Chapter Text
Simon
When I enter the hall, there is a lady sitting at a desk, typing something on her computer. The only sounds in the room are the clicking of her keyboard and the scraping of my sneakers on the white tilled floor. It makes a squeaky sound. I’m so uncomfortable. Maybe coming here was a bad idea. I know something is wrong with me but it’s not like I can’t handle it. I deal with my eating disorder since high school, why does it have to change now?
I’m on my way out when the lady calls me “Sir? Can I help you?”. And shit. Now, I have to face her, and to explain everything. Maybe if I just bolt through the doors… No, Simon, enough avoiding for today. I’m tired of avoiding everything and everyone. There is something inside me that is screaming for help and peace, and I choose to listen to this cry rather than my fears.
I walk to the desk, slowly. Damn, I’m so weak. This small walk has exhausted me, and I have to grip to the desk, in fear of fainting. Blood on their white floor would not look good.
“I called a few months ago to know if you had any room available and you called me yesterday …”
I can’t even finish my sentence that she interrupts me. I hate it when people do that.
“Yes, I remember the call. So, we have one bed available for you right now. Did you take some clothes and stuff with you?”
I show her the suitcase that I packed yesterday. Thanks heaven, it has wheels. I would not have been able to carry it otherwise. I took so much stuff, almost everything I own is in this suitcase, and it is ready to burst. I was so anxious and could not decide on how many tracksuit bottoms to pack so I emptied my whole wardrobe in the only suitcase I own. I also have my laptop, my Nintendo switch, my Bluetooth speaker and some headphones. With my toilet bag, I think that’s it.
“Wonderful. So, we can do your admission to hospital now. Can you remind me of your name please?”
She’s beaming. I don’t know how she can do it. How can you work in a mental health hospital and be cheerful like that? I don’t know if I ever was able to smile that big.
“Simon Snow”
“Okay, I found your application. Seems like everything is in order… Wait, do you have someone we can call in case of emergency?”
I try to swallow but it feels like my throat is made of concrete. I can’t open my mouth, nothing will come out, oh no, God I think I’m crying.
She hands me a tissue, smiling apologetically.
“No worries, we can fill that later. I will show you your room, then you will meet with your therapist. Is it okay for you?”
I nod, unable to answer. I don’t tell her that I never had some to call in case of emergency and probably never will. I wish I could have someone, but no matter where I look, I’m surrounded by void. My life is so empty. Someday, it is almost painful. In care, I used to cut myself to remember that yes, I was alive, and yes, I have a body. Sometimes, it feels like I’m fading away. So, I’m eating, and eating to try and erase that feeling. I want to be full. But the food never stays in my body. I eat so much, it makes me sick, and I have to vomit everything. I usually end up crying on my bathroom floor, and I’m so tired I can’t move to my bed and go to sleep in my bathtub. I’m lucky to have a bathtub because that’s where I end up spending most of my nights. It’s not comfy but I’m used to it. I hope they have bathtubs in here.
The lady carries my suitcase like it’s nothing, and I follow her into the corridors. Then, she stops at an orange door, and smiles at me
“Here is your room. You’ll have to share it with another patient. No worries, he’s very polite and respectful and you’re both the same age.”
Since I arrived here, she told me not to worry twice. If I didn’t worry about anything, maybe I wouldn’t be here.
Having a roommate is stressing me out. It feels like in care, and some bad memories are lurking at the back of my mind. I try to push them away, but easier said than done. My skin itches, and I want to go backward, to erase everything that just been done. But too late, she’s already opening the door.
My stomach is in knot as I enter the room. My pulse is so fast and so loud, I bet she can hear it. But she never stops smiling. Damn, I might have a heart attack and the bitch is smiling. I could throw a punch right now. I think I’m going to punch her, then I’ll get expelled, then I can go back to my lonely life. At least, I don’t have a roommate in my shitty apartment.
“Mr Snow?”
Janice (I think I’m going to name her Janice. Just because she annoys the shit out of me. I mean, everyone annoys me. It’s a wonder I never ended up in prison for homicide. There’s a voice at the back of my head saying
“You know you prefer being angry at someone than being alone. Anger fuels you and emptiness exhaust you. And you want to be full.”
