Chapter Text
It's indescribable how much Josh Dun is pissing him off right now. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the emo kid sitting behind the register, pretending not to watch as Tyler loads his basket up with snacks, face flushed and pupils dilated. Pretending to be too absorbed with his iPod Nano to care about whatever the hell Tyler Joseph's problem is.
Tyler's tempted to move to another aisle to escape Josh's scrutiny, but he knows he'll still be clearly visible in the convex security mirrors on the walls above the drink coolers. The bulk of the medical walking boot on his right leg doesn't afford him much subtlety, either. So, he just picks up the pace, grabbing things indiscriminately so he can get out of here faster. For some reason- well, he knows the reason- his heart is racing. He chews a little harder on the gum in his mouth. Then he swallows it. Then, he fishes the paper wrapper out of his front pocket and chews and swallows that too.
"Did you find everything okay?" Josh asks, practically mumbling, when Tyler goes to check out. Not because he cares, but because he has to.
"Mhm." Tyler really did find everything, just about everything in the entire store. He was grabbing so much food that he ended up having to get a second and third basket.
Josh says nothing as he begins to scan Tyler's items, and it's a blessing. No need for commentary. Bags upon bags of mini-donuts, party-sized bags of chips, every candy under the sun. Chips Ahoy, Oreos, Golden Oreos, Doubled Stuffed Oreos, Slim Jims, Chex Mix. He's obviously not craving for any one thing in particular. This should be embarrassing, but Tyler always feels more hunger than he does shame, and God he wants to put something in his mouth right now. He kind of wants to gnaw on Josh's lip ring. He hates Josh. He obviously knows that Tyler isn't just buying all this food for a party or something, because Tyler is in here twice a week at the very least. And that makes him seethe, that Josh definitely knows everything. Probably thinks it's funny, too.
Josh cuts his spiraling thoughts off with his total- over a hundred dollars again. He pays with cash, in bizarre increments of small and large bills that makes it look like the scrounged-up money it is- and, he pays with a shaking hand.
It seems like Tyler's head is only able to stop buzzing the smallest amount once he's outside the corner store, weighed down by a multitude of plastic bags and clutching a foot-long receipt. The chilly mid-October air doesn't do much for his shitty mood. He doesn't want to dwell on it, so he just starts his hobble home.
-
Even though he's never in his life been allowed to do so, Tyler is quick to lock his bedroom door and set his grocery bags down on the floor with all the care in the world. He was going to hide some of his food under his bed for later, but he really wants it all right now.
He doesn't turn on the TV or grab his MP3 player as he sits on the shag rug next to his bed. Just feasts like a coyote on a deer in the woods, with all the same frenzy and comparable sounds. An entire pack of Oreos, a bag of powdered donuts, five packs of peanut butter crackers. His head is pounding. He really doesn't want to have a panic attack. Every single bite of food somehow quells his anxiety and exacerbates it. A party-sized bag of Doritos. He washes it down with the gallon jug of water he keeps in his room. He finishes the whole thing.
It takes three hours until Tyler's finally done, forced to call it quits. He only managed to eat around half of what he bought. He lays on his back on the floor, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling and sweating like a pig, and he feels like his stomach is going to explode. It might.
Tyler can't even pinpoint when this all started. Well, he knows when, but not why or how. In early August, he got a Jones fracture in his right foot. He wore a cast for a while, and now he wears a walking boot, even though it still hurts like hell. What all that means is that he's probably going to have to sit out this basketball season, and nobody's happy about it. Some time between then and now he began binging.
Struggling to his feet, Tyler slowly makes his way to the bathroom across the hall, feeling like he's made of wet concrete, ponderous. He left some stuff in the cabinet under the sink that his siblings haven't seemed to have noticed, or at least haven't touched: a box of baking soda, an empty glass, and a jar of strawberry jam that will have to go in the refrigerator soon; he read about using these kinds of things on an online forum- aside from the bare minimum, Tyler found that he didn't have much in common with its users. Easing himself onto his knees in front of the toilet, Tyler heaves. He's so hot and so, so sweaty. Everything threatens to come up without him even having to shove something down his throat. So he lets it.
The way his throat opens and closes and sputters and burns around hot acid makes him feel like he really swallowed molten lava. What took three hours to eat only takes about ten minutes to puke back up. Tyler should be used to this by now, but throwing up always forces tears out of his eyes. He wipes snot from his nose with his sleeve, but manages to catch himself before he does the same with the vomit dripping from the corners of his mouth. Hand desperately gripping the edge of the sink, Tyler pulls himself up, sways, and looks in the mirror. His eyes, of course, are bloodshot. He's breathing heavily with his mouth gaping open, his lips terribly pink, practically immune to the smell of his own breath at this point. He's pale and mottled pink, his skin visibly wet, like a salmon. Disgusting-looking. But he feels airy.
