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When Adam Parrish was 11 years old, his mother told him that he was looking too thin and that he ought to eat up. His father then slammed two hard fists on the tiny dining table and told Adam’s mother that food cost money, and money don’t grow on trees. His mother smiled her smile where she would not meet anyone’s eyes and purse her lips very hard, then went back to mashing the green peas on her plate until they wouldn’t mash anymore, and Adam thought he better do the same. A few people other than his mother had ever thought that he looked a little too thin, but they never said anything.
When Adam was 14 years old, his father caught him taking a snack one night. His stomach had been rumbling since the afternoon and the summer heat made his appetite wider. Usually, Mrs. Turner would have offered him a handful of dry cookies and a cold glass of lemon juice, but she wasn’t there today. He wouldn’t have gone down if his stomach wasn’t twisting on itself in hunger, he really wouldn’t have. But he was weak and he did although he knew what would happen if he was caught, and now he had to pay for it. He thought he should be stronger than this, the next time. Mrs. Turner didn’t ask about the bruise on his jaw the following day.
At 17 years old, Adam would have a slice of peanut butter spread toast, a slice of jam that tasted like coloured sugar, and little else, to last him throughout the day. He would eat half in lunchtime at Aglionby, and half for after he was done with his second shift at the garage. He would then go back to his little apartment at St. Agnes, and wonder if he can ignore his noisy stomach long enough to pass out at his desk with a book under his head.
Tonight was one where he didn’t have any tests during the school day, so he thought a quarter of the sandwich was more than enough to keep him going. He had put the remaining quarter in a neat little square on a white tissue with the school logo on it. He found it very funny that they could afford custom made tissues, yet still charge 7 dollars for an apple at the cafeteria. He supposed the two were correlated.
He sat folded on his desk, long legs pressing under him, and unpocketed the small square of food left, tried to imagine there being more. He very slowly took the crusts off and tore them into smaller pieces. Bringing one piece to his mouth, he gingerly placed it on his tongue and was instantly overcome with how hungry he actually was. He chewed slowly and painstakingly, because that makes you full faster. Before he knew it, the piece had gone into nothing in his mouth and he had to take another one. He took a deep breath and counted how many he had left, then counted them again. He ate the second one.
Eating was nothing if not calculated, when you were Adam Parrish. He separated one slice from the other and counted till fifty. Then he took three large gulps of water, because water was cheap. He let himself eat the jam slice and the sugary taste made his mouth water. You’re full now you don’t even need the other slice it’s enough it’ll taste so much better tomorrow
He took a bite. Guilt washed over him like a kick to the gut, and suddenly he didn’t feel very hungry at all. He was being stupid, he was being so stupid it’s just food it won’t even save you that much money
He knew that was a lie.
He had to cut back on a third shift because he had needed more time to study. But December was quickly approaching and he had to have enough for heating, he had to.
He took another bite. The taste of peanut butter was strong in his mouth, stuck to all the wrong parts. He swallowed and wished he didn’t start eating this in the first place.
This is pathetic it’s so fucking pathetic you’re so fucking pathetic
A knock rasped twice at the door, then another time, more gentle.
Adam scrambled up from his makeshift desk and slapped a book over the remaining bits of the sandwich. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth once, twice, and went to open the door.
Ronan stood leaned against the old frame, hands crossed over and deep shadows under his eyes. Sleep was such a rare and treasured thing for Adam, he hated seeing anyone lose sleep when they didn’t have to, least of all the middle Lynch brother, who created such beautiful things when he wasn’t awake.
Adam mentally berated himself for that, because he knew that wasn’t always the case.
He left the door open and went to sit back at his desk, invitation for Ronan to come in.
“You look like shit,” Adam said and his voice sounded absent even to his own ears.
“You’re one to talk,” Ronan scoffed. “It smells like fucking peanut butter.”
Adam felt the blood drain from his face. His entire body tensed, and he didn’t even know why. A familiar habit to ready himself for a blow, maybe. He wasn’t caught stealing food very often, but you were never careful when you were hungry. And when you weren’t careful, you got hurt.
“Parrish?” Ronan was staring at him, he said Adam’s name so softly. Adam shook his head to drive the thought away.
“I had some leftover,” Adam didn’t see the point in lying. This wasn’t his father ready to drive a punch into his face, and he won’t let past habits grow stronger. “I was eating it.”
Ronan snorted, “If I couldn’t smell it I wouldn’t have believed you.” He was looking at his wrists now, “You’re bony as shit.
It wasn’t like Ronan was the first person to point out how thin Adam was, he supposed other people would have noticed a difference, maybe it was working that third shift.
Adam shrugged his shoulders and the thrifted oversized tee shirt fell off one shoulder. He quickly yanked it back. “Where’s Chainsaw?”
“Watching over Gansey, probably. He’s being dramatic about Blue again.” Ronan sighed mournfully. If Adam didn’t know who he was talking to, he would have said it sounded almost motherly.
