Work Text:
"I don't want to wake up for another day, but my body needs it.
I don't feel like eating any meals. But my body needs it.
I don't feel like continuing my usual routine. But my body needs it.
I don't want to live. But my body needs it."
...
Those are usual phrases that mutter in Battat's mind as soon as he wakes up. His eyes haven't opened yet but, upon hearing those thoughts, he knows he must wake up soon. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to open his eyes. He does not want to see his face facing against the wall again. He just wants to be in complete darkness forever, go back to sleep.
His eyelids reluctantly opened. It's the start of another day, or afternoon... much to Battat's dismay.
He tried to roll around in his bed trying to get back to sleep. His body is heavy, he does not feel to lift a muscle. But even if he tried, his brain kept boosting his anxiety, making him stay awake. Just the start of the day and he already feels miserable. Nothing within him will cooperate, he just wants to brood in the only safe spot for him: his bed. The only place where he couldn't feel as bad, but not any better either. It's the only place where he could feel like in his own limbo, just comfortable enough to make everything more bearable to some degree.
But no, his body started moving, standing up from his bed, meaning it's the start of another day.
He put on his attire. He tried his best to not look at himself in the mirror. He simply didn't want anyone else to look at him right now.
It is a weekend so, it could be a very busy day, or a very lonely one... It depends. Lately, it has been very stressful to deal with this world, this job, everyone in it, even Tenna's demands. It made him more demotivated, he would oftentimes forget to eat or drink, or he would just drink to not eat food instead.
His eyes felt heavy, maybe swollen. His back was arched and he would see nothing but the floor, while his spine felt like he was carrying two heavy sandbags on. Everytime he walked, he could feel his legs being frail and his steps unstable, to the point where he had his hand sliding on the wall, his body leaning against it, because he felt he would collapse anytime soon.
"For how long should I endure this?"
He could only think about reaching the Mike room. He wanted to distract himself by making some theories, but deep within, he knows he's replacing a stressful activity with another stressful one, but it helps as a little escapism from everything else. Not healthy but, if he gets to think about his current situation a little bit more, he would probably snap on the spot.
He could hear his own footsteps echoing in the empty hall where the Mike door was. He was about to sigh in relief from reaching his point but then he saw the Mike door being slightly open. He would have his vein pop right there since he hates having Jongler and/or Pluey leave the door open this way, but he was too emotionally drained to even do that. He just stepped in and that's about it.
He wouldn't figure out if it was good or strange. Nobody was inside. No sign of Jongler, nor Pluey. Just his theory corkboard infront and his desk, full of papers and something else on it.
It was a little meal, more specifically a TV Dinner. with a tiny sticky note next to it:
"Good morning... Or good evening... Or night... Whenever youse get ta read dis, boss...
Me n Plues went to get some drinks for da evening. We've noticed youse haven't been eating well lately so, we decided ta leave ya dis meal just for youse."
It was signed with Jongler, and a little cat face doodle, which is Pluey's usual sign.
Battat looked at the TV Dinner set there, then back at the sticky note. He already felt his throat tightening up at the thought of food,
"I don't want to eat. But my body needs it."
He sat down at the desk and removed the lid from the container where the meal was. The food seemed to be at decent temperature still, but he stopped caring about that as time went on. He eventually got used to eat like once a day, or just munching on some snacks or having to tank his hunger, which eventually made him forget his hunger. It reached to the point where he would glare at his TV Dinner and he felt his body shrivel in disgust at the mere sighting or smell of food, like if he was full even if he didn't even eat or drink anything just yet.
"I'm not hungry, I don't want to eat..." He would think as he gripped his stomach, his other hand reaching the fork, "But I must... I need it..."
He would dig his food with the plastic fork that was next to the container, the more Battat kept staring at it, the less appetizing it seemed, but he had to accomplish his living darkner needs, even against his wishes.
He stared at the fork with the food for a while, he took a deep breath before taking a mouthful of it. It was pretty tasteless, everything seemed tasteless. He would just chew slowly, the hardest part came when trying to swallow, but he had to. He kept scooping more chunks of food the best he could, moreso to satisfy his body needs and just to get this over with. Having to eat while not being hungry felt like an eternity, it all goes so slow and slowly, just eating feels gross.
"It was all so different back then. I would've never rejected a meal if it was back in Card Castle."
He tried to dart his mind somewhere else, staring blankly as he kept eating. He would think of his Card Castle days, well.. Rather his days as the Diamond King's royal advisor. At first, Battat didn't feel deserving of having such luxurious meals but, eventually, he has grown fond ot it. He would remember eating next to his King, both joking and also exchanging some chunks of eachother's food. His king would feed him so many times, spoiling him rotten. At first Battat wasn't fond of this, but he got to comprehend how relaxed and happy he was in that time. Those times were happier, he would've felt he could live another day.
This built up into his current stress. His throat tightened mid-swallow and his stomach revolted in rejection.
Before he knew it, Battat already started feeling sick. He dropped his fork and quickly covered his mouth. He couldn't think of whether to hurry into the closest rest room, since he thinks more movement would make his sickness get even worse.
His eyes started watering as he felt his muscles tense further, not only from the grip he was having at restraining his insides in his mouth, but overall a sudden spike of stress taking over him. It was a lot he was building up internally, from the workplace stress, to even the good memories that got him unconsciously holding onto an useless hope that was easy to break down.
He has lost everything. He is stuck here forever. He will not go back to those happy days.
He couldn't take it no more. He shut his eyes close as he felt all the efforts he tried swallowing up instantly go out from his mouth, even the single meal he had yesterday. He hadn't done that in such a while, and he got to remember why. It was a disgusting scenario of having his own vomit all over the desk, some splattered on the papers, on his own food, some of it stained on the floor and on his clothes.
He would stare at it for a minute. He would blankly stare at all that mess he made. That's all he can do. Make a mess out of himself.
"How long will I keep dealing with this?"
This felt like the last straw. The last drop that would make the vase drop into a flood. He wouldn't call it the worst day, but his last one. He is absolutely done. He wishes his mind would shut down at this exact moment, to not think or just process things anymore, be braindead in a literal way, but he couldn't deal with his body struggling to keep on surviving. The attachment to living was his own torture. Why does his body have to do this to him? Everything is so miserable so, why does he still struggle to survive?
He doesn't want to keep living, but his body needs to live.
"I'm not hungry anymore."
He said this as he took off his poncho and threw it aside, getting out of the room as he goes to get a mop and a bucket to clean his mess.