Like clockwork, Tyler grabs the glass with a clammy hand and fills it with water. Takes a sip, swishes it around in his mouth, spits it in the sink, and downs the rest. He fills the glass again, about a quarter of the way this time, dumps some baking soda in, and swishes and spits that too. With his bare hand, he scoops a glob of jam out of the jar. Down the hatch. Licking the jam off his fingers and out from under his nails, he gazes into the mirror again. His face is puffy on top of everything else. He can't bear to look at himself for very long, so he looks into the toilet instead, scrutinizing his vomit. He doesn't know what exactly he wants to find in there, but he settles for the discovery that everything came up this time. He closes and flushes the toilet before scrubbing his hands violently under the scalding sink water until old scabs on his knuckles are bleeding anew.
The sound of his mom calling him down for dinner makes him realize he's been at this for hours now. He went to the corner store at 1:30.
Tyler goes to dinner.
-
It's so funny to Tyler, seeing Josh Dun in church. His lip ring taken out, his hair left curly instead of straightened flat, khakis instead of ripped jeans. A wolf totally domesticated. Josh and his entire family sit exactly two pews in front of him every single Sunday. Tyler doesn't take his eyes off of him once. Josh, on the other hand, never looks back at him, not even on accident. He kind of wants to throttle the guy. He's a little comforted and horrified by the fact that he's certainly not the only person giving Josh a dirty look right now, but his reasons are a tad bit different than the other church-goers- somehow he might wish Josh the least ill out of everyone here.
Tyler is diligent in his prayer. He bows his head when they pray, and he sings along quietly to the hymns, and God loves him very, very much. For some reason, though, he feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest. Feels like everyone's watching him. It's totally Josh, right? He's still looking ahead. God, are there convex mirrors in here, too? He tries some deep breathing exercises, but at this point, he's fully aware of the problem. As subtly as possible, he slides a fruit and grain bar out of his khaki pocket before noticing the look his mom shoots him as he unwraps it.
"Tyler," she mouths with a wrinkle between her brows, only the 'T' sound even somewhat audible. She doesn't have to say anything else- he gets the memo as she points with a rigid finger to the snack, then back to his pocket, the thin silver bangles on her wrist tinkling against each other, definitely causing a few people to look back at them. Even his dad leans forward to look at him with stern confusion, and that makes him want to disappear. You're not supposed to eat during the service, aside from communion, yet here he was, trying to eat something that was certainly not the blood or body of Christ.
But she's right. He better not. They're going to brunch after this, anyway, and he can eat all he wants, or as little as he wants, and maybe he can even keep it down, or maybe not.
So Tyler puts the open fruit and grain bar right back into his pocket, the wrapper rolled up. Arms crossed, he looks up at the high, dark wood ceiling. His right leg is bouncing, and it sends a little wave of pain through his foot with every movement. He's half-listening to the sermon. Do not judge, or you too will be judged. Josh could take a note from that, still sitting up there like he doesn't know Tyler's deepest secret. Tyler takes a rubber band off his wrist and curls it into a ball, uncurls it, curls it. Puts it back on his wrist, snaps it. His mom shoots him another look. She told him to stop doing that with the rubber band a while ago, and Tyler is a good kid, so he doesn't know why he didn't listen to her.
The fruit and grain bar is still open in his pocket. What if it goes stale before Tyler gets to eat it? That would be a waste. He's not even going to throw it up- he just needs to eat something to ease his nerves. It really takes no effort for Tyler to convince himself this is something he needs. After that careful deliberation, he stands up, shimmying past his family out of the pew, and quietly makes his way out of the nave into the empty lobby. The silence of the room does nothing for him, and his heart still races. He takes two handfuls of peppermints out of a wicker basket on a table covered in event flyers, then he heads to the restroom.
Tyler's never been in a church restroom that wasn't single-use, and that's a beautiful thing. He hops up onto the salmon-colored granite vanity and fully unwraps his fruit bar, dropping the wrapper into the tiny trashcan on the floor next to him. He says Grace in his head before he devours it, not that that makes up for his lack of church etiquette. In his other pocket, a granola bar that doesn't last long, but he's glad he thought to bring it, and four fun-size Snickers that are partly melted from his body heat. Lastly, the peppermints- fifteen or so. He barely crushes each one into jagged pieces with his teeth before swallowing, and God it hurts his throat, but he doesn't stop.
Finally, Tyler feels like he can breathe. He pulls both of his legs up onto the counter to rest his chin on his knees and closes his eyes, savoring this feeling of calm. He'd really like to eat a little more, but he can definitely wait until after church. He decides to hog the bathroom for awhile, staying in the same position with his knees up, curled into himself protectively like a pill bug. Did Josh notice he wasn't in the nave anymore? If he wanted, he could tell everyone that Tyler overbuys food multiple times a week, or that he definitely eats it all at once, or- well. Tyler can't decide if he wants people to know about his habit or not. Can't decide if it's embarrassing. If he freaks out when he can't eat, doesn't that just make him look crazy? He used to freak out when he couldn't play basketball, and that's just a little more productive and socially acceptable.
Slowly, his heart starts to beat into a near-frenzy again. He doesn't like this heaviness in his stomach at all. Well, he did like it just a moment ago, but not anymore- what was he thinking? Rubbing his eyes roughly with the heels of his palms, Tyler slides off the vanity and onto his knees next to the toilet, opening it with a trembling hand.
