it started off like anyone else.
axel likes to think that he's become more attentive than he used to be.
because now, even daylight is cold. freezing, even. his lips are flaking, arms stone cold. he supposes this is what happiness feels like. unconsciousness.
sick enough is to scare . to shout every last number he's earned from the years' worth of dedication should be a dream. he lives to see the shock plastered on everyone's face. he knows that they wish they could be like him.
he loves the way his wrists have finally gone a permanent icy blue. it's his favorite color. the irony of it all is that he keeps it a secret.
so of course, when he came to micke's apartment riding his high horse, there was a pretty little journal just waiting to be opened. and it was too enticing to axel for him not to notice, pink and vague atop micke's nightstand.
axel picked it up. his fingers grazed the cover. then slipped under a few pages to reveal the pages beneath. and then his eyes caught what should've been a horrific sight.
pages on pages of calorie logs, black and white pictures of skinny to the point of bone. descriptive, written punishments for eating more than he should. every single weigh in, every pre-meal, every after-meal, every morning and night.
axel should shudder. his shoulders should dip and the smile on his face should be long gone. but it's like a cult. it's devout. and it's all axel needed to push himself over the edge.
axel couldn't resist. the shirt comes off. then his shorts. and it should have been awkward, getting half naked in your best friend's room, knowing they could walk in at any moment. but axel was itching like a user, addicted to the point where fixing his withdrawal came before saving himself from embarrassment. he needed to see himself, compare the two of them. he couldn't care less if micke walked in.
he stands in front of the mirror. the tape in his hands moves to measure his waist, his thighs, then his wrists. he's familiar with all these numbers, he just did the ritual this morning.
but comparing them to micke's.. he couldn't feel any more humiliated. though it's not by much, their waists don't match, and axel's waist is bigger . he hates to realize that's who he is, those are the kinds of words he has to describe himself with.
the tape drops to the carpet. axel thinks he might crumble to the floor.
i need a fucking scale, he tells himself.
so he frantically runs to the bathroom half naked. axel is relieved to find the scale flat on the tile floor. honestly, he should have expected it, because what fucking anorexic doesn't have a scale?
and it's sacred that he be wearing absolutely nothing but hair on his head when he steps on the scale. every bracelet, every ring comes off to bless this moment.
his feet dredily place the selves on the scale. axel almost wants to close his eyes, he doesn't want to know the number even though he checked it just before he left the house.
but he's not a coward, so his eyelids never shut. he simply sucks all the air out of his lungs, because he's knows even that can ruin him, and his eyes peer down.
...and axel thinks he might just die.
how could he be this much fatter in the span of three hours?
he knows it's probably because of that glass of water he drank. the toothpaste he used this morning or the apple he chewed and spat out before he could swallow. that's why you're this fat.
axel can't believe he didn't notice before. from the fact that his waist was half a centimeter wider to the ugly reflection in the mirror, it was obvious that he should have seen it coming.
the predictability of the situation doesn't keep the tear tracks from spilling. they only grow worse with the click of an open door and sounds of footsteps.
"axel...?" micke whispers. axel watches his worst nightmare unfold. "what.. what the fuck is this?"
he doesn't want to speak. it's not even about the fact that he's naked in micke's room, no. it's about the fact that micke knows exactly what axel is doing. discarded measuring tape on the floor, his journal wide open, a boy with a tragic waterfall of tears freshly off the scale.
micke knows what all this means. of course he does.
he wants to hug micke. he wants to punch him. axel musters it up to him being too unstable to pick a sane answer.
"are you okay?"
"no."
they stare at each other as axel slowly puts himself back together. frail jewelry grazes his skin once again and he has to awkwardly walk out of the bathroom to get his clothes, slipping past micke.
the jeans ride up his shins with utter shame. how could you let him find out?
axel doesn't want help. he knows that it'll be his final destination. he'll be showered in deliciate pity. and then soon, awfully berated. axel doesn't want to hear it.
and so, with that ridiculously pained stare of micke's, axel can't do anything other than panic. panic where he'll be tomorrow, today, even. what if he outs me?
"i won't tell anyone," gud reassures, and it's calm til he realizes he's also at risk. "don't... don't tell anyone about me either, alright?"
axel nods.
"i'm sorry," axel breathes, secretly shameless. "i couldn't help myself."
gud walks to him. axel doesn't know whether to take it reassuringly or not.
and to his surprise, lanky arms curl around him.
he embraces gud back. and his hands unintentionally feel for his ribs, rubbing into them just dying to know their prominence. axel almost smiles when he feels gud do the same. neither of them have enough dignity to stop themselves.
but he knows that it'll never be enough. because enough is when one side of the balance holds a feather. the other holds axel. and the platform with the feather dips below.
his version of enough could never last forever.
