langst.

never good enough. - part 1.

trigger warning- anorexia, self harm.
i do not condone the behavior and thoughts conveyed here- please seek help for you or a loved one if you need to.  this was a request i got- i'm getting through them all. thank you for your continued support. <3
-oliver

lance looked through his bottles that he had kept in his drawer. he frantically grabbed an orange pill container. most of the bottles were acne medication- trivial compared to what he was looking for. lance was searching high and low for his antidepressants. he caught a glimpse of the dark blue bottle- but it was empty. was that his last bottle? lance felt a hot tear hit his hand, holding the empty bottle. "s-shit," lance stuttered anxiously. the cuban had no choice but to curl up into a ball and cry against his bed.

lance had always dealt with anxiety, depression, and anorexia. it was why he was stick thin, and wore his rather big jacket. his jacket had always served as a safety blanket of sorts- it would calm his nerves. but during a battle, it got burnt and torn, and he had no choice but to throw it out. it killed lance to do so- but he simply couldn't keep it.

after about an hour, lance picked himself off the ground. he didn't want one of the others to find him in that pitiful state. he went to the restroom to wash his face, loathing his puffy brown eyes and tear stained face. he couldn't resist body checking- inspecting his arms, legs, torso, and face. he lost quite a bit of weight, but it wasn't good enough for him. the ship had a scale, but it was never really used for humans. nevertheless, lance activated it and stepped on. 100 pounds.

it was less than last time- it used to be 115. but lance felt a tug in his stomach. it wasn't good enough. lance glared at the number and vowed he'd stop at 90. his thoughts were fuzzy due to his lack of medication that he had grown dependent on.

"lance, where are you? dinner is ready!" shiro called out. lance jolted up, fixing his brown jacket. "coming!" he forced a loud, fake-happy voice. he splashed water on his face once more and walked out.

lance had developed a strategy to get out of eating with his crew. he would distract them with his talking, while playing with the contents and making gaps in it to resemble eaten food. it always worked, and he would give his "leftovers" to hunk.

"hey, guys!" lance's face didn't match his energetic voice that he had mastered. the bags under his eyes had worsened, and his cheekbones were more defined. he carelessy grabbed a plate and started his strategy. lance noticed that keith was watching his every move intently, but decided to ignore it.

"lance, can i talk to you?" keith asked in such a forceful manner- lance knew it wasn't a choice. "u-uh, sure." lance shrugged.

he knows. he knows you don't eat. he's going to make fun of you. you don't eat, yet you're still not thin enough. he'll hate you. you're a joke.

lance squinted at his own thoughts.

"why haven't you been eating?"