This is so disrespectful to God, he thinks, doing this here. Seems like nothing's sacred to him anymore. It takes a few tries, but his fingers wedged into the back of his throat causes him to gag, and the shards of peppermint hurt just as much coming up as they did going down. Yet, his wet eyelashes flutter as if in total euphoria, and that makes him feel even worse, forcing God to witness something as oddly intimate as that.
Opening his bleary eyes, Tyler looks back and forth between his vomit and the vanity. They're almost the same color.
-
Tyler still sits with the other guys on the basketball team at lunch, but there's a disconnect. He knows he's always been just a little quieter than the rest of them, just a little, but he didn't realize how much of a conversation starter basketball was until he stunted his ability to use it as one. His buddies are talking about conditioning, reminding Tyler of the fact that he literally can't run, so he directs his attention to something else. Someone else.
Josh Dun sits on the other end of the cafeteria, alone aside from his friend Mark. He wonders if Mark knows how obsessed Josh is with Tyler. If he knew what a creep Josh was, he would definitely not want to sit with him anymore. Josh must feel eyes on him, because for once he actually, probably accidentally, looks up to meet Tyler's gaze instead of pretending to ignore him. Tyler doesn't back down, though- he keeps staring Josh right in the eyes, mustering his dirtiest look, causing Josh's eyebrows to furrow. He must be confused that Tyler, who routinely spends hundreds of dollars on snacks at the corner store he works at, is currently struggling to get a cheese stick down, picking at it with his blunt thumb nails.
Suddenly, an elbow rams into Tyler's bicep, forcing him to look away first. The hit was obviously supposed to be a friendly one, not too hard in reality, but it will definitely bruise. Just a fact of Tyler's life now.
"Right, Joseph?" Nick says as Tyler resists the urge to rub his arm soothingly.
"Huh?" Is all that Tyler can say, and the guys don't seem to mind, since that's his response to half of everything they say.
"Your foot's healing, right? I was saying you could probably ditch the boot once the season starts proper."
"Oh, yeah, for sure," Tyler lies, "Got a doctor's appointment next Wednesday."
-
The next day, Tyler shows up to the corner store a little later than he usually would, about 7 PM, hoping that Josh wouldn't be working for once. Apparently that was wishful thinking. The other boy ignores him in favor of his iPod, and Tyler is grateful for that as he grabs a basket and heads into the aisles.
The fact is, he doesn't have a hundred dollars today. He doesn't even have twenty. Another fact is that if he doesn't get ahold of something edible soon, he's going to go home and eat his little brother's plastic action figures. So he fills his basket with a few things- a small bottle of Ibuprofen, a pack of gummy worms, a pack of mint gum- and then starts shoveling stuff into his pockets once he's sure Josh isn't looking. That's what it's come to: premeditated shoplifting.
Tyler cringes at the crinkling sound coming from his hoodie and jeans pockets as he goes to check out. Josh takes his earbuds out and starts scanning his items, and Tyler hopes to God that his face isn't as red as it feels, hopes that he isn't visibly short of breath, hopes that the sound of his heartbeat isn't loud enough for everyone to hear.
The transaction is... normal. The least normal thing about it is that Tyler only has one plastic bag, his receipt only about the length of his hand. On his way out of the store, he practically stomps his walking boot against the floor to mask the sound of the wrappers on his person.
"...Dude." Tyler hears Josh say as he's almost out the door.
"What?"
"I know you got all that shit in your pockets. Come here," Josh says, sounding deceitfully calm. Tyler thinks about bolting, but he knows he can't even manage a brisk walk with his boot. With a sigh, he goes back to the counter.
"You're hallucinating, dude. I didn't take anything," Tyler says, and he suddenly becomes acutely aware of how hollow his voice sounds. He didn't used to be such a good liar.
"There's literally mirrors back there. I saw you do it." So Josh was looking after all. Of course he was, when is he not? Tyler's breath hitches imperceptibly. He should have expected this- it's not like he's a seasoned shoplifter.
"Okay. Whatever. Now what?" Tyler asks, trying to sound indifferent. Succeeding.
Josh leans over the counter a little, pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh.
"I don't wanna report you, man, even though you're a complete asshole," Josh sighs again, "Listen. I'm willing to have an arrangement with you."
An arrangement? Oh, Tyler should have known. What a pervert. What a complete and utter creep. Tyler should have known. He's considering it a little bit, though. Weighing the pros and cons.
"Pretend to be friends with me."
Tyler blinks. That certainly caught him off guard. And now he's a little embarrassed, luckily he didn't voice any of that out loud.
"Everyone's always messing with me at school and it pisses me off," Josh continues when Tyler doesn't respond, "Everyone likes you, so they'll probably leave me alone."
"Dude. Take the lip ring out, leave your hair alone, and go on a shopping spree at Aero or something. I know your family's not totally broke. And like, uh..." Tyler trails off. He can't really tell Josh to stop being gay. And God, he sounds mean. He sounds like a guy he would hate. Both of those things are becoming true, but unfortunately Josh's feelings aren't nearly as important to Tyler as binging is. "Like, how is you getting bullied even my fault? You want me to tell everyone at church I saw you and Jesus kicking it too?"