“Is that why you had to get away?” Adam smirked at Ronan’s expression. “Too straight for ya?”
Ronan shoved Adam’s shoulder a little too roughly. “Fuck off Parrish,” He sounded only slightly indignant, “You don’t know shit.”
“Sure I don’t,” Adam flicked a look at the storage bins at the other side of the room. “There’s an extra pillow over there.”
“Since when?” Ronan furrowed his eyebrows slightly; Adam thought it looked very cute.
“Doesn’t matter,” He settled into his desk chair again. “I’m gonna study for a while longer. You do whatever.”
“You’re a delight Parrish, you know that?” Adam flipped him off and went back to his history book. From the corner of his eye he watched Ronan toe his shoes off and push them by the door , then pull out the brand new pillow from the storage bin. It was much softer than the one Adam slept on, Adam had made sure of it. Ronan lingered looking at it just for a second too long. Adam forced himself to focus on the book.
“Good night, Parrish.”
Adam hummed a response back at him. When he heard his breathing even out, he uncovered the two remaining bites of his measly little sandwich and very carefully ate the first.
He made himself read and reread the next few day’s chapters before placing the last bite in his mouth. He had to earn it.
Finally, he got up to the bathroom. His bathroom mirror was a large and circular thing. It was there when he had moved to the apartment, and he mainly disliked it. Whatever he felt for the mirror itself paled in comparison to his sheer hatred of what he saw in it. He scrubbed a hand over his face.
Checking for bruises or cuts were the only reasons he ever looked in the mirror back when he lived with his parents. Now that he could focus on something other than that, he felt disgust boil deep within his gut.
His sunken eyes and sharp cheekbones and the scar above his left brow that would never go away because he was shaking too hard when he had to stitch the cut all those years ago. He saw his father’s ugly words on his ugly face, his mother’s weak and abandoned eyes. He ran wet hands through his hair and quickly brushed his teeth.
He was extremely tired, and very sleepy. Having Ronan right by his side usually made him feel a myriad of emotions, not all positive. Mainly, he felt safe, and immediately hated himself for not being able to provide that sense of safety on his own.
He felt around in the dark for his throw, and draped it halfway between him and Ronan. He lay on his mattress and let out a deep breath at the pillow that touched his head. This definitely wasn’t his thin and lumpy one his neck ached from each night. This was the softer and fluffier one he’d told Ronan to sleep on.
How could he have not noticed that Ronan swapped his gift and was currently resting his head on Adam’s old pillow, so thin it barely elevated his head from the floor at all.
Adam wanted to wake him up and force him to take the soft pillow, Adam had saved up for an entire month before being able to buy it.
He kept noticing the way Ronan would rub his neck after spending the night on Adam’s floor. The first thought Adam had at that sight all those months ago was envy. Ronan had probably never had to sleep on anything that didn’t cost more than Adam’s rent and Adam was a jealous and hateful thing. He was. He is and always will be.
He went out and bought that pillow for Ronan and he’ll be damned if Ronan doesn’t accept his gift, if he returns it with pity. Adam will be perfectly fine sleeping on his hard pillow, he has been for the past seventeen years of his life. He doesn’t need Ronan Lynch shoving the present back in his face because he deemed that Adam needs it more than him.
He shook Ronan awake. “Take the pillow.” Adam’s voice seemed loud in the quiet of the small apartment.
“The fuck, Parrish?” Ronan removed his forearm from where it was resting over his eyes.
“I didn’t get it for myself. Your neck always hurts in the morning. Just take it.” Adam was actually surprised at how even his voice was, since he wanted to yell or hurl something at Ronan or both.
Ronan will always think less of him. Everyone will. These little actions that Ronan or Gansey do only cement that idea further, and Adam knows it.
Finally Ronan’s voice sounded through, “We can share it.”
That didn’t make any sense. Why would Ronan want to sleep next to a boy who had dirt under his fingernails when he could have anyone he wanted, anyone at all.
“Yeah.” Adam answered after a beat. “We could.”
Ronan scooted into Adam’s mattress, keeping as much distance as he could when two sinewy boys were sharing a single bed, one less sinewy than the other. He rested his head back on the pillow as Adam watched. Adam saw his eyes flutter the tiniest bit at the feeling of something supple against his head and neck.
“D’you plan on getting your fuckin’ head next to me?” Ronan said, his voice a little slurred and tired and exasperated.
Adam didn’t even know he was still sitting up, so he laid his head down and shoved one hand under the pillow and the other he rested between his and Ronan’s head. They were lying face to face now and Ronan already had his eyes closed. Adam had a sudden urge to reach over and kiss his eyelids.
The silence wasn’t as loud as it had been with Ronan now next to him. His breathing was gentle, the rise and fall of Ronan’s chest almost hypnotizing Adam’s sleepy mind.
“This is a great pillow.” Ronan whispered in the dark.
Adam laughed, and it sounded too loud to his ears. “I know.”