Chapter Text
and when tomorrow comes, you will be beautiful. the festering wounds, gaping and oozing, will braid themselves shut. the hollow bones curving under your taut skin will gleam under the exaggerated fluorescents. bruises blooming under your heavy eyes will entice him, enrapture him, finally.
june 13th, 1987
michael james wheeler was always thin. his gangly limbs and awkward, newborn fawn-like stature was a staple everyone would recognize when describing him. his mother would brush the raven curls from his forehead and assure him that he would grow into himself one day in fear the comments would give him a complex. on the contrary, it never bothered him- in fact, he quite liked it. being small made him feel compact, controlled.
the feeling of sharpness as he ghosted his hands along his ribs, his hips, his arms, comforted him. from childhood, it became a ritual to grasp and smooth his fingers against his collarbones or wrists when nervous, self soothing the burning anxiety that only worsened as his brain developed. everything was exactly as it should be, the same rhythm it had always been. until mike turned sixteen.
“if you’re not down in ten, i’m leaving you!” nancy’s ruffled tone travelled from the bottom of the staircase, an impatient heel tapping the wooden floorboards. the words wormed their way into mike’s unconscious brain, snapping his eyes open and shooting towards a droning, ignored alarm flashing 9:39AM. he leaped out from under the covers, arms sprawled as he frantically scanned for clothing. thankfully, the chill of spring was gone and had began careening into the soggy warmth of early summer. as painful as her shrill yelling was, mike was happy to hear it. his sister had just arrived home from college for break, and magically he felt less alone at the stuffy dinner table.
tugging on a short sleeved blue striped polo, mike hummed in thought as he noted a unfamiliar snugness pressing against the seams. the thought floated absentmindedly until he pulled up his worn levi’s. a scorching bubble of fear travelled like lightening from his stomach to his throat as his fingertips struggled to latch the now clammy metal button. his eyes darted towards the mirror, catching from the side how the soft pudge of his stomach bulged just so slightly over the starched waistband.
this couldn’t have happened overnight, could it? mike knew that he was growing, that his late teen age came with the consequence of eventual adulthood; but it didn’t permeate in him that he would feel, or be any different than he always had. the panic didn’t have time to set before another impatient grip echoed from the hallway, dragging mike back into focus.
shifting uncomfortably on the sticky newness of nancy’s rich leather car seats, mike was stuck in his own head. his sister rambled on about her school’s newspaper deadlines, but it was only white noise to the ravenette. he stared out the window, taking in the whizzing scenery of houses and greenery in attempt to quell the lingering anxiety fogging up his frontal lobe. mike’s father is always harping on his baggy attire, grumbling an off-handed “you need to grow into those” paired with the flick of a newspaper. was this what he meant? the knuckle that he perched his chin on gripped intensely, whitening to stop the shaking.
“mike. mike- MIKE. we’re here!” his sisters voice cut through the thick air and released him from the fuzziness. he licked the inside of his bottom lip and swallowed, opening the car door with a soft “thanks for the ride” as he departed. nancy muttered something under her breath and huffed, but a glint of suspicion lingered in her gaze as she drove off from the hopper-byers residence.
mike only made it through two quick raps on the door before it swung open, meeting the sparkling hazel stare of his most favorite person. will’s pearly teeth glinted through the quirked grin, making the small mole above his mouth dance. “mike! it’s been forever” he quipped to the response of a lengthy eye roll. “if forever means a week, then sure” a smirk fell upon mike’s own lips, with just a dusting of pink tinting his cheeks as he took in the boy before him.
stepping into the warmly lit living room, mike caught sight of the rest of the party. max’s head cocked to the side as she listened to lucas and dustin yammering about some new movie that was coming out soon. something about a princess, or a bride? he turned slightly to notice a now sitting will with his stepsister, jane, who regardless of lack of blood relation looked strikingly similar to his best friend. the party called them “wonder-twins” which always made mike smile.