"Oh my God, man, that's not the point. I didn't even *say* it was your fault, and I'm literally giving you an out right now. I'm supposed to just call the police on shoplifters, do you want me to-"
"Chill," Tyler hisses, even though he's beginning to sound not-so-chill himself. "I didn't even say no," Josh narrows his eyes at that, but Tyler continues, "I'm just questioning your logic. 'Cause you've obviously already concluded that asking me to just tell people to leave you alone won't work. So I don't know what kind of miracle you want me to make happen, when clearly the solution can come from...within...?"
With as blank a look as he can muster- which is not even half as blank as Tyler's most blank look because Josh has the decency to look ensouled- Josh locks eyes with Tyler and slowly picks up the yellowed plastic landline phone next to the register, causing Tyler to raise an eyebrow, swallowing. Josh raises an eyebrow right back at him as he slowly presses a nine on the keypad. Then, slowly, a one. He doesn't have time to dial the final number before Tyler's practically thrown himself over the counter, wrapping his cold and sweaty hand around Josh's wrist.
"Dude!" He huffs, "Okay, you're getting what you want, man! You're getting what you want. Chill out." Tyler slides his hand down Josh's wrist and initiates a limp, half-hearted handshake that Josh grimaces at, probably because Tyler's palm is totally wet.
"That's good," Josh says, yanking his hand away from Tyler and wiping it on his pant leg, "'Cause I'm not really supposed to use the phone for that, just the panic button. Like, after you leave."
"I don't know why you're bothering to tell me that, asshole." With an exceedingly friendly nod not at all masking the cursing under his breath, Tyler turns on his heel and makes his way toward the door again.
"You still can't keep that stuff."
Tyler trudges back and piles an impressive amount of stolen food onto the counter. Maybe he got a little too cocky. His mind screams at him for the loss, totally furious, and for some reason he feels like crying.
When he gets home, Tyler eats the entire pack of gum he bought. Chew, chew, swallow.
-
Tyler figures Josh neglected to tell Mark about their new arrangement, because when Tyler sits with the two of them at lunch the next day, he's met with an uneasy silence from him, the guy's eyes flicking back and forth between Josh and Tyler. Josh, to his credit, is pretty good at pretending nothing is weird about this. The only odd look Josh gave Tyler was when Tyler opened his lunch Tupperware to reveal nothing but cubes of watermelon and a few tiny dill pickles. A look of total disgust that Tyler was letting those two foods touch, to which Tyler understands that Josh probably enjoys food rather casually.
Eventually the two other boys at the table are comfortable enough to talk amongst themselves despite his presence, albeit hushed, and Tyler pretends not to listen.
"So he has to sit here?" Tyler hears Mark say, relatively loudly, as if it was meant to be heard. Mark's obviously not worried about being perceived as rude, not that Tyler's offended. It's not like he doesn't know what social dynamics are, even if they're the least of his concern right now.
"Dude, trust me," Josh replies. Tyler thinks about chiming in, telling him that he's not a cure-all for their bullying problem, but he doesn't care enough. He needs some leverage over Josh. God knows Josh has enough over him.
Luckily, he doesn't hear Josh say anything about Tyler's shoplifting. Their conversation seems to move to other topics, and Tyler actually stops listening entirely. Watermelon and pickles. He's halfway between wanting to savor them and wanting them to be gone as soon as possible. That leaves him eating at a relatively normal pace, which is not common for him.
He sneakily eyes Josh's lunch. It's a typical packed lunch, just a sandwich and some sides. Despite it's simplicity, Tyler wants to eat it really badly. His whole-wheat sandwich bread looks soft, the lettuce still green and crisp, and he has snacks that Tyler's parents don't buy. If he can somehow get Josh and Mark to walk away, would he have enough time to steal Josh's lunch? Then again, he can't imagine Josh would want to leave any of his belongings around Tyler, knowing what he knows.
Mark just has today's school lunch, Tyler notes- a spicy chicken sandwich and all the sides that don't quite work with it. The bun looks like cement compared to Josh's sandwich. Tyler personally isn't willing to cough up three dollars to play a roulette where he either struggles to finish a tray or ends up fiending for another ten helpings. Plus, that's the kind of thing that makes him throw up, not even intentionally-
"That all you brought?" Josh asks suddenly, even though he seems to know the answer, and it takes Tyler a second to realize Josh is talking to him. About his lunch. Is Josh fucking taunting him?
"Yeah?" Tyler's eyes flick up as he answers, narrowing. He swears he sees Mark wince a little. Is there something wrong with his face? Or maybe he came off as just a little hostile.
"Um, okay..." Josh continues awkwardly. Tyler's not really giving him much to work with, and Mark doesn't seem interested in pitching in to ease the tension. "We were just talking about how we should, uh, invite you to our Halloween party next Tuesday?"
It's hard to miss Mark's incredulous look at Josh.
"It's actually more of a Halloween get-together. Super chill. Since it's a school night," Josh adds.
