AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hello, Friend-os! :D So this is my second story... And it's going to be a little bit of a change from my other story because it's a lot more emotional, but I promise you that this one has a decent plot.

It's based off of a story I'm writing... so I hope you like it. I won't give anything away, but there will be a long of twists. :)

Exciting! :D So, anyway, please feel free to read and write a review (they are greatly appreciated!)

*For viewer decretion, this is rated T+ for swearing, adult material, adult situations, mild sexuality, and violence. The whole sha-bang. Woo-hoo.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Chipmunks or Chipettes. Just the plot and stuff.

So, without further ado, I give you Chapter 1!

-Blythe

Chp. 1: Useless Antics

Dear Doctor Callaway,
Here's the list of the things Alvin has eaten so far this week. I've been trying to get him to eat more often, but he seems to be getting to be more of a finicky eater than before... We might need to come and see you again - Alvin's beginning to faint during his daily classes and he's refusing to talk to his friends, classmates, and teachers. Please let me know what would be an appropriate time for us to come and pay you a visit.

-David Seville

Thursday morning: half of an orange and ¾ a cup of bran flakes
Thursday, 1 pm: half of a ham and cheese sandwich, a small stock of grapes
Thursday dinner: Half a cup of baked beans and a cup of instant noodles for sodium

Friday morning: Half of an orange, ¼ of a cup of cherrios
Friday, 1:30 pm: Nothing
Friday dinner: A small tossed salad and a leg of turkey

Saturday morning: Nothing (he slept in)
Saturday, 3 pm: a slice of deli cheese
Saturday dinner: a dinner roll and ¼ cup of italian ice

Sunday morning: Ham, two eggs scrambled, a blueberry muffin
Sunday, 2 pm: grits and two graham crackers
Sunday dinner: _
**Note: I caught Alvin throwing up his breakfast and lunch at around 4 today. We might need to pay you a visit within the next few days before he gets worse.

Regards,
David Seville

Alvin Seville lived on 66 Cedar Drive, Los Angeles, California. Sunshine, rolling hills, a view of the city from any suburban neighborhood. The golden-sanded beach were not a far shot from here, and if you took a deep enough breath, you could smell the salt of the shoreline from where you stood on Cedar Drive. You could say that this location would be an appropriate address for Alvin Seville if you were looking at the way he was living seven years ago. It was a jubilant neighborhood with families houses lined up perfectly on each side of the street. Manicured lawns and white picket fences; the suburban life. At that time, it would be normal to see nine year-old Alvin running around in his backyard, or perhaps building a treehouse, playing at the downtown arcade or riding his bike - the things that normal nine year-olds did. And Alvin was, at one point, a normal nine year-old little boy.

What he once was was an exuberant little boy with a thick sense of humor and a knack for household pranks. He would take any chance he got to pull a fast one on you, his signature prank being the old bucket of water above the doorframe trick. Yes, in many ways, nine year-old Alvin exemplified what it was to be full of energy and adventure.

However, life grew long for Alvin after the sudden deaths of his two little brothers, Thomas and Steven. It had been seven years since Alvin was a nine year old firecracker...and it had been seven years since the passing of his brothers.

Alvin now had a face that had grown accustomed to frowning. He would wake up every morning at promptly 6:07am, have what was hardly considered a substantial breakfast, and then return to sleeping up his alarm woke him again at 7:20, giving him only ten minutes to run to school without so much as combing his hair. Ten minutes wasn't enough time for his feet to take him from his house to his homeroom class; in fact, he was late every day. But what did school matter anyway? Alvin never absorbed anything through middle school or high school. He sat there in his seat every morning and stared at his pencil. On good-mood days (which were rare), he would doodle on the corners of his worksheets, but he never made any attempts to do the work. He never bothered with homework, never bothered with projects...in fact, it was a mystery how he was getting through school at all! He just sat there at his desk and waiting for the sharp, repetitious clang of the school bell before he transitioned to each class. He spoke to no one. He looked at no one.

