Freak Love (Mister Morgue)

Forever And Ever

*a week later*

I stare at it.

I stare and argue with myself in my mind, screaming, yelling, shouting.

'Don't do it!'

'You'll regret it!'

'Stop!'

Yet, the room is silent. All you can hear is my heart beating out of my chest.

"Just take one bite." Morgue pleads, resting his elbows on the glass table.

I look up at him with eyes that say, 'Do I have to?'.

"Please, darling." He begs once again. "For me."

Why does he care so much? No one has ever, ever cared this much. I swear, this man...

One meal a day.

That was our deal.

Morgue said that granola bars are not enough for one day, so I 'needed' to eat at least one decent sized meal a day. It took a long, long time for me to agree to this deal, but somehow he convinced me.

Somehow.

It's been a struggle.

But he stays, and he tries, and he begs and pleads.

The smell of cheese fills my nose, and I let out a heavy breathe. I can't eat pizza. I've eaten salad for the past six days, but pizza? Fucking pizza? I'll gain 20 pounds just from one piece.

I can't get fat.

I cannot get fat.

If I get fat, Morgue won't love me anymore and he'll leave me and I won't know what to do and I'll die. That can't happen.
Why does he even love me?

"--even listening?" I heard him say.
I blink and look at him. "What?"

He sighs and says softly, "Dear, you have to eat. If you don't eat, you can't function and you'll never be able to go back to the Freakshow. Do you want that?"

I shake my head quickly and rub my arms, I'm getting goosebumps. It's so cold in here. Morgue really needs to turn up the heat.

He notices and takes his sweater off, draping it over me. Oh, am I lucky to have him.

He tries again, "I know what you're thinking; you're not fat. You will not get fat. Mercy, you're 93 pounds at 5' 4". That's dangerous. If you won't eat by choice, I'm gonna have to make you."

I raised my eyebrows, "Oh, how?" I ask.

He squints his eyes at me, "Like this."

He grabs the slice of pizza from the plate and hovers it above my head, I raise my heads to get the grease from dripping on me. Too late. The hot, shiny grease drips on my forehead and rolls down my face.

I freeze.

The urge. To eat.

I grab his wrist and look him in the eyes. I see a hopeful look in his.

I slowly nod, and he smiles.

"Thank you, darling." He says, handing me the slice.

I study it before carefully taking a bite.

Oh my, it's so good.

I chew and chew until the piece could be fed to an infant. I swallow and rip apart the pizza some more.

Morgue has a smile on his face as he watches me devour the slice. I wipe my mouth with my shirt sleeve, and give him an ashamed look.

He grins and lifts me up and carries me to the couch, sitting down with me on his lap.

"Now, was that so hard?"

"At first, it was." I say, snuggling into his chest.

How does he always make me feel so good? All he has to do is hug me, or snuggle me, and I feel like all of my problems are gone. Like everything is and will be okay. I feel like he can protect me from anything and everything.

He kisses my temple and holds me closer, "Well, it's okay now. You're getting better and better everyday and soon you'll be perfectly healthy and everything will be back to the way it was."

"And fat..." I mumbled, poking my stomach, ruefully.

"Baby,", he lifts my chin up and looks me in the eyes, "I love you no matter what. Fat, skinny, short, tall. You're still Mercy. You will always be Mercy. You're my Mercy and you're perfect in my eyes. It kills me to know that you feel so terrible, it does. I try so hard to help you because I care so much. I love you, darling. No matter what. Please understand that."

I bite my lip and wipe the tears spilling out of my eyes, "I-I know... now. Thank you, Morgue.", I say, blinking away my tears. He wipes just just under my eyes with his thumb, smudging away my makeup.

"Don't cry, dear." He whispers, pecking the top of my head.

I hold his arm against my chest and close my eyes, my heart slowing down back to it's average speed. I take one deep breathe and hold his arm closer, once again feeling safe and protected by my boyfriend.

How is it that even when things get tough, he stays with me? Most people would run. They would run far away, want nothing to do with me and my fucked up life and problems. But he digs deeper and gets closer to me. He wants to help, he wants struggle with me. I wondered why. I still wonder why. But 'why' is not important right now.

What's important is that I'm here, and he's here, and we're together.

Forever and ever.