"Sorry, I have to take my siblings trick-or-treating that day. Plus I'm, like, super busy, and... yeah," Tyler lies. Not about taking his siblings trick-or-treating, that much is true. He's just not sorry about it, and he's not at all busy afterward. For some reason, both of them have the gall to look relieved at being turned down. If that was going to be the case, he doesn't know why Josh bothered asking in the first place.
-
That Halloween is a rather cold one. Tyler is wearing his heavy winter coat over his zip-up skeleton hoodie, yet he's still shivering as he escorts Maddy and Jay to all the houses in their neighborhood- Zack's new teenage angst didn't allow him to join them. Tyler doesn't mind monitoring his siblings while they trick-or-treat, but he's getting tired of telling them to put their coats back on.
"Maddy. Put it on. It's freezing out here," Tyler grumbles as they trudge through the grass to the next driveway, "I don't care if it ruins your costume."
"It's not cold," Jay interjects, his own coat suddenly off, his Superman costume on full display.
"I'm literally wearing a coat, and I'm shivering. Put it on."
"It's really not cold, Ty," Maddy says, trying to reason with him, because she remembers a time when he was reasonable. "Maybe you're sick or something."
"I'm not arguing with you," he says sternly, more meanly than he intended to, "Put your coats on or we're going home."
His words immediately seem to create a rift, new animosity where there was an attempt at understanding. Maddy's expression contorts as a breeze comes through, and Tyler is the only one who shivers.
"Remember when you were a nice brother?" Maddy snarks before walking off on her own, still holding her coat over one arm. All Tyler can do is follow her, but soon her and Jay are walking in front of him with just a slightly faster pace, one he can't match in his boot. He spends the rest of trick-or-treat keeping an eye on them from afar, making sure they don't get kidnapped or something, and their coats stay off.
When they get home, their mom asks Tyler why he has his winter coat on. It's a pretty nice day, after all.
-
He really shouldn't.
It's a little late. Tyler expects that everyone in the house is asleep, except for maybe Zack, and Tyler is lingering in the kitchen alone. Fluttering his fingers at his sides, forming tight fists and letting them relax. Fighting an urge.
Maddy and Jay aren't allowed to keep their Halloween candy in their bedrooms- just a precaution to make sure they don't stay up eating it all, ruining their teeth or spoiling their breakfasts or, Heaven forbid, making themselves sick. So there's two pillowcases full of candy sitting on top of the refrigerator- one navy blue, the other with a farm animal pattern- that will continue to sit up there until after school the next day. On top of the refrigerator, of course, so that the two youngest Josephs can't reach them, not without causing a commotion.
He really, really shouldn't. It's just unnecessarily cruel, he thinks.
...But they probably won't notice.
As quietly as possible, Tyler pulls the two pillowcases down onto the counter, their innards crinkling as his hands and arms tremble, and he begins sifting through the blue one. He starts by taking the stuff he knows neither of the kids like, like Dots and Almond Joys. Stuff even Tyler hardly likes. That's not enough, so he also takes the stuff he's pretty sure they don't like. And just a little bit of the stuff they do like, since there's just so much of it. He takes about a fourth of the candy from each pillowcase before putting them back, half of the entire haul, and even though his stomach drops and he feels lower than dirt, he pulls the bottom of his shirt out like a makeshift bag and swipes the candy onto it before heading back up to his room, locking the door.
Tyler drops the candy onto his rug, and he follows, sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed frame, and pulling his gallon jug of water out from under it. His room must look pretty tidy right now, but he knows where all the filth is, a whole world hidden by the long end of his duvet. Mostly wrappers and bags.
Grabbing a box of Dots from the pile, Tyler wedges his finger under the top and tears it open, dumping the entire contents into his mouth at once, only doing some perfunctory chewing. Then the next box of Dots, then the next, getting rid of his least favorites first. He takes his time devouring every single piece of candy, even the nasty shit, until he swears he can feel his stomach pressing against his ribs, swears he can hear them creaking. Small cuts litter the insides of his cheeks and his tongue, a little blood beading out, created by the coarse sugars on some sour kind of candy. Irritated again and again when he wouldn't stop eating despite them. Running his tongue along his top teeth, he finds them grainy, dirty, almost brittle-feeling. And his stomach is painfully full, and he still wants more. Always wants more.
He looks down at the pile of empty wrappers he's created, and he can almost hear Maddy's voice in his head- "remember when you were a nice brother?"
Patting around aimlessly under his bed, Tyler pulls out a crumpled, empty plastic bag that was once full of snacks, and he wishes that were still the case. Opening the bag and smoothing the bottom against the floor until it's flat, Tyler positions himself until his mouth is mere inches from it, trying to avoid making a mess. Two fingers enter his mouth. There's callouses on his knuckles where his teeth rub against them during this ritual, but he finds that he has to push into his throat deeper than usual, past the callouses- practically his whole hand- to start gagging. But then, there's no other issues- he has a plastic bag full of puke now. This is the first time he's done it outside of a bathroom.
