gut feelings (craig & tweek)

gut feelings

Sometimes, even after months of keeping his food down, Craig still felt his gag reflex kick into gear after finishing a meal.

He was never sure why he'd ever thrown up in the first place, granted he never really cared for what others said of his appearance. He knew deep down in some dark, ugly corner of his heart, he wished just a little bit that he looked as ill as he felt. Nothing else, he just wanted the consistency; he didn't care for being thin just for the sake of being thin.

He lay down on his bed for a moment, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling wishing away his nausea as fast as he could. He wanted it to go away so, so badly. He wanted to stop doing things that hurt him. He'd stopped his other habits, such as digging ditches in his arms or drinking until he became a blubbering mess of a boy, yet this particular thing was wearing on him. Horribly.

Once again, the thought of how nauseous he was creeped back in against his will, and he began to gag. He knew it was coming, he'd trained his body too well to fit his disgusting habits and he was paying the price for it. He felt it as his mouth filled up with saliva, and he palmed around the edge of his bed in hopes he'd find his garbage can. When he finally did, he gripped it with white knuckles and pulled it to his chest as his stomach lurched and gurgled. Sitting up, he gave one final gag and the contents of his stomach emptied themselves into the garbage can. He felt the relief wash over him as his nausea disappeared with every wave of vomit.

He was miserable.

He spit after the vomit into the can, setting it back down on the floor until he could find the energy to stand back up. He looked to his left and out the window at the stars, watching them twinkle ever so slightly. I just want this to stop. I just want to be normal again.

After a few minutes of breathing, the smell of the vomit-filled can began to get to him, and he decided he should do something about the disgusting bag. With a deep inhale, he pushed himself off of the bed, clutching the garbage can with his right hand. The reek of stomach burnt his nose as he made his way to the back door to find the garbage can.

One could argue that throwing up after being nauseous would make you feel better, yet Craig was inclined to disagree. Realistically, he was relieved that he was no longer nauseous and could breathe without the contents of his stomach sloshing back and forth like moldy bong water; he was relieved he could lay down without worrying he'd choke on his own vomit. However, he only seemed to feel more and more like garbage with every movement of his tongue.

His mouth tasted disgusting. The bitter burning of stomach acid trailed back down into his throat and he felt worse now than before when he took a moment to think about it.

He slipped on a pair of shoes before sliding open the sliding glass door to the back porch and walking carefully down the steps to the bin, avoiding as many slippery boards as he could. When he finally flipped the lid open and tossed the bag inside, he dropped his arms to his sides and took a moment to smell the air.

It was nice to be outside.

He couldn't remember the last time he was outside and stopped to think about how he was outside‒granted, he couldn't quite remember the last time he went outside for anything other than to catch the bus to school.

It wasn't a nice night out. It was cloudy and dry, and since spring was about to arrive, it had been snowing a bit more the past few days. The air, however, smelt nice; it smelt earthy, like mud, copper, and lawn clippings. Craig thought that was nice. The ground was cold beneath his slip-ons, and he shivered.

He closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

It was quiet out tonight. It was a Monday evening and everyone in the town was either sitting down for dinner or watching the evening news around this time, except for the Tuckers who, instead, opted to square off into their own spaces after they were done eating, which in Craig's case seemed to be the root of his issues.