MCYT angst oneshots

Miserable

Tubbo
- purging
- restrictive eating
- numbers
- self harm
- suicide

(Writing this instead of finishing my other book 😀👍 everything sucks and I feel like shit)

Tubbo kneeled over the toilet, face hot and sweaty. Trails of saliva mixed with the remaining contents of his stomach dripped down his lip into the bowl. He took a few breaths to try and steady himself, but was largely unsuccessful. He debated his options for a few moments before deciding to return to his room and make his usual excuse of the food not sitting right.

"Sensitive stomach..." he mumbled.

"No big deal, we can postpone the steam." Ranboo said, oblivious as ever.

"Thanks." Tubbo mustered up the strength for a soft smile. "I should get some rest."

"Take all the time you need."

Tubbo silently left the call and collapsed into his bed. He felt filthy, grimy, dirty. He buried his head in his pillow. Nobody knew. Nobody knew what he was doing to himself. Did he even know what he was doing? He tried to pretend that he was still in control, but every time he ended up hunched over that same toilet, he couldn't help but feel that something had changed. Was he losing his touch? He couldn't afford to. Not when he was so close.

Tubbo picked himself out of bed and went back into the bathroom. He pulled out the scale wedged underneath the counter.

113.

That would put his BMI at what, 18? Closer to 19. He was small, but not quite small enough. Everything would be better if he could achieve his goal of an underweight BMI.

13 more pounds. That would be enough. Then he could stop. Then he could be normal again.

Tubbo shoved the scale back under the counter perhaps a bit too quickly. He closed his eyes tightly to fight off the growing darkness that overtook them.

Don't pass out, don't pass out, don't pass out...

He opened his eyes again only once his head stopped swimming.

"13..." he whispered to himself. Just 13. He has already lost so much, 13 would be easy if he just stayed on track. Tubbo stepped out and pulled on his shoes.

"I'm going out, mom!" He didn't wait for an answer before he walked out. The air was bitterly cold. He cursed and began to shiver. Shivering burned calories. That was good. He pulled the sleeves of his jumper down as far as he could and broke into a sprint down the sidewalk. He never liked to run, but it was necessary if he wanted to reach his goals.

•••

Tubbo clamped his eyes shit as he stepped into the scale once more. He looked down at the number.

92.

He shuddered. This was lower than he ever intended to go but he just couldn't stop. Even now, the number seemed too large. He could always be smaller.

Tubbo covered his mouth as tears began to force their way out of his eyes. A sob hung in the back of his throat, threatening to rip free. He was home alone tonight.

Tubbo pushed the scale back into its hiding place and made his way back to his room as quietly as possible. His phone lit up and he reached across his bed to look at the message. It was just Tommy sending him some stupid video. It felt silly, but this stupid gesture was what finally broke the dam. Tears streamed down his face as he sobbed.

He cried for every meal he turned down, for every stream he cancelled, for every time he pushed away his friends, for every late night run, for each and every fucking pound that had slipped off of his body, for every person that didn't even notice something was wrong, for everything. It all hurt. His stomach screamed, his throat burned, his bones ached. There was not a single moment that he wasn't in pain.

He was miserable.

Tubbo threw his phone in anger and dug through his old clothes for the blade carefully hidden in a pocket. He ripped his sleeves up and tore into his skin. Blood bubbled out of the fresh wounds and spilled onto the floor, staining the light wood. The next cut smeared blood across his forearm and his offending hand. His sobs only grew louder as his body became more and more mangled. The blood became darker now.

Tubbo continued to cut and cut until his arm had no more space to use, and then haphazardly buried the blade in a pile of clothes and reached for his now shattered phone. The video from Tommy lit up the screen. He didn't even bother to even out his voice before he pressed the call button. Tommy picked up almost immediately and heard the tortured sobs coming from the other end of the line before he could even get in a greeting.

"Tubbo?!" He panicked.

"Tommy I'm so fucking sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"What's going on?! Why are you sorry?" Tommy raised his voice.

"I did something terrible, Tommy. It's all my fault!" Tubbo gasped for air.

"What did you do?!" Sweat beaded on his forehead as he paced around the room.

"It's too late." Tubbo's voice now fell to little more than a whisper. He became deadly quiet.

"Tubbo! Just tell me what you did, it will be okay! Whatever you did, we can fix it!"

"You don't understand..."

Tubbo stared down as his arm, now torn to shred. Blood continued to pour out onto the floor.

"I think... I think I'm gonna die."

Tommy stopped dead in his tracks, not even daring to take a breath.

"I told you I was sorry."

"What happened...?" Now Tommy's voice was small and helpless too.

"I just slit my wrists, Tommy."

Tommy started to cry.

"Why, Tubbo? Why?!"

Tubbo didn't answer. He couldn't. He felt heavy.

"Don't you dare fucking leave me, Tubbo!"

Tubbo closed his eyes.

"Tubbo!"

The call fell into silence.

"Please don't leave me..." Tommy whispered.

But there was nobody left to hear him.