Better // Reddie

four

TRIGGER WARNING: Graphic depictions of eating disorders, mentions of OCD and mental health facilities.

WORD COUNT: 2440

Dinner had not gone as well as Leslie had hoped, but Eddie didn't really care. 

Eddie managed about two bites of the mac and cheese, and a couple green beans before he'd tapped out. All he could think about was the butter, and the carbs, and the grease. It made him sick- both at the food, and at himself. 

He'd taken his tray to Leslie after most of the crowd had left, and she had simply sighed and taken him to go get a nutritional shake. 

"It's only the first meal. You'll get used to it." She'd said as she handed him a room temperature, strawberry flavored meal replacement shake. Eddie really doubted that he would get "used to" anything here. He had remained completely silent as she watched him drink it, presumably to make sure he wouldn't go dumping it out anywhere (which, if left to his own devices, he definitely would). The shake was thick. It clung to his throat, and sank to the bottom of his stomach. The label had been ripped off, and there was no way of knowing what it would do to him. 

He tried not to cry. 

At least Richie's friends seemed nice. He liked Bev, and Ben hadn't spoken much, but he still seemed nice. Like a human teddy bear. Bill had an aura about him that just made you like him, no matter what. Mike and Stan seemed to be the most level-headed members of the group, and they balanced out everyone else's craziness pretty nicely. 

When Eddie got back to the  room that night, Stan was already sitting on his bed, reading a book. 

"Hey." Stan said, not looking up from his book. 

"Hey." Eddie grabbed some pajamas from his (still unpacked) bag, and went to change in the bathroom. 

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you in for?" Stan asked, raising his voice a little bit so Eddie could still hear him while he was in the small bathroom attached to their room. 

"Uh..." Eddie slid his shirt up, counting his ribs (one, two, three, four...) as he usually did. "Eating disorder." What was the point in lying? Stan seemed a very no-bullshit kind of guy. It was easy to be straight up with him. 

"Ah. Okay. I'm in for OCD." Stan's voice was remarkably casual- he said it as normally as you would tell someone what you had for dinner. 

"Oh." Eddie didn't no what else to say. He ran a hand along his collar bone, then his hip bone. Were they less prominent than last time? They probably were. There was no way he hadn't gained weight. He took one last look in the tiny bathroom mirror, then hurried to cover up with his (purposely) oversized pajamas. 

"So, you excited for your first official day at Sunflower Hell tomorrow?" Stan put his book down and flopped over to look at Eddie.  

"Is it really that bad?" 

"No. Well, sometimes. It depends on who you get grouped up with, I guess. And the staff." Stan's words weren't making Eddie feel much better. 

"Oh. Okay." A knot was forming in the pit of his stomach. 

"Hey, it'll be alright. You'll get used to it," Stan got up to turn off the lights. He flicked the switch one, two, seven times. "Sorry. It's a thing. Night." 

"Goodnight." Eddie turned around in his bed. The sheets were crisp and smelled sanitized and un-lived in, like his room in the Derry County Hospital. He already missed his old bed- his Thunder Cats sheets, the glow in the dark stars plastered on the ceiling, and the quilt his dad had made for him before he...