I tell this voice to shut up and go back to my business). So, Janice is standing in front of me with a worried look on her face. I shrug. She shyly smiles again. I think I scared her.
“So, as I was saying, you’re going to have a roommate.”
I nod and something catches my eyes. In the corner, there’s a shadow moving. No, it’s not a shadow. A bloke so thin I could break him with only two of my fingers raises up from the chair he was sitting on. He slowly unfolds and stares at me. Black hair, black suit, black combats boots. His skin is rather dark, but it looks sick, and he has the biggest eyebags I’ve ever seen. And I see myself everyday in the mirror.
“Basilton, here is Simon Snow. He’ll be sharing your room counting from tonight.”
The bloke nods, but he doesn’t open his mouth. His features are so sharp I think I could cut myself on his cheekbones.
“Everybody calls me Baz”
Oh my god, the bloke can speak. His voice feels like velvet. It’s deep, rich and I want him to never stop. He could be reading the dictionary, I don’t fucking care, this voice is amazing. I bet he works at the radio.
“I” ll leave Simon to settle then we’ll be going to see your therapist. Ok?”
I don’t know whether she’s worried about me or whether she thinks I’m a dummy. She talks to me in a gentle, sweet manner, like you would talk to a child. But I’m not a child anymore.
I nod, afraid to speal in front of Mr. I Probably Work At The BBC. My own voice doesn’t sound so great.
Janice leaves the room, and I’m left alone with Baz. I’m going to call him Baz. I like the sound of it.
Baz
Snow is skinny (I’m not going to call him Simon, he’s not my BFF. I don’t have a BFF, I’m not 13 years old). He has curly hair and freckles everywhere. (Oh Crowley, he makes me rhyme, not a good start. I don’t want to end up like John Keats). He stands in the middle of the room, and he looks really uncomfortable. Great, I don’t want him to feel too at home and to start invading my personal space. He’s glaring at his suitcase as if it had offended him. Maybe he’s a sociopath. Maybe he will have me killed by the end of the night.
Maybe I am spending my last day on earth. Oh, what a sweet thought.
He switches from staring to his suitcase to glaring at me. I don’t say anything because I don’t have to. He is the intruder after all, I was here before him. I turn my chair to face him and sit on it. I think I’m going to be here for a long time.
I decide to have a good look at him. He is really thin, not as much as me, but I could bet that he also has an eating disorder. Nice, I found a playmate. Maybe he could hold my hair while I’ll throw up and I will do the same. No, seriously, it could be nice to have someone who understand. My therapist and my psychiatrist are lovely and very good at their job, but it doesn’t mean that they get it. They have studied, learnt, but not lived with an eating disorder. Maybe, he could understand the tiredness of it all. Because it is fucking exhausting. You think about it every waking moment, and I even dream about it sometimes. My days and nights are centred around food and my weight. It truly is an obsession and sometimes, you just want to have a break. But you can’t because you can’t take a break from your brain. So, it drives you crazy, and you begin to lose yourself. Suddenly, you’re not a person with and eating disorder anymore but you are your eating disorder. Every one of your actions has something to do with food. You can’t take a break from your body either. And it drives you mental when you hate it.
I sense the spiral coming and I know I have to think of something else before I am shaking and crying on the bathroom floor. Damn it, I have to share to bathroom with Snow now. I’m still going to take two hours to get ready in the morning. I have my skincare and hair routines and I’m not changing for him. He can shower in the evening. Whatever, I don’t care.
“Hum… So, which one of the two is my bed?”
Oh, he seems unsure of himself, it could be adorable. He stands like a shy puppy, looking down at his feet. But I don’t care if he’s adorable or not. I don’t care about anything. So,
I don’t answer. He can figure that by himself. I could be nice and welcoming with him. I know how hard it is to arrive in a mental health hospital, away from your loved ones and your usual way of life. The beginning is hard. Especially because you are at your worst when you arrive. But I don’t want to be nice to him. I don’t have to. Nobody expects me too. And tonight, I feel cruel. There is something about him that make me want to growl. I don’t know what yet, but he gets under my skin. And I hate that.
“Oi, I’m not trying to pick up a fight here. You could at least answer. That’s what polite people do.”