It's... certainly colorful. If anyone saw the whole pieces of candy in there, they would think that Tyler doesn't know how to chew. Whole Skittles, Lifesavers only broken into quarters, and pieces of chocolate big enough to tell what the brand was. The sight is disgusting, Tyler's disgusting, and where everyone else in the world would see a literal bag of vomit, he just sees more food.
With careful control, he reaches toward one of the pieces of chocolate. His entire body is shaking, yet his hand is perfectly still and graceful as it picks up the vomit-covered candy and puts it in his mouth. It tastes disgusting. He could throw up again just from the taste. Chew, chew, swallow. He goes through the entire bag systematically, picking leftovers off the top at first until he remembers he has no self-respect and starts digging through the vomit with his hand, grabbing everything that is grabbable.
The second time he pukes everything up, nothing is immediately recognizable as edible. He's almost disappointed that he can't prolong this. And make no mistake: he would have, given the chance. Tyler pushes himself to his feet with his clean hand and drags himself to the bathroom, washing his hands at least ten times with hot, hot water.
Water, baking soda, the works. Tyler has to tiptoe downstairs to get his jam from the fridge, since he was pushing it by letting it sit in the bathroom cabinet for more than a week. There's spoons in the kitchen, of course, but he still scoops the jam with his hand. Two pillows cases, each three quarters of the way filled with candy, taunt him from the top of the fridge. Partly taunting him with his guilt. Mostly taunting the fact that he still wants to fucking eat.
A shaky breath escapes Tyler as he stands in the mostly-dark kitchen, illuminated only by the fridge light. Full of lame foods like leftovers that he doesn't really want to binge, not that he would get away with that. Another shaky breath crossed with a defeated sigh, and suddenly Tyler is crying. His throat feels like it's closing up, his chest feels like it's full of straw. He wipes his running nose with the heel of his palm, and he swears his hand still smells like vomit.
The worst part is that he knows there's only one thing in the world that could possibly make him feel better.
Tyler doesn't stop crying as he puts the strawberry jam in the fridge again and goes back upstairs. In fact, it gets worse when he remembers the little present he made for himself in the middle of his room. He doesn't know what to do with the bag of vomit right now, so he just double knots it closed and gingerly places it under his bed. The pile of wrappers is left as-is- a pile of colors shredded apart by an impatient Tyler, like a deterrent. A promise to not flood the earth again.
With his left hand, Tyler pulls his Blackberry off the charger by his desk and dials a recently-obtained number. He doesn't feel confident in the cleanliness of his right.
"Does your get-together have food?" Tyler asks shamelessly into the phone as soon as it stops ringing, not even exchanging hellos. He spoke between hiccups, his voice hoarse- for a few reasons.
"Tyler? Yeah, there's food, but-" Josh's voice crackles through his phone.
"Can I still come?" Tyler cuts him off.
"Yeah, man. I guess," Josh sighs, which through the phone speakers sounds like a gust of wind in a blizzard. If he can tell Tyler's been crying, he doesn't say anything.
"'Kay." Tyler hangs up suddenly and scrambles downstairs again, shoving his phone into his pocket.
He grabs his dad's car keys- though he's really not supposed to drive with his boot- which is the second time he's stolen something tonight and the third time in the last two weeks. Shoes- well, shoe- on, and he's off. In just his skeleton hoodie, he's even colder than he was earlier.
-
"Are you good?"
"Huh?" Tyler is caught off-guard by the question he was hit with as soon as Josh opened the front door. And the truthful answer would probably be no, he's not good, but he doesn't really know what Josh is concerned about in particular.
"Your face is, like, super puffy."
Tyler brings his hand up to his jaw and barely contains a wince. His face is always at least a little puffy nowadays, but he can imagine it's worse than usual right now. Most likely his eyes, now, too.
"Maybe I got stung by a-" he pauses, that's a stupid excuse, not that Josh needs to hear one. "...I dunno, I don't have an explanation for you."
"Okay, I guess," Josh says, seeming to remember that he and Tyler aren't actually friends. He steps aside to let Tyler in, and Tyler would compliment the house, all cute and cozy and neat with the noise of chatter coming from somewhere, but he has far more pressing concerns.
"Where's the food?" Tyler immediately asks.
"Downstairs," Josh frowns. "Dude-"
Tyler doesn't let Josh finish his sentence. He just follows the noise of the obvious party until he's descending the narrow stairs into Josh's partially-finished basement, and Josh goes after him wordlessly. A white fold-out table greets him at the bottom, covered in all kinds of snacks, an open trash bag next to it. A box of pizza sits on the floor, empty, but there's three other boxes on the table along with bags of chips, boxes of cookies, and somebody's mom's homemade brownies. A veggie tray, too- maybe for dessert.
Josh orbits him as he makes his plates, and Tyler just lets him. Can't afford to be kicked out or something.
"At least you got your costume on," he hears Josh say.
"...Huh?" Tyler looks up at Josh for half a second before looking back down at the table. He has slices of cheese and pepperoni pizza piled so high on one paper plate that the thing might collapse under the weight, the bottom already soaked-through with grease. He fills another paper plate with just chips.
"The- the hoodie, dude," Josh gestures, sighing. "Like a skeleton, or whatever."
