𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 - TMR AU, Thomas

𝟢𝟥𝟫，𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

༺ THIRTY - NINE ༻

I think I found my favorite way of both letting thoughts go and for once not having to care about my body because whenever Thomas and I get a little more fervent (which is quite frequently) he doesn't seem to give a single shuck about my body. 

First, the kisses and the whimpers that slowly turn louder the deeper my nails dig into his bare back, and then the minute of silence except for our heavy breaths, and then there's always the bloody lovely shower he makes for me while he takes care of other things.

I've insisted he joins the shower, but Thomas kindly refuses and keeps saying it makes him feel better knowing I get a few minutes for myself instead of being 'sticky notes with him' (of course he'd join if I really want him to).

Now maybe my favorite part, cuddling. Against his side, his arm wrapped around me, my arm around his torso.

"Are you feeling okay?" I look up at him, just to check up.

He nods. "Perfect. And you?"

"Perfect," I say. Letting go of a breath, I snuggle closer to him. Thomas's arm tightens around me, and I know he can feel what Sonya said. My ribs. He can see them, in fact. He can see every single part of me, yet he doesn't say anything about it. And I really appreciate it.

He could speak about my hips, ask my weight, why my hair is so thin while he runs his hand through it, or why I get weaker at everything by the weeks, but he just doesn't.

"What're you thinking?" He whispers.

I shake my head. "Something that'll ruin the moment."

He moves me so we can keep eye contact. "You can tell me anything, remember?" Thomas asks softly. "Doesn't matter when. I'm here."

I nod, hesitating. Would it be wrong to ask? No, it's just a question about why he's not staring or saying anything.

The weird thing is, I'm well aware by now that I'm skinny. Unhealthy skinny. The reason people stare is because I'm skinny and my bones are visible through some places. I know how much I weigh and I know it's unhealthy too, but I can't stop that easily. It's not... it's just something I can't do. And I know a part of me doesn't want to either. It's stopping me from spilling my heart out to Thomas.

"Why haven't you said anything?" I finally wonder. "You can see my body, it's obviously underweight, and I don't mind that you're not saying anything about it, but I've been wondering it so much lately. You're not speaking to me or giving me those hints to eat like others do, while you're the one who gets to see the most parts of my body."

Thomas rubs his thumb in circles on my waist, humming quietly. "Because I don't want to force you into anything," he says. "Because I believe that if I just slowly help you in a way I think is the best, you'll avoid all the doctors."

I look down in shame. "You know more than I think, don't you?"

He shakes his head. "I know you're under eating and that's it. You've passed out a few times and I can see some other things you're also aware of, but I'm not going to dig into this. Will only result to uncomfortableness for both of us."

I look back up, my eyes wider and with a shinier, maybe teary part in them. "I love you for that," my voice cracks.

"I'll help you, alright? We'll continue the dinners in the cars and you can always call during any meal if you need help."

I understand that. I know we can make that happen. I know I can do that, but I also know that I can't stop throwing up and taking the laxatives. These have become such an easy way of making one of the most pleasurable things happen: losing weight.

I can eat. The amount doesn't matter, it'll land in the toilet anyways. And I'm so ashamed that I take freaking pills to lose weight and that I spill bloody food by vomiting it out, that I just can't bring myself to tell anyone.

And it's still there. That one part of me that doesn't want me to stop. It tugs at my hand each time I take a bite of food. It sets an alarm in my head every time I remember I still have to go run. It cheers and encourages me when the number lowers. It mentally punches me when the number stays the same. It stays silent when I look in the mirror.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice barely audible. I know I won't manage to keep food in. I feel like I can't. As if it's forbidden, but I still thank him because I'm so grateful. I do want him to help but I also don't because it might tire him and I'm still ashamed and there's. so. many. thoughts.

"I love you." A kiss on my forehead. And then on my cheek, and nose, and lips, and then I'm laughing at the feeling. "Even though you're quite difficult sometimes."

"I love you." I smile. "Even though you're quite crazy sometimes."

"Me?" He scoffs. "Never, Blondie. Wait— bloody nevah, love," he mimics.

My laughs get louder. "That didn't sound British at all."

"It did! I'm a master at it. A mastah, Blondie. Bloody freakin' mastah."

I give him a soft push, giggling. "I don't sound like that. You sound like you're mixing all the accents at once right now."

"Oh, keep talking, keep talking." He slowly shakes his head, eyes closed. "Music to my ears, that 'bloody' accent."

"Stop it. See? This is what I mean! You're being crazy."

"I'm lovely and you agree," he says. "And you're," he pokes me in the side, "being difficult, like I said. What can I even do to please you?"

"Breathe." I crack a big smile. "Or anything at all."

"Well, so I can mimic you."

"Hey, Thomas," I do my best for an American accent. "No you can't, dude. Chill out."

Now he's smiling even brighter. "Ah, you got it. But honestly, British is way better than American."

"Because we still use the real grammar rules and you guys don't," I say. "Most of the time. Like, 'I feel real good' isn't even correct, but you say it. I guess I say that too, sometimes."

"Woah, is that a nerd side coming up?"

"Shut up, Thomas Edison. You're the nerd. You manage to calculate weird bloody things in your head in just a second."

"Mhm." He pulls a face. "Let me calculate this. Rosalind Isaacs plus her body, is perfection. Got that? My brain just knows it in a second. Here, more proof. Thomas Edison plus having a relationship with Rosalind Isaacs, is the best experience."

My stomach hurts from laughing by now. Man, it's nice to have a good laugh after two weeks of not really doing so. "Does your brain also have that love calculator? Fill in names and get the percent?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you go calculate Rose and Thomas their percent."

"But you can't fill the names in like that. It's one kiss for me per name."

"You're ridiculous," yet I do give him two kisses.

"Alright. One hundred percent, easy."

I smile at him. He's everything at once. Unserious, smart, a gentleman, kind, funny, attractive... ugh.

"You know I almost kissed you in the hallway today? But I didn't want my first greet to give Newt a heart attack."

I chuckle. "We'll tell him."

"Someday."

"Yup. Someday."