Golden Boy [Immortal fahc fic]

Chapter 2

There's something sickening about it. Of course there's something sickening about it.
It's all sickening.
A stomach pushed to it's limits, feeling swollen with food.
The sick mixed in with blood feels like tar on his lips.
His skin feels sticky with sweat.
Gavin wonders if one day he'll die along in the bathroom, as an immortal like the rest of the crew, he couldn't stay dead for long, but he still worries about someone finding his body in here.
His body would surely be cold if anyone found him before the time he awakes again.
In truth, this doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if he pukes until his throat erodes away, until his stomach bursts, until his heart stops. He'll die, and he'll come back - again and again and again.

Gavin's aware of the fact his hands are shaking. He's slow to move from his position hunched over the toilet, throat hot and uncomfortable in a specific way that only occurs after purging energy drink. He taps out a slow pattern against his collar bone, the bone is sharp, jutting through his skin.
It's a comfort, a sick comfort, and Gavin wants nothing more than to be the Golden Boy those outside see him as, cool and impervious. He doesn't want to be this sick . . .thing.
Someone's drumming a fist against the door, a steady knock, insistant but not impatient, 'Are you nearly done in there?' Jack's voice calls.

Gavin thinks for a moment, of how much alike Jack and Ryan used to sound, and the fact Jack's voice has changed so much, not just changing in sound but carrying a happier tone, the pair couldn't be mistaken now, 'give me a minute,' he croaks back, aware of how his throat burns.
He hears feet shuffling, Jack he assumes, waiting. He's already flushed the toilet, he stands and moves to gulp a few mouthfuls of water from the tap, splashes his face, feels the stickiness of sweat in his hair. Considers walking off the top of the building.
Jack shoots him a concerned look when he opens the door, 'Are you okay?'
'Yeah,' to Gavin it feels like his face cracks open when he smiles, he wonders if it'll ever crack open and reveal the gaping cavern inside.

Jack doesn't look convinced, she watches him for a moment before going into the bathroom, only offering up a quiet, 'if you're sure.'
His tank top clings to the juts of his hip, his stomach is bloated and he can feel sweat on it. He feels disgusting.He waits for someone to voice their thoughts, to call out, complain about a certain food being gone.
Already Gavin doesn't know what provoked this purge, only vague murky memories of shoveling food in remain, he doesn't know what he ate.
Everything he supposes.

He waits for someone to notice the absence of everything he ate, for the white-hot shame to rise up in his throat along with the remains of the burning sensation from purging, waits for his head to ache with how much he hates himself.
What good is a golden boy slowly exploding and decaying from the inside out.

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Gavin doesn't really care who looks at his phone. They never see a thing.
But his phone is full of images, full of information and thoughts, a deeply personal item that's almost a display of how Gavin has fallen.
A gallery spanning years, showing how his weight plummets, showing the times where it slowly rises. A journey in pictures.
He goes on forums, they have names they call themselves, these other people sick like him. But their deaths are permanent, they die and Gavin doesn't grieve.

Sometimes he posts, but while these people understand a portion of his pain that none of the crew will ever understand, they wont ever understand how it feels to die choking on their own blood, only to wake up and die again.
Gavin envies them for the way they can waste to nothing and not have to wake up ever again.

He reads and takes in the voices of these hundreds of other people, and he knows he'll have all of time to experience each horrible thing. These people will run out of time but he never will.
Gavin cries and mourns, for he can never be at peace.

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They're all aware of Jack and her seasonal depression, they usually have sun lamps around the penthouse during those months. And they're aware of Ryan's insomnia, and his tendency to lose himself to those more murderous thoughts.
But Gavin knows, that he can never tell them how much he hates himself, he's kept an aura of confidence for far too long. He also finds he can never quite get the words out, to tell them of how achingly empty he feels all the time, so he tries to fill the void with food, shoveling more and more in, until he might burst.
Then the overwhelming need to get it all out.

Even when he doesn't binge he has to get it out.
The way he feels after the food has come back up, is comforting. He couldn't imagine going without that feeling.
Gavin could also never tell them how now, when he eats he can't stop eating, or how when he can stop eating, it doesn't matter how much he ate, he has to get it out. Everything is not enough and too much at the same time.
Today Gavin was following up on a promise.