I decide to keep my mouth shut and to continue to stare. He looks like he’s annoyed. I like it. It a good look on him. His jaw is tensed, and his hand are bawled into fists. He breaths loudly, slowly opening his mouth. Oh Crowley, I hope he doesn’t snore, it would be a pain in the ass. I would have to wear earplugs. Maybe I am going to wear earplugs, but all the time. just for the sake of annoying him. His eyes are blazing. Oh, I think it’s coming. He is going to explode. Merlin, it should be illegal to feel so good when he certainly feels so bad. I am arching a brow. Come on, Simon Snow, explode. And destroy me.
Simon
I am going to have a nervous breakdown. My roommate looks at me as if I was a piece of crap. It reminds me of the older ones in care. The ones that felt powerful, but not enough to fight someone their age. Instead, they bully people like me. People that have not friend because it’s not easy for them. People that don’t speak much because nobody wants to chat with them. People who are not strong enough because they are 8 fucking years old.
I don’t want to think about it. I know therapy is going to be a bitch because I will have to talk about my past. Sometimes, I wish I had no past.
I’m boiling. I think I’m going to explode. I could throw a tantrum. And honestly, I could really hurt him if I wanted to. My fists alone could do enough damage. I think about breaking his nose. He has a long, very aristocratic nose. Really, he could be a Greek statue if the statue didn’t have any muscle but only bones. Maybe it could bring him back to Earth. Because he looks so patronizing, but I know he is as ill as me. He acts like he’s better than me, but he’s not. He too has to deal with some shit. And that thought calm me down. A bit. Instead of smacking him in the face like I would love to, I grab my rolling tobacco and go for a smoke.
It was the nurse of one of the homes that gave me this idea. Not smoking, that was my idea. But she said something along the lines of “Every time you feel like blowing up, try to find a habit that calms you down, so you don’t fight and don’t hurt anybody”. I used to explode and to throw punches everywhere, but I ended up with more wounds than my bullies. But, at sixteen, instead of going insane, I bought cigarettes and went for a walk. Hell, if it wasn’t for nicotine, I’m not sure I would be alive today. I’m lucky all my fight ended well because we were just kids at the time. But Davy could have killed me, for sure.
Damn, I’m thinking about the past again. No, Simon, focus on the present. Inhale, exhale. Fuck, I love the taste of cigarettes. That’s good. Camels are good. I do not know a lot of things, but I could easily talk one hour or two about cigarettes. Marlboro are the worst thing that was ever created. They taste bitter. It’s not something enjoyable when you have the same taste in the mouth for hours. Lucky Strikes are good, but they smell too strong and the boys would not shut up about how I recked smoke when I was in the dorms, so I stopped buying them. I also have a guilty pleasure, Amsterdamer. I know, people thinks that because it tastes something like vanilla or caramel, it’s girly. But I like sweets and I’m not ashamed of it. Sometimes, after really shitty weeks, I would roll myself a cigarette and it tastes like heaven. But I can’t make a habit of it. So, I settled for Camel. They’re nice, they taste good.
I exhale smoke, and it feels right. I wonder if Baz smokes. He didn’t seem, but maybe. People can surprise you. He seems full of surprise. I mean, we are in a mental health hospital. It seems to me that we have more important problems than our looks. But Baz woke up this morning and choose to wear a full black suit, including the shirt. He also has combat boots, which didn’t fit with his outfit. If you’re going to dress as if you’re going to Wall Street, you don’t wear the same shoes as anticapitalistic punks. But maybe combat boots are posh nowadays. I mean, you just have to look at their prices. It’s a downer. I wish I was born in the seventies. Maybe I would have had some fun, I don’t know, going in clubs, dancing to good music and doing drugs. I think I would have died early. But I started smoking at sixteen, it’s not like I will grow very old.
Janice (still smiling) is waving at me. I think it is time for me to go see my therapist. I throw my cigarette butt in the bin (because I’m not a fucking animal), and off we go. She asks me about my room, if I have settled. I shrug because I don’t know what to answer. I don’t want to say that Baz’s being a prick because I’m done with having problems. I had enough problems in my life, I’m not going to care about stupid Baz and his stupid suit.