"Uh-huh."
Balancing his two plates- which Josh watches with wide eyes, still orbiting, afraid they're going to spill on the rug- Tyler approaches the rest of the party. Josh has more friends than he thought he did, but he only recognizes Mark from school. There's some guys he's never seen, also some brand of emo, or goth, or punk, or whatever, and some girls, too- he guesses it would make sense for Josh to have a lot of female friends. Most of them are gathered around Josh's CRT, taking turns playing Melee on the GameCube. Others are screwing around with an electronic keyboard, playing random notes or the beginning of Für Elise and stopping suddenly because they don't know the rest. Over and over again. Nobody is daring to touch the full drum set in the corner. Makes him want to go put some fingerprints on it or maybe gnaw on the drumsticks.
Tyler walks right up to Mark and sits next to him on the couch, one plate resting on each knee. Of course, he knows that Mark wants nothing to do with him, and he doesn't care. He can deal with Mark's side-eye and sudden stiff posture, with the loudness of the basement, with the inherent embarrassment of being the one guy openly and obviously overeating at a party. But he can't deal with this stupid, despairing anxious feeling. So he just eats.
Yet again. E, D-sharp, E, D-sharp, E, B, D, C. End. The crackling, distorted notes of Josh's cheap keyboard continue on and on until they don't, and then they do again.
"Can you make them stop that?" Tyler suddenly snaps in the small window of time that his mouth is empty, elbowing Josh and gesturing to his friends as they crowd around the keyboard and giggle like maniacs.
"They're drunk as hell, man."
"So?" He continues shoving pizza into his mouth with his eyes screwed shut tighter than the threshold for looking like a normal person.
"Don't you play the keyboard?" Josh asks, narrowly on-topic, and Tyler has a hard time gauging his genuine interest in the subject.
"Uh... I play the piano?" Tyler replies with his brows still furrowed, mouth totally full. Josh has definitely heard him play in church before. And that's all he really knows how to play- church songs.
"Is that not the same thing?" Josh asks with a sigh. Tyler is fully aware that he isn't making this very easy for him. He makes no effort to waive this awkwardness, though, because he doesn't think Josh deserves it. They're both in messes of their own creation.
Josh doesn't make any effort to rekindle the conversation when Tyler doesn't respond, chatting with Mark instead as Tyler finishes his plates and makes several more trips to the food table over the course of an hour and a half. Tyler's picked practically everything apart on his own. He doesn't have any real sense of pride anymore, but the baffled looks he receives from other attendees bothers him. They don't necessarily look angry that he came in and commandeered most of their food, but amazed. Luckily, it seems like Josh worked his way through five or six beers in the same amount of time. Didn't feel entirely alone. Maybe he should be concerned, though.
Trying to distract himself from the food, Tyler doesn't refill his plate with what little is left or go back to the couch. He presses his plates face-down into the loose garbage bag next to the table and decides to play around with Josh's keyboard a little bit. The Für Elise crowd had cleared up at some point, which Tyler hadn't actually noticed, as the sound of his chewing in his ears eventually became its own captivating melody. On the keyboard, he bangs out the tune of Amazing Grace, his hands stiff like they haven't exactly thawed enough to start shaking, and he pretends that he didn't see Josh's lips twitch into a smile out of the corner of his eye. What does that guy have to be so happy about? And why is he approaching him?
"That's you playing the keyboard."
"Huh?"
"That's you- ugh. Do you have a hearing problem or something?" Josh immediately winces at his own words- or, Tyler assumes that's why. At first Tyler thinks he must be a little drunk, but Josh wasn't particularly nice when he caught him shoplifting either, presumably stone-cold sober. "Sorry."
"I guess I can also play the keyboard," Tyler sighs, fingers coming up to massage his temples. He's starting to feel a headache coming on.
"That's cool," Josh continues, "You're like, really good." He sounds sincere. He also sounds like he's regretting approaching someone who is likely the most aloof and unfriendly person he knows- which is not who Tyler was always known to be. Tyler hopes Josh isn't trying to genuinely befriend him. He's kind of blackmailing him, after all, and Tyler's not exactly content with the amount of his secrets that Josh holds onto.
"I'm leaving," Tyler says bluntly, not bothering to mask his snippy tone when he's already doing the polite thing by not just leaving without saying anything.
"Oh- okay, man. Thanks for coming," Josh says cautiously, disingenuously. Or is that something else?
Tyler doesn't stick around or bother to find out. He shoulders past Josh, not really intentionally, and climbs the stairs, his boot making a hollow banging noise against the wood that he was too preoccupied to notice before. He closes the basement door and finds himself functionally alone in Josh's house. And he doesn't plan on keeping it that way, already making a beeline toward the front door, when Tyler does a double-take and takes a few steps back. Josh's kitchen.
After looking around to make sure he's really alone up here, Tyler walks into the Duns' kitchen with soft, soft steps, his boot making mere taps on the grayish laminate floor. Won't hurt to look around, but he'll probably do more than look. He saw the kinds of snacks Josh had at lunch.
