F L O W E R S | TRONNOR A.U.

T H R E E

(Troye runs and runs and runs and runs until he feels like he might pass out and white lights pop behind his eyes. He reaches his breaking point when he doubles over, and his body trembles as his stomach convulses around nothing, expelling the tea he drank this morning along with stomach acid; it burns his throat so well.)

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"This is coming along nicely, Mellet," Professor Hart sneaks up around Troye's shoulder, eyeing his painting carefully. Troye tugs out an earbud and gleams a smile at her out of gratification.

"Thanks, Ms. Hart," he thanks her sincerely. It means the world to Troye that his professor enjoys his artwork, since he's always associated his creativity with insecurity and fear. He couldn't even show his work to Connor until they'd been dating for at least 4 months.

"What does it mean, if you don't mind me asking?" she asks carefully. Troye thinks to himself that she shouldn't ask these kinds of questions because he's so close to asking virtually anyone for help. He wants it so bad; he craves to be free from his own head. Last month, he drank half a bottle of vodka prior to calling an eating disorder hotline just so he could even dial it. He hung up before he could say anything, feeling like both a failure and one step closer to recovering at the same time.

Troye ponders to himself, what would happen if I just told her? What if I just said it? I need to. I'm gonna die like this. Would that be so bad?

Troye doesn't want to die. He likes his life, it's only that sometimes he grows so exhausted of it that he wouldn't mind if his heart ate itself from the inside out in a desperation for the energy he isn't receiving from food. Sometimes, the endless cycle of eating and not eating and lying and throwing up and exercising until he feels dizzy and dizzier from just walking up the stairs, well, he wouldn't mind if he died because the cycle simply never stops. It never stops.

"I... I need to talk to you. After school, if that's okay? Wait, I didn't even ask. I-Is is okay if we talk? I mean-"

Ms. Hart smiles warmly with kind eyes and replies, "Of course, Troye. You know you're a favorite of mine. I'd love to talk with you."

And Troye, he's never been more relieved in his life. As soon as he opened his mouth, he swore to himself that she was going to shut him down and think he was needy or stupid, or at least his anxiety did. Troye has a moment of victory before it hits him like a ton of bricks that Ms. Hart will make him get help. Troye doesn't want that, all he wanted was to tell someone. He can feel his heart start to race and his palms start to sweat, and he looks around the room for his professor. Maybe I can tell her I'm not available. Maybe I ca-

The bell cuts him off along with his opportunity to get out of this. Troye gulps hard past the rock in his throat and breathes through the knot in his chest. The rest of his classes go by sluggishly slow, marked by sips of water every 5 minutes and a new piece of gum every other hour. He doesn't dare try to eat because he'd throw it up anyway without trying. The anxiety of what Ms. Hart will say is enough to occupy the empty space inside of him. It's almost too much, and Troye figures he should stop drinking water before even that starts to ache inside of him with the need to slither back out.

His phone buzzes against the chair he's sitting in, and he whips it out before anyone can give him looks for it in the middle of a lecture.

iMessage now
Con 💓
how are you? hope ur good xx

That's the thing about Connor that makes Troye feel like a criminal. He cares so much, and he needs Troye to be happy. Troye couldn't dream of allowing his boyfriend to think that he was anything but happy, so he quickly types out a reply: