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1.
The first time Quackity met Jaiden, he didn’t even know her name.
He was rocking back and forth on his feet, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes glanced around the area, never quite staying in one area. At any moment someone could catch him, and it would be pretty difficult to explain his situation.
Normally, he’s not this nervous. He’s been selling drugs since he was in eighth grade, and he learned as a client in seventh grade that the administration doesn’t pay that much attention. The bag of prescription pills in his hoodie pocket was not what was eating his brain alive. No, it was where the exchange was arranged to happen…
…which was the girl’s bathroom.
And Quackity is very much not a girl.
The reason Quackity gets the business he does with the prices that he charges is that he appeals to the customer. He allows them to choose where the meet-up happens, he’ll take the blame or improvise the scene so no one knows, and he’s got high-quality stuff. He gives people reasons to buy from him.
Sometimes, though, it bites him in the ass.
What makes things worse is that he’s pretty sure there’s someone in the stall, and he has no idea who it is. He knows pretty much everyone, so he could tell if she’d snitch or not, but that’s the thing: he can’t tell who it is.
He hasn’t been exactly quiet either. He didn’t know there was someone until he heard throwing, which scared the ever-loving shit out of him. He literally shouted and whispered oh my god.
Still, he has to do this. It would ruin his reputation if he just left.
Five more minutes pass. He’s been there for half an hour. The client’s late, and he’s starting to get irritated.
However, the door of the occupied stall opens, and a girl timidly walks out of the stall. To avoid being seen, Quackity swiftly backs up against the wall and out of her peripheral vision. Luckily, he’s blocked from her long hair that hides her face.
She turns on the faucet, and he just now notices that her breathing is very shaky. He can see how red her face is in the mirror, even before she scrubs her eyes and mouth with the sand-paper towels.
He’d stopped pressing against the wall. At this point, he didn’t care about being seen. He was a natural-born gossip, so of course he was curious! He was surprised that she hadn't seen him, though, considering he was basically hovering over her shoulder.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was avoiding looking at her own reflection, let alone anything else around her.
Another minute passes, and Quackity has completely forgotten about his client. Now, all he cares about is figuring out who this girl was and what happened to her.
And he does.
She finally takes a deep breath, straightening herself out and facing the mirror. She opens her eyes and prepares to leave, but then she makes eye contact with Quackity, and she almost screams.
“Wait, no, it’s- it’s not what you think.” He holds out his arms, not entirely sure how it’s gonna help. Jaiden presses up against the wall next to the sink.
“How- how long have you been there? What are you even doing in the girl’s bathroom?” The girl shuffles awkwardly against the wall, sinking into a nearby corner.
“Well, uh, you see: I, uh, I’m here…to, uh…” Quackity tries to come up with an excuse. This was his exact fear.
“What the hell are you two doing?”
Both their heads whip in the direction of the voice.
It was Quackity’s client. Some girl named Arianna.
“Sorry, I’m late, Alex. Had some trouble with a coach,” she said, crossing her arms and walking over to Quackity. He’s still looking at the other student. It just hit him how familiar she looks, but he can’t put a name to her face.
“Oh, shit, is she gonna be a problem? ” Arianna points at her. She doesn’t even look at the girl, and there’s barely any concern on her makeup-caked face.
“Uh…” Quackity looks at the girl in the corner. She’s no longer scared, and her eyebrows are furrowed in what he could assume is confusion. They make eye contact again, and her eyes widen when she realizes they’re talking about her.
“I won’t say anything.” Quackity smiles.
“Good, now can we get this over with?” Arianna snaps.
Quackity rolls his eyes, pulling the small baggy out of his pocket. Arianna smiles giddily and pulls out an envelope.
The girl in the corner stayed still and silent the entire time.
2.
The second time Quackity saw Jaiden, he spilled his guts to her.
A lot was going on in his life. His boyfriend was a manipulative drug addict, and Quacity fell right into every lying trap: blaming himself for when his boyfriend almost overdosed since he gave him the drugs, feeling like he owes the man something. He’s always there to cover for him when it comes to his parents.
Yet, no matter what he does to him, Quackity is always drawn back to Wilbur.
The afternoons they’ve shared together, the intimate moments they’ve had, the deep conversations influenced by the clouds of marijuana. He’ll never allow himself to escape.
But that’s his fault, right?
Regardless, he was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he walked into the wrong bathroom. He didn’t even notice the lack of urinals when he slid down the wall and lit a cigarette. The smell would give him away, but he stopped caring about what adults thought when he was thirteen.
“Fuck my life,” he whispered, the words represented by the smoke that he blew into the air.
“FUCK,” a gravelly voice shouted, startling the man. It was obviously feminine, bringing his awareness to his surroundings. Fuck, I did it again.
I guess we know the word of the day.
He tries to discreetly leave the bathroom, but the door to the largest stall swings open, revealing the girl from the last time he was in this bathroom. What a crazy coincidence.
Her face is streaked with tears, and her hand is covering her mouth. A red tint paints her blotchy face, and her face is scrunched. Eyes squinted, she makes a beeline for the sink but quickly backtracks because she notices Quackity.
“Why are you here?” she asks. Her voice was broken, and her breathing staggered pathetically. She sounded in pain—like she’d been stabbed.
He just stared at her, not entirely sure what to say. He didn’t want to tell her the real reason, but it felt wrong to lie to her. He had never felt wrong about lying before.
“Relationship trouble,” he said quickly and quietly before his brain would stop him. He thought he would regret it. He thought she’d just scoff and leave.
But he was wrong.
She broke the weird eye contact they had and washed her face. She took a few breaths and Quackity watched her go through her own little ritual to calm down after crying. A few minutes later, she fell down the wall next to him.
She still stuttered occasionally, and he noticed the way her hands shook, but he was still impressed. If he wasn’t watching her so closely or knew the context, he would have never known she had been balling her eyes out five minutes prior.
“If you want, you can talk to me.” She didn’t look at him.
“Oh, no. It’s- I’m fine,” he lied, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Besides, you obviously have your own stuff going on. I wouldn’t want you to-”
“I don’t mind listening. I honestly need a distraction, if I’m being honest. I’m sure what you’re going through doesn’t have anything to do with me,” she explained. Silence hung in the air as he took longer to respond, and she finally glanced over at him. “Of course, if it would make you uncomfortable, then-”
“My boyfriend’s a drug addict.” He didn’t mean to interrupt her, but he didn’t want her to leave. “I didn’t realize that this was the girl’s bathroom ‘til I heard you. I’m sorry if this is weird.” He laughed, but it was bitter and sad.
“No, it’s okay.” She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back, though his vision grew blurry. “Sometimes emotions can make your mind fuzzy and all you know is that wherever you are, you’re away from your triggers. I get it.”
He looked down, fighting back any tears. He blinked a million times a second, constantly swiping his face. She said he could talk, but he didn’t want to. It didn’t feel fair.
“Hey, look at me.” He didn’t listen. “Please.”
He looked at her, and her expression broke him.
He couldn’t breathe. He covered his mouth, but it was clearly adamant in his squinted, watery eyes that he was crying.
She didn’t falter. She only leaned back against the wall. Quackity felt out of place. It felt like an overreaction. The girl didn’t seem to think so, though.
“Talk to me.”
And he did.
He went on and on about Wilbur and how he blamed Quackity for his addiction, and that even Quackity thinks it’s his fault because he was the first to introduce him to drugs in the first place and, honestly, what was he expecting? He’s gone through the eh addiction, he’s seen what it can do. Did he really expect Wilbur to just be immune? Did he really expect Wilbur to be mentally stable enough to handle it? He only has himself to blame. Quackity is the reason that both of them are suffering.
“Based on all that, I don’t think that’s true,” she said. He had kinda forgotten someone was listening, and it took him by surprise to hear another voice. He whipped his head over.
“What?”
“I mean, Wilbur chose to take the drugs in the first place. We’re all educated enough to know ‘say no to drugs’. We all know the risk that we’re taking. It wasn’t your job to take care of him. Should you have given him it in the first place? No. However, that doesn’t mean it’s your fault he’s like this. I assume, based on how you feel, you’ve tried to encourage him to stop, yes?”
She looks at him dead in the eyes, her own poker face meeting his open book.
“Of course, I have,” he sighed, fiddling with his sleeves. “I’ve been clean for a month and a half now, and I’ve told him that, no matter how difficult it’s been, I’m really glad that I did it.”
“And what does he say?” This is turning into a therapy session, but he goes along with it.
