Learning To Count(Otabek x Yuri) [boyxboy]

Chapter Two

Yuri stood in the kitchen staring at the sandwich his mother had prepared for him with fresh hope after coming to believe he'd picked something up in the hospital cafe. To anybody else, a small sandwich with just cheese inside was the least appetising available food in their kitchen. His mum was a chef, which obviously didn't help matters. To somebody who hasn't eaten in upwards of three days, it can look like the most tantalising thing in existence. But at the same time, it made his stomach turn even thinking of eating it. The idea of physically picking it up and putting it in his mouth filled him with a revulsion so great it far outweighed any hunger left in his body.
'Yuri, aren't you going to eat that?' She asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He wrenched his body away, his throat closing up and threatening to choke him. He hated to disappoint her like this, but he would be more disappointed in himself if he was weak and gave in. He wasn't anywhere near sick enough- how could he even dare to think the word sick when he was still so huge compared to everybody else? Sitting in the psych unit had been hell, seeing all the truly sick people and feeling like he was a faker sat amongst them. He didn't look sick, he knew that for sure. He caught his blurred reflection in the fridge, distorted more by his mind playing tricks on him. Just a few more pounds couldn't hurt, could it? He knew he'd never get to where he wanted to be, but that was okay. He could die trying. This thought renewed his sense of self-empowerment with a vigour and he shook his head.
'Not hungry,' He shrugged nonchalantly, when in truth he was so starving it felt like his stomach might cave in on itself. That physical hunger was better than the mental berating he'd be in for if he so much as looked at food within the next 24 hours. If he could last that, he would reward himself with something nice. That 'something nice' would inevitably metamorphose into twenty somethings and he'd binge to the point that he'd force it all back up again until his throat bled and his fingers were cracked and sore from the acid. Either that or he'd be a terrified of the prospect of this that he'd continue to starve himself until he could take it no longer. These binge/purge sessions usually began with just a small snack for sustenance or to alleviate suspicion, but then he spiralled out of control. He'd lost all awareness of when he was full because his stomach was so unaccustomed to the sense of having something inside it, meaning he didn't know how to start and yet when he did he didn't know when to stop.
'What about something small?' His mother continued, tears shining in her eyes- barely noticeable (she'd become very adept at concealing them), but there all the same. He felt awful. 'I could go to Horton's and get you one of their cakes that you-'
'I said I'm not hungry,' He repeated. 'I have homework, anyway.'
He took the stairs two at a time to get away from her, legging it to his room and standing in front of his mirror. He stripped right down to his boxers and stared at himself from every angle, mentally comparing himself to how he had looked the day before. Were his hipbones protruding a little more or were his eyes deceiving him? Was he just trying to trick himself into thinking he was marginally thin so that he could eat without guilt? Disgusted, he stretched his arms above his head and watched how his ribs pressed against his skin, turning it alabaster-white. He ran a finger down them, feeling the dents and ridges and wishing they were more obvious. Next he turned sideways and sucked his stomach in, repulsed by the sight of the little pouch just above his hips. He relaxed his sore, overexercised muscles and moved onto inspecting his thighs. They were further apart than they had been, perhaps nearing two inches from each other at the top and the widest part roughly a fist's width. Not enough, but slowly getting there. Satisfied with his visual measurements, he dropped to all fours and reached his arm under his bed, scrabbling for the box that he concealed his scales in. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stepped onto them, his hands gripping at each other and his nails digging into his palms so hard he broke through his skin when he saw the number flashing up. He'd lost three pounds. Just a meagre three pounds. He'd somehow managed to convince himself it would be more- why the hell had he done that? Frustrated, he switched the scales off and shoved them roughly back into their box and under his bed with a vengeance. He knew it wasn't their fault that he was so heavy and lacking in self control, but it still pissed him off. He pulled on his pyjamas and threw himself onto his bed, picking his phone up off his bedside table. He had a few notifications from the Apple Store and other generic things he cared not for, but interspersed with them was a text from an unsaved number. It was from somebody called Otabek, and upon closer inspection he concluded that it was most likely the boy he'd met at the hospital earlier. It was just saying hi, but it still gave him heart palpitations. It cheered him up a little bit, not that he knew why, and he took a while to ponder over whether or not to reply. On the one hand, he was lonely as hell these days because he was pushing away all his friends. On the other hand, this isolationism was for his own benefit. He didn't particularly get along with people so well anymore, not like he had before his mind had begun to crawl with an infestation of self-hating leeches of thoughts. After an internal debate, he shot back a quick greeting and confirmed that it was him. After this, he forced himself to stand up and ignore the bone-deep aches in his body so that he could begin to push his malnourished body beyond human limit. Further, harder, more, thinner, sicker, better, his mind screamed at him as he coerced his body into obeying his every command. Every push up, every sit up, every stretch made him feel another step closer to death, but he didn't care. He was halted in his tracks by a coughing fit, so hard that it turned into a death rattle and he hacked up blood. He had been scared the first time this had happened, but now he just accepted it as part of life. It was probably to do with the fact that he was wearing away his throat by forcing himself to throw up constantly.