Opening up the pantry, Tyler was immediately met with what he hoped to see- boxes of Pop-Tarts and cereal, bags of microwave popcorn, a huge box of a variety of chips, among other things. With not one single thought in his brain, Tyler swipes two cherry Pop-Tarts and shoves them into his back pocket along with one pack of popcorn kernels. He knows he can't take too much, not when he was practically putting on a show downstairs. It would be too easy to piece together that Tyler was eating the Duns out of house and home. But he can take a little. They shouldn't notice.
Tyler opens and closes about half the drawers in the kitchen before finally finding a box of plastic sandwich baggies. Cereal sounds good to him right now. Swiping the boxes of Froot Loops and Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the pantry, he fills four bags until they bulge and are close to bursting like little balloons, and Tyler is so laser-focused that he doesn't question why Josh's parents let him have two boxes of cereal open at once.
He's not so laser-focused that he misses the slight creak of the fake wood floor coming from somewhere in the hall. Tyler whips his head around but freezes on instinct, his hands going stiff once again and dropping the bag he was holding onto the counter. His brain immediately prepares a dozen excuses, a hundred lies, but they're not needed. Nobody is there. Still, that makes Tyler remember that he is, in fact, stealing from Josh, and he should not be so flippant about that- because the decision to take another person's food was suddenly so easy, second nature, that he didn't even have to think about it. With his stomach still stuck in his throat even though he determined himself to be safe and alone, Tyler quickly cleans up his mess, gathers his loot- because he's willing to reflect and that's all- and quietly exits the Duns' home.
Throwing everything onto the passenger seat of his dad's car, Tyler gets into the drivers seat and slides into a slouch, eyes rolled up to look at the roof. With a deep, shaky breath, he drags his nails down the leathery steering wheel. Leans forward to rest his head on it. Bites it a few times. Then, he lets out a blood curdling scream, fists banging on the top of the dash, like a raging toddler. It tears through his already-ravaged throat, leaving it tight and twitching and unable to even swallow his saliva.
When his burst of emotion is over and he shuffles into better posture, Tyler catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. And, yes, his face was about the size of the moon and just as pale, his pupils blown wide enough to be craters.
-
Tyler wakes up to the sounds of children's crying and accusations coming from downstairs, and once again his conscience is pulled taut between guilt and satisfaction. Tight enough to tear.
-
"Sorry, buddy. Looks like you're not ready to lose the boot just yet."
Tyler's not at all offended by the infantilizing tone his doctor uses- the guy's a pediatrician after all, even if Tyler's old enough to take hard news. But Tyler also doesn't have the decency to act surprised or disappointed about his stunted healing. He can imagine that among all the prerequisites for bone healing, eating and digesting food is probably the most important.
Still, the doctor seems to think Tyler is struggling to process the news when he fails to reply. "Don't worry, it's not too unusual. Jones fractures can take a while to heal. Have you been using your crutches?"
Right, Tyler was supposed to use a crutch or two along with the walking boot. He never really did, although it hurt not to. If that's the real reason why he hasn't been healing, he'll be happy.
"I'm sorry, Ty," his mom says as soon as they get in the car, Tyler impatiently crushing through a complimentary lollipop before unraveling the paper stick with his teeth, chewing and swallowing it.
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry you won't be able to be on the team for a while."
Right. Basketball. Of course Tyler misses playing, but he has a new hobby now. Hobby is one way to put it, as Tyler's main interest nowadays is in eating and purging the evidence, and he has to wonder if there's any scholarships for that.
"S'okay. Can we stop at the store real quick?"
Josh isn't working, of course. He's at school, while Tyler left just before lunch to go to the doctor, and that makes Tyler realize that the corner store is really quite delightful when he's not being watched and stalked by a guy who pretends to ignore him every day. He's free to just walk in and grab what he needs without an unnecessary panic attack. And that's exactly what he does, grabbing all of Maddy and Jay's favorite candies. Only their favorites. And he pays with his mom's pity money. Walks out with exactly one plastic bag.
Said plastic bag sits on Tyler's bed for hours as he waits for his siblings to be home from school. Tyler even manages to share a room with it the entire time, spinning around anxiously in his desk chair and staring it down, not quite able to distract himself. He remains in a standoff with the inanimate object until 3 PM rolls around and he hears Maddy practically stomp to her room, shutting her bedroom door roughly, still upset about this morning's harrowing discovery. Looking back at it, Tyler himself would most certainly notice even a single piece of candy missing from his own stash. He was overconfident. And downright evil.
Grabbing the bag of candy, Tyler leaves his room and goes to stand awkwardly in front of the door to Maddy's. He makes a fist to knock, but that fist freezes mere inches from the door, squeezed so tight that it trembles. He's not afraid of his ten-year-old sister. The sudden nauseous feeling in his stomach is certainly not from fear. But he feels like he's about to lose something. The entire time his mind races, Tyler's fist remains suspended in the air, poised to knock at any time. Yet every time he's about to bite the bullet, his brain supplies him with a brand new reason not to, and his heart supplies him with another round of near-palpitations.
Eventually, he drops his hand and takes the bag back to his room. And that is where it stays, in a way.
Remember when you were a nice brother?