“He says…he calls me…weak. He says that there’s nothing wrong with it and that we both know how to stop, but that doesn’t mean that I had to give altogether.” Quackity recounts all the afternoons spent in one of their own bedrooms, watching Wilbur stick a needle in his vein. Nothing about it seemed fine, even when he was involved. “When I try to point out the facts, he just says that ‘life’s not worth it anyways’ and ‘why should I care if I die?’ It…hurts. I love him, and I don’t want him to die. I already found him after he overdosed once.”
“I’m so sorry that you had to find a loved one like that,” she said. He looked at her. Her face was no longer monotone, but it wasn’t pitiful either. She looked sympathetic, almost as if she could relate to him.
“Have you ever…” he trailed off, figuring the rest of the sentence was obvious.
“No, and I can only imagine what it must’ve been like. I just…felt like it was the right thing to say.” She smiled gently at him, and he returned it.
“It was.”
The eye contact for a little while longer, as if they could see each other‘s stories behind their eyes—as if the key to their soul was trapped behind red, blotchy cheeks or tan skin framed by soft brown hair. The longer Quackity stared, though, the more curious he became.
“I’m Jaiden, by the way.” She stuck out her hand, and he shook it. Jaiden. He tucked into his mind, into the little filing cabinet of students' identities.
“Quackity.”
“I know,” she said, receiving a surprised look. “You’re pretty popular. I hear your name a lot, and it doesn’t help that you're associated with drugs. Not gonna lie, I first thought it had to do with your ethnicity.” She laughed a bit at the end,
“Wow, racist much?” Quackity threw a hand to his chest in fake offense.
“Oh, come on. Says the one falling into his stereotype.” Jaiden rolled her eyes.
“I bet you have perfect grades.” Quackity points an accusing finger. “And that you’ve perfected at least one instrument, miss Asian student.”
She went quiet for a moment before saying “I mean, I have a 94 in science if you wanna consider that a perfect grade, then by my guest.”
“I rest my case.”
She laughed a bit and picked up her book bag, preparing to leave. He did the same, shoving his hands in his pockets. She was about to walk out, and in a state of panic, he grabbed her wrist. She looked back, confused.
“Uh, thank you,” he said, ever-so-eloquently. Nice going. Now she thinks you’re awkward.
But instead, she responded, “Any time. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta vent. I’m here if you ever need to rant more—about anything.”
“Yeah, same.”
As they left the bathroom, they got a lot of weird looks. Quackity got a few thumbs up from guys, and a few girls whispered and looked at Jaiden. She sighed and kept her head down.
Only they would really know what happened in that bathroom.
3.
The third time he went into that bathroom, it was the second to last day of his sophomore year. He was dragged in there by some friends, one of them being Wilbur.
It was completely empty except for them. He didn’t understand why they chose the girl’s bathroom. Maybe it was because it was cleaner, or maybe it was because there was a new danger factor to it. Whatever the reason, it left Quackity in an uncomfortable situation.
He was sitting in Wilbur’s lap while they passed a joint around. He’d always decline and get booed and called a pussy. He ignored it as best he could.
Wilbur rested his chin on Quackity’s shoulder.
“What’s going on with you?” He whispered just quietly enough so the others couldn’t hear him. His breath smelled horrible, and Quackity couldn’t help but grimace.
“Nothing.” He said nothing more. He never did.
“Liar.” Wilbur was more pushy than usual. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“You won’t like what I have to say.”
“Oh, come on,” Wilbur sighed. “You know I won’t care…as long as you’re not being dramatic.”
His hands ran up Quackity’s shoulders, making the man almost fold in on himself. He wanted to argue. You always think I’m being dramatic. You always say I’m being stupid. But he didn’t say anything. He only sighed.
“Well,” he started, and a few of the friends looked in their direction, “I’ve been sober for two months now and…”
“Oh, here we go again—“
‘…and—” Quackity raised his voice over his boyfriend “—it just makes me uncomfortable that you and your friends continue to smoke around me despite me telling you that I don’t like it.”
“I mean, honestly, Quackity…“ Wilbur rolled his eyes, shifting his position. Quackity lifted slightly to give him some room, but Wilbur held him firmly by the hips. “I think you’ve just been stressed lately. I think…”
His hands ran up and down Quackity’s arms as he sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“I think you need to relax.” His arms curled around Quackity’s waist, and the man had never felt so uncomfortable with his boyfriend. He had never been so scared.