'Are you okay, sweetheart?' His mum knocked on his door, and he swallowed hard in an attempt to dispel the coughing. 'Do you want me to bring you something for your cough?'
'I'm fine,' He croaked; pills, syrup- all just needless calories. Even if they were small, things add up. 'Actually, could you bring me some water?'
'Of course, darling.'
She appeared a few minutes later with an ice cold glass of water and an apple.
'I want to see that apple eaten,' She warned, a flash of concern highlighting her tired features. He couldn't face meeting her eyes, knowing the exact expression she would have, and so he picked it up and put it to his lips. She nodded with satisfaction and left him to it, at which point he dropped it and watched it as it rolled across the floor, coming to rest against his wardrobe. He took a deep breath and sipped at the ice cold water, wishing it would do something about the void forming in his stomach. While he relished the fact that he was hungry, he hated the sensation of it, like somebody was gripping his insides and slowly turning them inside out. Once he had finished the water, he lay down and closed his eyes. He wasn't really tired, but it meant that when his mother came in and saw the apple uneaten and tossed across the room, she couldn't stuff it down his throat. He was subjected instead to a disappointed sigh and her whispering a wobbly goodnight to him, kissing his forehead and tucking the covers tighter round his body. Once she'd left, he sat up and hunched his knees up to his chest, breathing hard and fighting the urge to scream in frustration. He wished that he wasn't so obsessed with weight and numbers, but he would rather be miserable and skinny than happy and healthy. It was a sick mindset to have and he knew it, but it was one he couldn't rid himself of. He couldn't really pinpoint when or why it had started; he'd always been obsessed with doing everything just so and always being perfect. He'd never been the best at anything and as such had never really been noticed, but now he had control over himself and he felt so powerful with his ability to deny himself food. He was going to look incredible. People would look at him and be terrified by the fact that he was wasting away; he would finally get the love and attention he deserved. Everybody would crowd around him and beg him to eat something small, but he'd refuse and they'd all be so disappointed and upset and only he more determined for it to make him see how loved he was. He just had to get to that point of sickness where it was visible, then it would be okay. Once he was at the brink of death, maybe then he'd allow himself to quit. Maybe then he'd allow himself to be happy. Happiness seemed a very abstract concept to him and completely unattainable with the way things were going for him. He was pulled from his reverie by a buzzing noise, his phone vibrating against his table and the noise grating against the silence of the house. He groaned and grabbed it, the bright light accosting his eyes so that it took a few moments to focus on what was causing the noise.
'Did I ruin your clothes?' It was another text from Otabek, and for a moment he couldn't decipher the words. His clothes? What had been wrong with his clothes? Then it dawned on him that there had been the coffee incident.
'It's only coffee. It gives them character.'
'I'm glad you think so... Any chance I could buy you another tea some time to make up for you not getting to drink the second one either?'
Yuri hadn't been asked out by a friend in a long while, and it was quite a nice feeling. The only problem was that this would probably entail going to a cafe or some similar establishment, which was one of his biggest fears. Even though he only ever purchased black tea, the fact that it was from somewhere that sold sugary cakes and such made it seem fatty. Just sitting in a place with all that delicious food on display would be enough to drive him crazy.
'I'm fine on the tea front.' He hoped the reply didn't convey the message that he didn't want to see Otabek again, because he did. He wanted it a little bit more than was probably normal considering they'd met just once, purely by chance, and they might live miles from each other. It was just... The half hour or so that they'd been together had been the happiest he'd spent in a while, as pathetic as it sounded.
'Sure. Something else maybe? How close do you live to Reading?'
'A short train ride.'
'Tomorrow?'
Yuri raised an eyebrow; that was certainly eager. Then again, it was the weekend and he supposed spare moments at weekends for most people was few and far between. It was either that or wait a week, so he eagerly agreed, and so it was set that he would get the train into town for 11am the next day. It was certainly a shock and very soon, but Otabek had seemed a very amicable person and was obviously used to this kind of thing. It was probably really normal, right?