Days earlier he'd promised to go shopping with Jeremy, Jack and Michael. And he supposes he needs to, most of his clothes are worn to threads, except for those used for his golden boy persona.
He's currently dressed well despite not being particularly interested in being recognized, his hair is styled into a perfect mess, and he's wearing large golden sunglasses that look as tacky as they are.
They're just a cheap pair he'd bought and spray painted gold with Jack's assistance, she'd shown him how he needed to put tape over the glass of them while painting the rest of them, otherwise he'd probably of ended up with sunglasses he couldn't even see in.

They take Jack's minivan to the mall, and unsurprisingly, once at the store Jack beelines for the Hawaiian shirts, pretty much the only kind of shirt she wore. She was wearing one now along with blue and white striped shorts.
Michael was over by the leather jackets, admiring a brown one, but unlikely to actually buy it. Michael seldom did actually buy anything that wasn't a weapon of some kind.
At Michael's side, Jeremy is standing idle. It was something they all did, in moments of inactivity they'd simply go idle, going still, doing nothing. It was eerie at times and Gavin wasn't sure he liked how they all did it.
Jeremy hadn't been part of the crew as long as the rest of them, wasn't as old as them either, and yet he'd lapsed into starting to go idle.
Lately it seemed Michael did it less, he'd been seeing Lindsay more often, and as far as Gavin knew, the pair made each other happy.
Gavin himself wanders over to inspect the tank top, he wanted something light weight for the summer, though he wasn't sure he'd find much use in it seeing as he seemed to always be cold anyway.

'The green one is nice,' notes Jack, coming over to join Gavin, she lightly touches a dark green tank top as a way of indicating to it, 'It looks like it'd go well with your eyes.'
Gavin feels a surge of affection for her, she always seemed to know exactly what clothing would suit the other members of the crew, but yet continued to wear those horrible shirts.
In her arms is a decent amount of the shirts, and she's now looking at a pair of shorts that aren't terribly different to the ones she's already wearing.

'Ew,' comes Michael's voice from the jeans, 'Dad jeans,' he holds up a pair to show them.
Jack wanders over, 'Ryan might like those,' she muses, dumping her shirts in Michael's arms to sift through the jeans.
Gavin follows after her, 'he's going to ruin the crews image with those jeans,' he whines, not meaning a word of it.
'He wont,' dismisses Michael, bumping his shoulder against Gavin's, 'he has his better jeans for heists,' he finishes this statement by bumping against Gavin again, causing him to squawk in protest as there's a lot more force in this bump and he's almost knocked over.
Jeremy blinks, shaking that mood that seems to hover after being idle, 'we almost done here?' he asks.
'Yeah,' confirms Jack, 'I'll pay, then we could go pick up something for lunch?'
The others quickly agree, a pit of dread forms in Gavin's stomach but both Michael and Jeremy seem eager for take out food.

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Gavin examines his fingers, expression dull, small scratches run up his fingers like little ladders. These scratches generally disappear after a death, but he hasn't died in a while.
He can't help but obsess over it when he does keep any wounds or scars for a while, it almost feels like an achievement to actually stay alive for longer.
'Gavin?' it's Jack, she turns her attention away from her conversation with Michael and Jeremy to Gavin, an earnest look of concern when she asks, 'are you okay? you've barely eaten.'

'Yeah, I'm good,' replies Gavin, face cracking open in a smile he's beginning to hate, he tears his gaze away from his fingers to meet Jack's eyes.
'Is something wrong with your hands, boi?' Michael leans forward to see, Gavin is momentarily startled by the fact Michael has noticed.
There's an odd expression on Michael's face as he sees the state of Gavin's hands in the moments before Gavin moves them to sit on his thighs under the table.
'No, nothings wrong,' replies Gavin, trying to sound earnest. Michael levels him a gaze that's so intense Gavin just wants to duck under the table and hide.
Michael shoves a chip in his mouth then reaches out to ruffle Gavin's hair, Gavin almost cringes away.

'I'm bored of laying low,' complains Jeremy, and Gavin agrees. What do they even need to lay low for? Nothing matters, none of this matters and Gavin wants to scream.
'Geoff's been planning something,' says Jack, 'you shouldn't be bored for too much longer.'
Gavin straightens up, 'is Geoff planning a sneaky lil heist?'
'Not exactly sneaky,' Jack sighs loudly in a way that conveys her complete and utter despair at how stupid the upcoming heist is likely to be, 'but it sure is a heist.'