“Yeah, you two should get it on,” one of his friends encouraged, biting his lip.
“I don’t really want to.” Quackity tried to say it out loud, but no one heard him. Wilbur picked him up by his thighs, moving him around so they were face-to-face. “Wilbur, I—“
“Shh, you don’t have to beg, love.” Wilbur held up a finger to Quackity’s lips before running his hand along his cheek. He pulled him by his chin and pressed their lips together.
Quackity didn’t reciprocate. He didn’t want to. He was tired of being ignored, tired of being belittled. But Wilbur seemed to think he liked it and kept going.
It went on for a few minutes. There wasn’t even tongue, yet everyone was egging them on like they were about to have sex.
“Oh, shit—I’m sorry!”
A familiar voice that wasn’t there before had now entered the scene, and Quackity took advantage of it as much as he could. He pulled away and was immediately looking Jaiden in the eyes.
She picked up his dilemma because, before she could leave, she just stood there for a second.
All the guys stared at her, and they all looked scared shitless, but she only made eye contact with Quackity. A silent conversation for only the two of them to know took place. Are you okay? Do you need help?
He contemplated it before nodding just slightly. No one picked up on it.
No one, except Jaiden,
“Can I help you?” Wilbur barked, clearly annoyed by the interruption.
Jaiden straightened out her posture. “Considering that you're in the girls’ bathroom, I should be asking you the same question.”
“Just go away. You clearly interrupted something.”
“Wilbur, just—“ Quackity felt like he should say something.
“No, don’t worry about it,” Jaiden sighed. “I could always go get a teacher and tell them that you're smoking weed in the girls’ bathroom.”
Wilbur scoffs, but Quackity can tell he knows they’re in a bad position.
Jaiden turns around as if she’s gonna leave, but Wilbur stops her.
“Wait.” Jaiden leans against the wall. “There’s no need to be a snitch, now is there? I mean, it’s not like we’re hurting anybody, right?”
Jaiden looked skeptical and even made eye contact with Quackity. The room was silent for a minute, and —though he couldn’t see his face—Quackity was sure Wilbur’s eyes were narrowed.
“I beg to differ,” Jaide states simply. “Regardless, I’m not scared of telling anyone. I don’t have some kind of reputation to uphold, unlike you. Wonder how your brothers would feel.”
Quackity felt Wilbur stiffen up, and his fists clenched.
Everyone knew about the Minecraft family, so it was no surprise that even someone as secluded as Jaiden would be familiar with it. Technoblade would have his head, and poor Tommy—the kid would be heartbroken. Even Wilbur couldn’t handle that on his conscience.
“You—“ Wilbur shook with anger, but he took a deep breath and fixed himself. Quackity could hear the sickening sweetness that coated his voice. “You really have a lot stacked against me, love.”
“Don’t call me that,” Jaiden snapped. “I’ve tried to be nice, but clearly that’s not working. So let me rephrase. Get the hell out of the girls’ bathroom, you perverts.”
Silence returned. Wilbur’s friends looked nervous, but they didn’t say anything. He couldn't see Wilbur, but he could just feel the anger seething off of him.
“Come on, guys. This bitch isn’t worth my fucking time,” Wilbur barked, looking at her the entire time. Jaiden only smiled with contentment.
Quackity moved, and Wilbur stood up, brushing himself off. He walked over the Jaiden with the most unimpressed look on his face before shoving her against the wall and leaning in.
“If you cross my path again, I swear to every god that exists,” he whispered, his eyes narrowing as he got closer to her ear, “I will make your life a living hell, do you understand me, Jaiden?”
“I suggest you back away from me before I flip over over my shoulder and break your back.” She didn’t sound threatening as Wilbu did, but she didn’t sound scared either.
Wilbur backed away before shoving her shoulder one last time.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
They all left, but Quackity managed to linger enough to mouth a quick thank you so much to Jaiden, who gave him a smile and a thumbs up.
And the + 1.
On the same day, Quackity went back. It was the first time he had actually gone into the girls’ bathroom by choice, so it felt a little weird. Just as he thought, however, Jaiden was there.
Unlike most of his experiences, she was not in a stall but rather sitting on the floor with her back pressed against the wall. She had a Nintendo Switch in her hands, and she seemed the most casual she had ever been.
