Melodramatic Metathesiophobe

Sharp

The next week was filled with general discomfort. His head would ache or his stomach would hurt or he'd sweat again, the last of which was the worst because it was the hardest to hide. He stayed at home most nights, making it through another gig with only one dizzy spell. That was lucky.

He awoke that Monday to a sharp, aching pain in his mouth. It wasn't too different, his mouth had been included on some rather unfortunate nights where his whole head decided to pound, but this was different. It was just his jaw. Just to his cheek, and he assumed he'd bitten the inside of his mouth somewhere because he tasted iron. He struggled up, really sick of the way his vision darkened at the edges. It happened every other time he stood up and the dizziness really hurt. It was annoying now, more than anything, and the taste it left on his tongue took way too long to brush out.

He got to the bathroom, filling his small cup with water and tossing it back, swirling the liquid around and spitting, rolling his tongue over everything. He stopped. His heart skipped a beat.

He opened his mouth slowly, pressing his lip back with his fingers, and could feel his skin drain of color.

His teeth-- he didn't understand, they were sharp-- his canines almost hurt as he ran his tongue over them, and everything past there was the same, the points all much longer and sharper. His throat closed off and he stumbled back, sticking his finger into his mouth and biting down just to see if he could have been hallucinating--if it could have just been his messed up vision, but it wasn't, and his finger stung, and there were marks and he was bleeding and he really didn't know what to do. What to think. How was that possible? How did that even happen? How could his teeth just file themselves to points? And how were they so sharp?!

He had to be dreaming, his breathing quick and raspy, leaving the bathroom and getting to the couch, checking every few moments to see if it was all in his head, but it was always the same, ruining his finger and drawing more blood. He was freaking out the whole day, not even paying attention to the fact that he hadn't shaved and his scruff was becoming less scruff and more of a small beard.

The whole day it was all he worried about, all he could feel, all he could see-- when he looked in the mirror it was like his eyes were magnetically attracted to the sharp points. It sickened him, scared him-- it was his body, how could it just do something like that? And without him realizing? And without him being able to stop it?

He started to recluse, drew away from everyone, too fearful of what was happening to try to see someone and have to explain. It was the hardest to talk to Mikey. He'd message often, asking what was going on and where Ray was, and it was getting to be difficult to excuse it as being sick or busy. He knew it was making Mikey upset that he kept denying his offers to stop by, but he couldn't bring himself to, not like this, not when everything seemed wrong.

Trudging to the kitchen had become a chore. The regular nausea had flipped around and become hunger. His stomach was a deep, bottomless pit, and he ate way more times a day than usual. He couldn't help it, and he really tried to be mindful of what he ate, but he could only do so much. The hunger was like nothing he'd ever felt. He couldn't understand it, his stomach would ache hollowly and he would eat and it would be okay for an hour or so before the cycle started again. It wouldn't have been strange, wouldn't have been weird, sometimes people got hungry randomly, it wasn't unusual. Except for the fact that he never seemed to gain weight. He seemed to be losing it, actually, his stomach seemed to hang over his belt less every time he looked.

He pulled out his bread and started to sluggishly make a sandwich, much too annoyed and drained to make something genuinely intricate. A sandwich was filling and that was the best he could do.

He sat down at the counter, hating the small accumulation of dishes in his sink that he needed to wash. He was sick of responsibilities again. He just wanted to sleep. It never felt like he had energy anymore. He wasn't aware that he had picked up the phone until James's voice was in his ear.

"Hey, we got a gig for two weeks out! You coming to practice Thursday?" he could hear the smile in James's voice and really hated that he might be the reason that smile went away.

"That's great!" he really put effort into sounding happy, "I'm hanging with a friend on Thursday though, but I'm sure I'll be okay," he took another bite of his sandwich and felt his stomach growl for more.

"Ah, alright," James seemed to believe him, "you're fine after the party a bit back though? Really man, what was that?"

"Forgot to eat lunch," he shrugged, lying seamlessly, "got a little lightheaded and had to sit down, that's all," he shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth and swallowed it.

"Well you have to eat, man. If you pass out during this gig, I'm not carrying you home." he joked and sighed for a second, "see you then, I'll send you the address later, yeah?"

"Mhm," Ray nodded, "see you, I'll practice at home," and James made a clicking sound with his tongue before hanging up.

He sighed. His stomach was resting for the moment and the pain in his head had faded, so he got up, wandering to the sink and starting to mindlessly wash his dishes. It was calming, something monotonous, and it felt pretty good to get something done. Something that had an effect on his life. He was putting his silverware away when he dropped a spoon, jolting and wincing, his ears ringing because--oh god-- the same thing that happened during the gig was happening again-- he could hear everything, the running of the pipes in his house, his footsteps, his breathing and heartbeat and the leaves outside and he clutched at his head, the sounds overlapping and he stumbled while trying to run, covering his ears as he leaned on the bathroom sink. The sound was grating and it hurt and his head was going to explode and--

He looked up. The sound quelled. But he didn't feel relieved.

He felt worse. It was another baffling change. And to his ears, why his ears?? They reminded him of those little vampires that Gerard drew, the cartilage stretching up into a point, the inside hollowed. How was that even possible?! At least with his teeth he could excuse it a little, say that it was because he ground them while he was sleeping or something, but he'd never heard of some kind of mutation where ears would spike. He just covered them, hating how it felt, hating that his body was changing again and he had no choice in the matter. At least with puberty everything was recorded and expected.

He fluffed his hair, making it cover the change, even though it was usually nothing but annoying for his curls to itch his ears. He then went straight to bed, shutting off every light and closing all of his doors and burying himself in blankets and just shutting everything out; collapsing. He hated that he could hear everything. It wouldn't be an issue if it wasn't so sensitive, but everything just rang and lasted and made his head ache, even his heartbeat making him slightly sick.

//Author's Notes\\

He's starting to change! Will anyone notice? Guess you'll have to find out!

~XO, Vacant.~