a couple hours later, the party had nestled into a comfortable silence, cuddled in the various couch chairs curling around the heavy box tv that flickered saturated flecks of “The Empire Strikes Back” on their faces. mike’s long legs balanced on will’s lap, his pallid limbs attentive to the subtle shifts of the others freshly formed thigh muscles. he worked the scratchy, flowered polyester seat under his fingertips of his left hand, while his right draped along the straight back of the couch.
if he focused, mike could feel the heat of his best friends neck ghosting just out of reach. the shadows rose and fell slowly across the other boy like a sleeping breath, allowing mike to study the way will’s chin was stippled with small golden wires of hair, the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and how square his jaw had become after the baby fat melted away in these past few months. he supposed not all change was bad, but this admiration did little to distract him from the tightness of the shirt cuffs on his biceps reminding him of his earlier concerns.
after the movie ended, the party crowded around the coffee table. greasy brown paper bags delivered by a tired but pleased joyce clouded the room with the scent of benny’s burgers. the table quickly became a bustling city of hands moving sauces and fries and peeling back wrappers. except for mike. he looked down at his burger with a strange fixation, unnoticed by the rest of the crowd who were hurriedly scarfing their dinner. he had always been a hearty eater, he wasn’t fond of some things- like pickles, or pineapple on pizza, but he wasn’t fussy. why now did he feel the hairs on his neck prickle, and his hands felt a thousand pounds heavier on the table?
dustin, who sat crisscross to his right, nudged his shoulder playfully, using his unoccupied hand to jab a digit at mike’s side “what’s gives dude? eat up, or you’re gonna lose those sweet gains” the shorter boy emphasized his point by squeezing the taller’s upper arm. mike’s stomach was doing summersaults, pushing acrid bile up into his mouth as he stifled a gag. his leaden hands started to sweat profusely, and he could his face beginning to fluster. noticing the discomfort spreading across him, lucas bumped dustin with his elbow. with furrowed brows, the athlete’s chin tipped down in a disapproving warning.
“what? i just- i just mean that mike’s becoming a man! that’s rad! he’s already taller than us, and soon he’ll be some big muscled macho guy like- like Schwarzenegger!” dustin’s voice cracked from nervousness, a habit he’d retained even after his voice had dropped a year ago. mike knew his friend meant nothing by it, but it felt strange. it felt like a wasp had crawled into his clothes and stung him repeatedly, leaving behind a vulnerable whelp in pain and exposed like a raw nerve.
after four or five beats of stale stillness, mike forced out a laugh that teetered on sarcastic but hopefully convinced the others. the party’s shoulders seemed to slump in relief simultaneously, knowing that mike could get temperamental against any perceived criticism in these hormonally driven days. slapping a smile on his face, mike retorted “dude, lay off me. not everyone inhales their dinner like a proton pack.” the joke appeased the crowd, dissipating the stuffy air that had enveloped the room.
as everyone resumed their conversation, mike stared down his burger, locking in on the grease seeping through the yellow wrapping and the steam still emitting from it. he recalled every burger he’d ever eaten; every smear of ketchup, every chewy bit of gristle, every slimy slice of artificial cheese. he remembered the fullness, the way his stomach would bulge with the weight of a finished meal. then it hit him. this was the culprit, the cause for his manifesting anxiety and the swelling of his flesh. food was to blame for this unwanted alteration of his sense of self.
suddenly, the fast food seemed much less appealing than usual. mike didn’t see anything wrong with this, figuring that maybe his maturing brain was simply outgrowing the saccharine indulgences of youth. gripping the edges of the burger like it would singe him if it was too close, he pondered on the Super Diets and Exercise sections of his mom’s monthly delivered Cosmopolitan magazines. the chic, trim bodies bore a resemblance to his own- or, they did, before. mike wasn’t a middle aged woman, but surely the tips and tricks would have something helpful to feel normal in his own skin again.