Next Time Will Be Different
Title: Next Time Will Be Different
Fandom: My Chemical Romance
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Word Count: ~300 (A drabble+ at most.)
Disclaimer: Fiction. Deal.
Summary: We all have our secrets...
Warning: Eating disorders...
The bathroom stall provides a shadowed hideaway from the glare of fluorescent lights. As far as public restrooms go, it’s by far one of the cleanest he’s ever been in. It’s around 2am; Eastern Time anyways. No use in resetting one’s watch when one will be in another time zone the next day. Fingers play at the slick metallic wrapper of the candy bar. Each tear and crumple are louder than any rickety stair he can remember. And once the stale chocolate hits his tongue, it’s lost its appeal. It doesn’t taste quite as good as the first one he eaten on the way around the back of the gas station. It definitely pales in comparison to the day old donut he’d shoved in his mouth to free his hands to open the door. He swallows bite after bite of the candy bar and tries to discreetly shove the handful of wrappers into the stall wastebasket without making any undue sounds… even though he’s the only one in the bathroom.
And Gerard thinks, this is what an eating disorder feels like.
His stomach is turning by the time he reaches the bus door. He smiles shyly at the driver before maneuvering towards the back of the bus; towards his bunk. He spies one of Frank’s bag of Twizzlers and snags a few before climbing into bed. His palms grow sweaty and after a good ten minutes of reckoning, he climbs out of his bunk and throws his pilfered snacks in the garbage.
And just for that night, just so he can calm himself down enough to sleep, Gerard tells himself that nobody knows… that next time will be different.
hit counter
Fandom: My Chemical Romance
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Word Count: ~300 (A drabble+ at most.)
Disclaimer: Fiction. Deal.
Summary: We all have our secrets...
Warning: Eating disorders...
The bathroom stall provides a shadowed hideaway from the glare of fluorescent lights. As far as public restrooms go, it’s by far one of the cleanest he’s ever been in. It’s around 2am; Eastern Time anyways. No use in resetting one’s watch when one will be in another time zone the next day. Fingers play at the slick metallic wrapper of the candy bar. Each tear and crumple are louder than any rickety stair he can remember. And once the stale chocolate hits his tongue, it’s lost its appeal. It doesn’t taste quite as good as the first one he eaten on the way around the back of the gas station. It definitely pales in comparison to the day old donut he’d shoved in his mouth to free his hands to open the door. He swallows bite after bite of the candy bar and tries to discreetly shove the handful of wrappers into the stall wastebasket without making any undue sounds… even though he’s the only one in the bathroom.
And Gerard thinks, this is what an eating disorder feels like.
His stomach is turning by the time he reaches the bus door. He smiles shyly at the driver before maneuvering towards the back of the bus; towards his bunk. He spies one of Frank’s bag of Twizzlers and snags a few before climbing into bed. His palms grow sweaty and after a good ten minutes of reckoning, he climbs out of his bunk and throws his pilfered snacks in the garbage.
And just for that night, just so he can calm himself down enough to sleep, Gerard tells himself that nobody knows… that next time will be different.
hit counter