Chapter Text
Beaux lay on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. It was blank, the dull white coloration making every streak of dirt visible. A few months into his arrival, he’d planned on altering it somehow. Maybe by adding stickers or asking Zooble for some of those glow in the dark stars, like the ones Ragatha had. Regardless in the couple years he’d been here, he never got around to it. Sure, he could do it today, but he simply didn’t care enough anymore. Besides, even if he tried, he’d probably just end up passing out instead. After all, the rapid decline of his health had left him unable to stay upright for long.
Beaux was vaguely aware of the slightest hint of sunlight filtering in from his window, but he kept his eyes trained on the paint above him, staring the ceiling down with pure apathy.
The past few weeks, Beaux had found the apathetic haze appearing more and more often. He knew it was a problem, knew he should tell Zooble or Caine, knew he was getting worse.
And yet, Beaux just couldn’t find the energy to care. He’d started skipping feeds or forgetting medication. He was late to physical therapy for the first time in months. He stopped trying in therapy too, just staring at the wall until Kinger left. Sometime he wondered when all this had started. He never noticed it getting worse until suddenly it was overwhelming but he couldn’t bring himself to bother.
Maybe this all started last week, when his tube got coiled. Caine ended up having to pull out his NJ tube and replacing it, which had been an awful experience. No, it started before that. Perhaps the week before with the shock collar incident? Abel had ordered Beaux be put in a shock collar to “control his outbursts”. Zooble had promised to only use the buzzer but when a certain sharp-toothed bubble found the remote, Beaux was in for a nasty shock. But no, even that hadn’t been it.
This began a little over six weeks ago, when Beaux’s best friend, Cawton, was rushed away for more “intensive care”, whatever the hell that meant. Beaux had been racked with everything; worry for his friend, guilt of not reporting her worsening symptoms, and even a sense of self hatred that bubbled up like some kind of scalding potion. The time she was away felt like millennia, although he didn’t keep track of how long it actually was. When Cawton came back, Beaux was thrilled. Until that was, he learned he was no longer allowed much time with her. No one sat him down and explained the reasoning gently. He was simply given a letter sent from Abel and told to read it upon returning to his room.
The letter had read,
“Beaux, you are to spend minimal time around Cawton. Your failure to report her clear decline in health is the primary cause for her reaching this point in the first place. You should be ashamed to call yourself her friend. She nearly died because of your own lack of attentiveness and frankly ridiculous disregard for urgency. Furthermore, Caine has informed me of your “emotional outbursts”. I believe that your lack of self control and hysterical tendencies make you a safety hazard. In the simplest terms, so that even you can understand this, the risk far outweighs any potential benefit of the other patients interacting with you. Do your fellow patients a favor and stay away from them.”
Yep. That had definitely been when this all started. Beaux could still feel the sharp pang that struck as he read it for the first time. How the shame and self disgust had wormed its way into his stomach like a parasite. How for the first time, he started to realize that Abel was right. He was terrible. That he deserved to just get worse. And that maybe even, he didn’t deserve to exist at all.
Beaux lay still, mind wandering to all the worst places. The lighting of the room around him slowly changed from dimness to fully lit as the sun rose. The clock on his wall beeped at him, signaling the time and giving him a reminder to start the day. He ignored it, instead choosing to continue his wallows.
After what had to have been at least another hour, thoughts were interrupted by a hasty knock against the door. “Beaux? What have you been doing?” came an annoyed voice, slightly muffled from behind the door.
With a long drawn out groan, Beaux dragged himself over to the door, his body feeling like it was anchored down by weights. As he weakly pulled the door open he was met with Zooble standing in front of him, their arms crossed.
“You’re still in your pajamas? You’re supposed to be up by 8:30!” they scolded, earning them an irritated scoff from Beaux.
“Do you even know how late it is? We let you get ready on your own because we trust your responsible enough to actually do it!” Zooble sighed, a purple and white striped hand reached up to rub their nonexistent temples. “Have you run your feeds yet?”
Beaux stared blankly at them, their words not having an impact. “Yeah,” he lied.
Zooble narrowed their eyes, looking Beaux over. “Are you alright dude? You look kind of sickly today.” They reached out their other limb to feel his temperature but Beaux shrugged them off.
“God, I said I’m fine Zooble. Do you ever listen?” he huffed, shoving past them into the hall.
“Wha-“ They started, shooting him a glare. “I get you’re cranky in the mornings but you don’t have to be such an a**hole about it.”
Beaux disregarded them, stomping off down the hall to the common area. He by the time he reached the room and sat down on one of the chairs, the metaphorical dark cloud that loomed over him was so strong that he half expected a real storm to appear.
He curled in on himself, feeling even sicker than he had when he woke up. His heart was racing and a certain familiar queasiness had settled over him. Why did he do that? Why did he say that? What was wrong with him? Zooble was always patient with him (barring the occasional irritation) but he just had to go and make their job harder. God he was such a-
“Woah, somebody’s looking rough today!” announced a glitchy, albeit slightly wheezy voice from behind him.
Beaux could feel his teeth start to grit immediately. He turned to face the person he least wanted to see at the moment. “Screw off Jax,” he grumbled, turning to face the scruffy purple rabbit.
Beaux had always had good hearing, even during his life, so it didn’t surprise him when he found he could easily pick apart the half-abstracted patient’s speech. “I envy the others. At least they don’t have to listen to all the dumb crap you say.”
Jax’s grin seemed to widen. “You wound me,” he replied sarcastically. “What? Can’t handle my charm?” His shoulders tensed for a second, his face contorting to a grimace and humming a small ‘hm’ sound. Then he returned to his grin and lax posture, leaning over the back of the chair to poke Beaux’s forehead.
Beaux ignored the tic before baring his teeth when Jax poked him. “Aren’t you supposed to be in therapy or something? You obviously need it,” he spat.
The rabbit simply smirked back at him, which left Beaux contemplating throwing the nearest object at his smug face. Luckily, it wasn’t necessary because Zooble appeared in the doorway. Beaux stood immediately, ignoring the instant protest his body made at the action, and headed over. He didn’t stop when he reached them, wordlessly continuing down the hall and gesturing for them to follow.
Once away from the common area, Beaux halted. His earlier guilt welled up again and he wasted no time before apologizing profusely. “I’m sorry for snapping at you and for being cranky and for shoving past you and for being rude and-“
“Beaux it’s okay,” they interrupted. Noticing the canine had begun scratching the skin on his left arm mid-apology, Zooble reached over and pulled his hand away. “I’m not mad at you. If anything, I’m worried.”
Beaux opened his mouth to protest but they cut him off. “We’ve been doing this cycle for weeks now. You get mad, storm off, then apologize like you’ve committed the crime of the century. It’s… weird. You’re spending longer getting up every morning but you seem more tired than ever. You say you’re running your feeds but you’re losing weight again.” They looked at him, face serious. “I need you to be honest with me. Are you okay?”
Beaux’s chest tightened and it suddenly became difficult to swallow. He felt his ears start to ring. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, voice sounding foreign and hollow.
Beaux stared down, fixing his eyes down on the worn, orange pajamas he hadn’t bothered changing out of. He heard Zooble sigh but couldn’t bring himself to look up at them. What was the point? He’d probably just be met with an expression of disappointment if he did.
“Fine. I want to help you but I can’t if you won’t let me. I have other patients to take care of and I can’t keep having the same conversations with you over and over.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. As he heard them walk away, Beaux closed his eyes tight. His shoulders hunched forward, shame welling up. “F**k.”