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Dylan's stomach felt as if it was gonna pop straight off his body, exploding into millions of pieces. His arms and thighs felt more saggy than usual, his throat begging to let acid spill out, and especially his lungs feeling crushed by the new fat on his body. He hates it. He hates every bit of it.
He binged again. He went into the kitchen after hours and feasted on whatever he could find, trashing the place. He definitely felt sorry for one of the other counselors finding this and having to clean it up in the morning, but he hardly felt capable of fixing it all himself at that moment.
This happened. A lot. More often than he'd like to admit. While Chris is sworn to secrecy and private body-checks, the counselors weren't informed at all about Dylan's eating habits. Save for Emma, who had anorexia, which caused them to confide in eachother at times.
But the thing is, Emma didn't deal with binges like Dylan does. She doesn't sit over the toilet and try to force her fingers down her throat so she can have the peace of feeling empty again. Her problems were just as bad as Dylan's, but they were different. That's how it was. They could only understand so much about their opposite problems.
And God, Dylan does wish he could have someone who'd really understand, sometimes. Other times, he wishes he could be like Emma. Emma was perfectly thin, holding her figure. Dylan felt pangs of guilt everytime the thought crossed his mind, knowing she had to suffer to get to that point, but he just wishes his own suffering would actually bring results.
In reality, he just rapidly loses and gains weight, never staying consistent. It bothered him to no end. If he gains weight, he hates himself. He strives to do better but physically can't bring himself any further, spiraling into a loop of hurting himself.
If he loses weight, he's proud. For a second. Then he realizes, he could do more. So he tries, he gets the motivation to breach over the line, and he gets hurt again. Over and over and over and over. That's how it went.
He couldn't enjoy camp much anymore, either. Envy crossed his mind just looking at the kids at the camp, effortlessly thin and healthy looking at the same time. He's wanted that, he always has. He was a chubby kid and he feels the need to make up for it.
But again, that hasn't exactly worked out, seeing as he's currently residing in a trashed kitchen with his own bile in the sink. Alone. Everyone moved to the cabins, the lodge sitting still and silent, aside from the occasional creaking of wood. He wasn't sure if that was more or less comforting.
So he just sat. Sat on the uncomfortable floor, leaning against the counters, his nose infected with the smell of his own vomit filling the room. Sat with his own body feeling like it was growing, enlarging and spreading into the room like a virus. He hated it, he hated it more than anything.
Dylan began to doze off, not very comfortable in the positioning of his head against the linoleum counter and the rest of his body sitting straight up. But, he was so, so tired. So many sleepless nights of eating and puking instead of resting like everyone else. He wished he could just be like them, where every waking thought wasn't about calories, kilograms, pounds, body sugar, bmi, etcetera, etcetera.
Just as his body finally calmed, pain subsiding into a world of his own dreams, footsteps and a voice following them made Dylan jump and fall flat onto the kitchen floor. "Dylan! Are you alright? What happened here, man?"
Ryan.
"Oh, you know how it is. The alpha wolf inside of me just got a midnight snack. Normal stuff," Dylan joked. Ryan deadpanned and stared, "This place looks like it was rampaged by a herd of raccoons, I don't think 'midnight snack run' is the appropriate term here."
That's when Dylan became aware. Aware of the fact he was currently sitting in the kitchen he trashed with his very own hands with his biggest crush of a lifetime. Fuck. Oh God- Ryan saw him like this, nothing would ever be the same.
His breathing picked up as his surroundings became clearer, thoughts running through his head at record speeds. Ryan would know. Ryan would see how disgusting Dylan really is, how disformed his body has come to be as a consequence of his own stupid repetitive actions.
A soothing hand rubbing Dylan's back and holding his head up, "It's alright, I've got you. I'm not judging you," Ryan read Dylan's mind, "I'm just worried. Breathe in, breathe out. My grandma- she uh- taught me a breathing method or something, it was like.. square? Square breathing I think.. Or triangle breathing? Some form of shape and breathing, I don't know.." His voice trailed off.
Dylan let out a breathy chuckle at Ryan's rambling, his shoulders easing with the rest of his body. His breathing was still uneven, but the hand on his back moved in a perfect rhythm for him to slow down.
There was a long moment of silence in the room. Ryan was waiting for Dylan to talk, and Dylan was struggling to find words.
"I don't like myself." Very descriptive Dylan, awesome job.
Ryan just gave Dylan an encouraging look, urging him to continue. "I have bulimia, or whatever- God, it feels weird to say that out loud- but I basically just kinda get stuck in a loop of binging too much food and throwing it all up. It happens almost every night. I try not to, but since I don't really eat all day, the hunger consumes me, man."
Ryan hummed in acknowledgement, "So you're the one trashing the kitchens and having Emma complain about it all day." Dylan laughed lightly at the lighthearted joke, making Ryan's eyes light up. The boy was glad his tone came across well.
The hand on Dylan's back was squeezed out between the him and the counter, causing him to whine. Ryan just rolled his eyes playfully and hesitantly rested his hand over Dylan's stomach, using his eyes to ask for permission. Dylan nodded happily and let Ryan thumb across his belly calmly. It felt warm, less like a bomb, which was a good sign.
Yet again, they just sat together in solitude, finding comfort in eachother. "I've noticed. I mean, the issues with eating. I feel so helpless watching you starve all day and progressively getting weaker, just for you to jump back the next morning and it all restarts. You don't deserve this, Dylan. Everyday I'd hope I'd see a change, that you won't be on the verge of passing out. If we're being honest here, I'd just want to wrap you up in a blanket and watch you rest all day with a full stomach. Not in a weird way, I swear."
Dylan felt ecstatic that Ryan cared. He was scared, all this time, of him noticing, but now that he already knows Ryan has caught on and truly cares, he can die a happy man. Or, well, live. With Ryan around, of course.
Dylan rested his head on Ryan's shoulder, letting himself drift off again.
Maybe, just maybe, this a start to something new.