He walked over to her, sliding down the wall and falling into the position he’d found himself in more times than he thought he would.
“Y’know,” he started, “If I had a quarter for the number of times I found myself wanting to tell you everything on my mind while we sat on the floor of the girls’ bathroom, I’d have two quarters. That’s not a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.”
He looked over to see if his joke had landed. She was smiling, but she didn’t look up from her game. He craned his head to see her screen.
“Mario Kart. Nice,” he said, receiving a small glance. “Sure, it’s a little mainstream, but that doesn’t make it a good game, right?”
Jaiden sighed, turning off her switch. She set it aside, turning her body to focus on the only other person in the room, yet Quackity still found himself looking around for someone else.
“What is it, Quackity? I’m here to listen to whatever you need to talk about.” Her posture and context of her words make it sound like she didn’t actually care, but her face and tone were very contradictory to what the others meant. She made comfortable eye contact with the boy, and he awkwardly rubbed his neck.
“I was actually hoping we could talk about you.” Her eyes widened at this. “Yeah, every time we’re here, it revolves around me. I know you’re also not at the most healthy place mentally. You also deserve to talk about it…if you want to, of course.”
The familiar silence returned to the room. He hoped it would be the final time he’d notice it. Maybe they’d be friends, and if they aren’t talking, silence would feel natural. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like he just fucked everything up.
“I—“ she looked up, conflict swirling in her eyes. She sighed. “I’m not doing okay. You—I don’t think you realize how much it’s taken for me to admit that.”
“Why?” The question wasn’t necessary—he knew the answer—but it felt right to ask.
“Because I thought I could handle it. Because I thought I was doing it to make myself better, and once I got to the point I wanted to be at, I would stop. Because the longer I did it, the more addicting it got. The less I ate, the more I got used to the feeling of hunger,” she explained, some words said through gritted teeth. She finally looked at him. “No, I craved it.”
Quackity asked, already knowing the answer. Well, he knew it was an eating disorder. He knew that answer. What he had no experience with, however, was why people did and how they felt.
He was much worse at being the therapist, and his blank stare made that obvious.
“I lost weight to a degree that was…literally malnourishment. I lied to my parents, friends, even myself. I managed to gaslight myself.” She was looking at her hands now, and Quackity couldn’t believe he had never noticed the way they shook. The brittleness to them. “That’s a new low, don’t you think?”
“Sounds like you’re pretty self aware,” he said, an empty laugh escaping him. “Have you considered treatment?”
“That would mean telling someone. I can’t do that, Quackity. I can’t admit defeat. I put myself in this situation. Why should someone else get involved? Why should someone else even care?”
“Well, I’m someone else. You’re telling me, and I care.” He leaned down to try and look her in the eyes. “And we just met this quarter. Surely your friends will be more worried for you than me. They know you better.”
“But that’s just it. They’ll be worried. I don’t want them to be worried.” Jaiden’s fist clenches. Her hair had fully fallen in front of her face at this point. “If I can just get a grip, then—“
Quackity grabs her hand and lifts her face gently with his hand. His eyebrows furrowed sternly as he said. “You won’t.”
“What?”
“You won’t be able to ‘get a grip’, Jaiden. That’s not how it works.” She still avoids eye contact. “Look, I may not know about eating disorders, but I know how addictions work. You can’t handle them on your own. They mess with your brain. If you thought you had self control before, you can’t forget about it. If you had enough, you wouldn’t be addicted.”
She blinked and tears fell down her cheeks. Quackity was quick to wipe them away.
“You said it yourself. You’re addicted to the feeling. Look, Wilbur’s mom, Kristen, works for a therapy office. I’ll find a way to get you an appointment as soon as I can—“
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. I’m doing it as a concerned friend. Consider it as your way of crossing the threshold. You can get used to people being worried about you and not seeing it as a bad thing.”
“I—“ her sentence falls short, and she jumps in to hug Quackity. He pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I’m gonna make it up to you.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He patted her on the back, rubbing circles. “Seeing you okay is all I need as payment.”
And if she sobbed into his shoulder, no one needed to know. If Quackity accepted her as a little sister figure that day, she would learn on graduation day. And if people wanted to give them weird looks when they left the bathroom together, let them. Let their mind live in the gutter.
They were on their own roads to recovery, both of which just so happen to start at the same cross-section.