Conquering Nightmares of the Past

4: Making Mistakes is Better Than Faking Perfection

sick wilby and concernedza

these summaries are shit yet hold all the information you need to know. i love them :D

tw//eating disorders, throwing up, mentions of suicide attempt, very slight mentions of blood (literally one line), implied child abuse

Wilbur stared at the door for a few more seconds after Phil had left, listening to the reassuring sounds of receding footsteps. He turned to look around the room, no longer having to hide his reactions. It was pretty bland, but he would much rather that than neon blue or fucking orange or something.

The bookshelf was a dark brown, a lovely contrast to the white walls. He ran a hand over the spines of the books before turning his attention to the desk. It was the same colour as the bookshelf, really bringing the room together. As he walked over to it, he noticed a little pen holder with heaps of pens and pencils filling it in one corner and a lamp in the other.

He flicked the switch on the lamp and the light flickered on. He switched it again and watched the bulb lose its brightness. He was surprised that it actually worked. He turned his head once more, eyes focusing on the bed behind him. It was covered in plain white sheets, but holy fuck, was it massive.

He hesitantly walked over to it, pressing a hand against the mattress and gawking when it sunk into the soft fabric.

He immediately turned and jumped backwards onto the bed, giggling softly when he bounced. Then he remembered where he was and the smile fell instantly. This stuff wasn't his, he didn't deserve it. He would probably be gone before the end of the year. This wasn't his home.

He placed the backpack he had been carrying around on the bed next to him. He could hide it later. He couldn't bring himself to stand just yet, choosing to lay there as he thought over the events of the day and willed himself not to go to sleep. He had to be awake for when Phil called him to dinner in a few hours. He couldn't piss the guy off on his first day.

Phil in general was so confusing. He didn't give Wilbur any chores, didn't tell him off for not talking enough and hadn't yelled at him (yet). He also gave Wilbur this incredible room, which, as much as Wilbur loved, he knew this put him in Phil's debt and that the things in this room would probably be held over his head later on.

He didn't like thinking about what Phil was going to do to him, he wished it could just stay like this forever, but he knew that wasn't how it worked, so he kept letting himself have these saddening thoughts. They were only preparing him for the inevitable. They were helping him, even if he didn't enjoy it.

He thought back to his biological family. He wished he could go back to them. He barely remembered them at this point, but he had enough memories to wish that he could go back there. He remembered them taking him to get ice cream, or watching him play at the park, or his first day of school where they spent ages calming him down when he got upset for them leaving.

(He also remembered them locking him outside for hours when he was bad, or them yelling that he was a mistake, or all the times when they told him he was a waste of space and they wished they never had him. He chose to ignore those memories.)

He hadn't realised tears were falling from his eyes until he felt two warm wet patches accumulating on the blankets next to his face. He furiously wiped his eyes and forced himself to get off the bed. Laying there with only his thoughts to entertain him wasn't doing him any good.

He reached for his bag to pull out his file to read when he remembered the bookshelf. He turned to face the bookshelf where it sat against his desk and walked over to it. Phil put these here, surely he wouldn't mind if Wilbur read them, right?