For the eighth consecutive day in a row Awsten was laying in bed. Not speaking. Or eating. Barely even drinking. He hadn't showered in ten, and his hair felt greasy and heavy and disgusting, but there wasn't a single ounce of motivation lurking inside him that could force him up to his feet. Well, he did get up the other day, but that was to crawl over to the other side of the room to get some Advil for the stomach cramps he was having.
Turns out taking Advil on an empty stomach only makes you feel even more sick.
Become physically sick
Yeah,Awsten had puked all over himself. And he still hadn't gotten up. He was fucking disgusting, and knew it. That was the reason why Geoff or Otto hadn't come round to see him. Who would willingly go and see a depressed guy who was lying in his own literal pool of vomit, sweat, and grease? Somebody who hadn't eaten or washed in almost a full fortnight?! He didn't blame his friends for coming over.
All Awsten blamed was himself.
How he didn't recognise the signs.
For nights on end he ould be up into the early hours of the morning, frantically Goggle-Searching 'How To Know If It's Abuse' too many times to be considered normal, or even 'morbidly curious'.
No.
Too many damn times. He knew that. He fucking knew it! Yet he still kept on doing it. And every single time, without a shadow of a doubt, he would internally brush it off as his brain being 'too worried' or 'too weak'. He knew that she ha her own internal, mainly mental-health related problems, and he would always put it down to that. Always.
There were also the times that he walked in on her with somebody that he used to consider a friend. It didn't happen once. Nor did it happen twice, or even three times. It happened seven times.
Sevem. Fucking. Times.
And you know what Awsten did?
He held he close, letting her rest her head into his chest, and told her that everything as okay. That he forgave her for shattering his heart before throwing it straight into a incinerator. He did that. Because he was blind. He was so fucking blind! He couldn't see any of the signs!
Even when she came home, obviously from visiting another one of her 'friends'. and began throwing punches, Awsten still forgave her. He had to! There was nobody else that important that he had in his life, so turning around and getting mad at her would just make everything a million times WORST. He didn't want to be lonely for the rest of his damn life.. all he wanted was to be with someone. And be happy with that person.
And now...?
Now... It was this.
laying in your own vomit, being unwashed, starving yourself and barely drinking enough liquids to fill up your bladder a single time over.
It felt horrible.
Awsten was so dehydrated he couldn't even cry. He slowly lifted his arm up, watching as the, now dirty, oversized yellow sleeve trailed down his boney arm, only stopping below his elbow. The cuts were beginning to scab over now, thank fuck. They were bleeding for way too long for comfort. If they had bled anymore than Awsten knew it would've stained the sweaters bright and floresent material. Fuck, if somebody had come round his apartment and seen that blood then they would've sent his ass straight to the mental hospital.
'Cause he was mental.
That's what she she had told him countless times over. Whenever Awsten did something such as dropping a cup on the floor, he was a Retard. If he stubbed his toe on something and got some blood on his sock, then he was an idiot. One time the WiFi went down due to them living in the middle of Redneck- fucking Nowhere, and Awsten was such a spastic that the only way to get him out of it was to be forced into...
