm not stressed!" Alex argued, and John pursed his lips.
"Okay, when was the last time you slept?"
Alex clamped his mouth shut.
Low blow, Laurens.
"I'm fine," he repeated. "Everything's in control!"
30 cals for creamer, 49 for the scone, 0 for coffee.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"This morning!" Alex exclaimed, and John's eyes flashed.
"Huh, really? Because I thought that you had something on the way over here." His voice was laced with anger, and Alex knew he was fucked.
Oh, shit.
His shoulders sagged as the fight drained out his body. He could practically hear his brain whirring as he thought of a way to get out the lie.
"Okay, you caught me. I didn't have anything since breakfast."
Think think think.
"I'm sorry for lying." Alex looked at his hands. At least that sentence was true. He was sorry for lying to John. His boyfriend didn't deserve that.
Good dog, Alexander
"Alex." John sounded sad. "It's okay. But this is exactly what I'm talking about. You're too stressed for this!"
Alex nodded along, keeping his face neutral.
You're wrong. I'm fine.
"I think you just need to take it easy for a while."
I'm in control.
Alex nodded again.
I'm in control.
X
The nightmares kept coming.
Maybe it's from stress, maybe it's because he finally unearthed all the emotions he'd been burying from the past, Alex didn't know.
He just wanted them gone.
Instead, he studied. Coffee helped, but not eating helped more. A hunger-panged stomach kept you more awake than caffeine ever would. Sleeping was replaced by work, extra hours of staying up filled in by extra work that he forced himself into.
If Professor Abigail wanted 3 poems, he gave her 6. If Professor Adams wanted a 5 page paper, he gave him a 10 page one.
It was simple, really. More work equaled less sleep.
His grades were wonderful. Stellar, actually. There was no reason that he shouldn't have been moved up into higher classes.
And, yes, okay, he wasn't listening to Evie. And maybe it was riding on his guilt complex like a cinderblock.
But hey-everything else was fine, right?
I'm in control.
X
The scale taunted him.
In the back of his head, he knew that he wasn't in control of everything-if anything, he was spiraling wildly all over the map.
But right now? He was okay.
But that stupid scale still was there, every morning of every day. It took almost all of Alex's willpower not to get onto that stupid piece of plastic.
He broke going into the second week of his relapse.
Not doing that again.
It stared at him through the wooden door.
Not doing that again.
It scowled at him while he brushed his teeth in the morning.
Jesus fucking Christ on a bike.
Alex stared at the scale.
The scale stared back.
He set down the toothbrush. Stepped off a cliff.
Onto the scale.
Shut his eyes.
Peeked them open.
Bounded off.
Five pounds.
He'd lost five pounds.
Dear Lord above, yes.
Control, control, control.
Alex was happy-scary happy. The feeling bubbling in his veins was intoxicating, even more so than cutting.
Yes yes yes yes.
Just like that, Nicholas' voice wafted across his ear for a second, accusation sharp and foreboding.
Your fault.
Alex shook his head, closed his eyes as the bathroom tilted slightly.
I've got it under control.