It has been three full days since Troye has purged. Three and a half, including the breakfast he choked down, and the lunch that is sitting heavy in his stomach right now. He lets the searing water of the shower rain down on him, as he sits at the bottom of the tub. He's already washed his hair, and his body, but he isn't ready to get out yet. His knees are drawn tight up to his chest, because it's the only position he can be in without his stomach feeling like it's ripping apart. He can feel his stomach clenching, and unclenching, against the unyielding lump of food in his gut.
It hurts so bad. When he stretches out, he swears he can feel every inch of his stomach stretching, and aching. Jacob made him eat scrambled eggs, fruit, and toast for breakfast, and that was hell; but it was nothing compared to the chilli that Tyler made him for lunch. Jacob had to leave after breakfast to do a weekend lab for his chemistry class, and Tyler puts way too much meat in everything. Troye can't say that though, because he doesn't want to see that look on Tyler's face.
The look that says that Troye is both a sickly creature to be pitied, and a mental patient banging on the walls of his padded room. They don't even look at him the same anymore. They're constantly watching him, waiting for him to argue against the food, or sneak off to purge. He can feel their eyes raking over his body, looking at him like he's some medical experiment gone wrong. He can see the worry etched in every one of Caspar's features. He can see the guilt in Tyler's.
That's another reason he can't tell Tyler that he can't stand all the meat; he knows Tyler blames himself. He can see the anger burning behind Tyler's eyes. He can see the anger blistering Tyler's knuckles, because when he's mad he takes it out on the punching bag at his gym, without gloves on. Troye is only just starting to realize that it isn't anger at him, Tyler's anger is directed at himself. He hears Tyler talking to Caspar, when he's in his bedroom and they're out in the living room. Tyler is furious at himself for not noticing, for letting this happen in the first place. Like Troye has some disease that they could have prevented if they caught the symptoms quick enough.
They exchange glances over his head, silently discussing the way he eats, or the way he looks. Caspar is always calming Tyler; a soft hand on his shoulder when he can tell Tyler is itching to beg Troye to eat more, a firm look when Tyler tries to heap Troye's plate too full. Caspar's eyes are soft, and sympathetic when he looks at Troye. His hands are gentle, and comforting, when he rubs Troye's ankles, when he runs his fingers through Troye's hair. Troye doesn't want his sympathy though, and he doesn't want his comfort either.
He wants to go back to the way things were, when nobody saw, when nobody noticed. He doesn't want Caspar to cry at night, he doesn't want Tyler to cut open his knuckles, or bite his lips raw. He doesn't want them to care. He can feel the toilet, calling out to him from the other side of the shower curtain; mocking him. The door to the bathroom is wide open though; the rule for when Jacob isn't here to shower with him. Troye rests his forehead on his knees, and kneads his fingers into the bulge of his stomach. His skin crawls, because he knows in a couple of hours he'll be shoving more food in.
"Hey Troye, you okay in there?" comes Tyler's voice, from just outside the door.
"Leave him be," protests Caspar, in the background.
"Yeah, I'll be out in a sec," Troye calls quickly.
He tries to hold in his sigh, as he reaches out to shut off the shower. When he pushes himself to his feet he feels the stretch of his stomach, heavy and aching with food. He holds in a groan, and bites against the inside of his cheek to balance out the pain. It's nothing like he felt that night with the spaghetti and meatballs though. That night he thought he could feel his stomach ripping at the seams.
Troye reaches outside the curtain for a towel, and dries himself off. He grabs the fluffy bathrobe off the rack, and wraps it around himself, while still standing in the shower. He had said something about how he couldn't stand showering with the door open because it was so cold when he got out, and that night, when Jacob showed up at the flat, he had the softest bathrobe Troye had ever seen, wrapped up with a bow. Troye steps carefully out of the tub, and gathers his discarded clothes.
