Baby Fat

thirty-nine

The quick and simple knock on the door is enough to scare Corrie out of his trance. His ass visibly jumps off his bed. Corrie lets out a deep breath and frowns. He closes his "finding inner peace" book and sets it on his rounded nightstand. His bedroom isn't allowed to have sharp corners.

Corrie pushes himself off his bed and shuffles over to the door. He turns the doorknob and gasps.

"Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for," Devon mutters, scratching the side of his head. Corrie opens the door wider, allowing Devon into the room.

Walking towards his bed, Corrie stutters over his words, "fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--I didn't expect you. I thought it would be my mom or something. But I guess I should've known better, my mom tends to just barge in. Fuck." Corrie sits down on the edge of his bed, fumbling with his bed covers. The material is flimsy and a disappointment to all other blankets.

After sitting on the seat in Corrie's room, Devon's eyes wander all over the room. His gaze falls on Corrie's latest read. He raises an eyebrow. "Inner peace?"

Corrie's cheeks grow pink. "Jennifer, uhm, my therapist, she suggested it. It's kind of mad bullshit, but I guess some of the concepts make sense."

Devon nods his head. "I guess that's good. You've never been one to read."

"Yeah," Corrie agrees. "Being in here gives me a fuckton of free time. Reading isn't the worst thing in the world." Corrie shrugs his shoulders. He can see there's something wrong with Devon. Corrie can see it his eyes.

"They don't have a gym or anything?" Devon gives Corrie a small and fake smile.

"There is one. There's a whole process," Corrie shakes his head. "Ever since my relapse the doctors have tightened my restrictions. They have to decide on the amount hours I can work out, schedule a nurse to watch me, take in consideration that--" Corrie cuts himself off.

"Wow." Devon frowns a bit. "Exercise is good for your physical health and mental, isn't it?"

Corrie sticks out his bottom lip. "I mean, what's the point? It's not like I'm ever going to play sports when I get out of here."

"You don't know that."

"What's wrong?" Corrie asks suddenly. Devon shakes his head and Corrie holds up his hand. "Don't fucking tell me nothing's wrong."

Devon opens his mouth and then closes it. What is he supposed to say? Is he supposed to tell Corrie about all the goddamn shit going on? "I--I can't."

"What the hell?" Taking a deep breath, Corrie prays that he can calm down by counting to ten. Him and his anger management class have been working on taking ten. He has too many problems. The only upside to being here is that he isn't the most fucked up person.

He doesn't want to get angry. He doesn't want to be the same person he was, getting angry at the smallest things. He wants to be normal.

"There's so much going on that you don't know Corrie." Devon frowns. He seems to being that too much lately.

Life without Corrie was terrible. It was bare, void, cold, and insanely lonely. But despite it all, it wasn't stressful. Devon found himself in the eye of this hurricane that is Corrie. It was so peaceful; it was so easy; it was simple.

Can anyone blame Devon for wanting his relationship to be less than chaotic all the time? Everything else around him is falling. The team is losing all their games because their star player is gone; his parents keep fighting about everything; his band teacher is begging for him to do some kind of solo for contest; Bradley is still fucking gone and nobody's got any clue what happened to him. Nothing is going right. Why can't anything go right?