Alvin Seville was empty.

The Seville house only had two doors. One for the front of the house where the entrance was, and one for the back. There wasn't another door in the entire household. Why? No doors meant no secrets. They also had no picket fence surrounding their yard, which made them different from the other houses in the neighborhood, and everyone took note of it. The Seville house was indeed very different.

The drawer for the eating utensils like spoons and butter knives was separate from the drawer for cutting knives and forks. The one containing forks and knives was locked and could only be unlocked by Alvin's father, David Seville. The medicine cabinets were also locked up tightly as well as the tool shed and the hardware closet. Even the oven had a lock on it.

The ceilings of the house were all sealed with plaster, and even if you tried, you couldn't screw in a single hook or nail. No pictures on the walls, no curtains, no window blinds. This didn't bother the residence too much, seeing as the house was empty most of the time anyway. There was nothing to see if one were to peer through the windows, which were also nailed shut from the outside. No lights were ever on in the Seville residence; nobody ever moved around the house too much. The house also contained an erasers whatsoever, therefore the locked utility closet had a shelf dedicated to small packaged bottles of white-out.

Why was this house so unusual?

Because Alvin Seville was a very troubled individual, to say the least.

"So Alvin," said David, his father while watching a reluctant Alvin eat his early morning breakfast one Sunday, "Please eat...please. I'm begging you. We're going to see Dr. Callaway tomorrow, but if you don't eat, you might pass out again! If you want to go see him tomorrow, you need to eat."

"Who says I want to see Dr. Callaway tomorrow anyway?" Grumbled Alvin into his spoonful of oatmeal, "The guy's an overweight conservative baseball junkie who smells like cigarettes and Nyquil and spends his day stuffing his face with ballpark mini-sausages and watching CNN."

"Alvin, that's enough! Don't talk about Dr. Callaway so disrespectfully! He's been treating you for seven years, so show a little respect for God's sake."

"Yeah, okay... well he's doing a real bang-up job... seven years of changing bandages have proven that Dr. Callaway is a 'super-effective therapist.'" Alvin sneered, holding up his arms and indicating the deep laceration scars on his wrists and up the inside of his middle-arms.

"That's it." Declared David, getting up suddenly from his seat, "You finish that oatmeal and you and I are gonna have a little chat, got it?"

"Oh boy. I can hardly wait," mumbled Alvin dryly.

About an hour later, David came into Alvin's room and sat down carefully on his bed. It was now time for one of David's daily father-son chats that seemed to come more frequently these days than they used to.

"Listen, Alvin," Started Mr. Seville, "These episodes of yours are getting worse."

"Episodes? What episodes?" Replied Alvin with a less-than-interested tone, more focused on his Music Daily Magazine than his father.

"I mean this whole 'not talking during school' thing and how you're failing Algebra, History, Spanish, Gym AND Literature! You're good at literature, Alvin! Even when you used to write sarcastic papers ridiculing your topic, you'd at least do your work! And GYM! You used to love playing sports and...then suddenly you don't anymore! Now you've got this whole eating disorder thing coming back and this rotten attitude! When will enough be enough already, huh?"

Alvin pretended to pay attention, turning his body away from his father's in attempt to send the message that he's not interested in what he had to say, nor did he care. David tore the Music Magazine out of his son's hands, getting an immediate, angry response.

"What the HELL, Dave! Give it back!" Yelled Alvin suddenly, "I was reading that!"

"Watch your language, Alvin Seville! I mean it! I'll give it back when you start answering my questions!"

"Oh, watch my language?! FUCK you, Dad!"

Dave spang up, "You see?! THAT'S the bad attitude I'm talking about! Where is that coming from, Alvin?"

There was silence between them for a moment.

"Where is all this anger coming from? Why are you acting like this? Please...I'm asking as someone who's concerned about you. As your father."

"You wouldn't understand," snapped Alvin, "leave me alone."

"Alvin, I'm not going to stand by and watch as you waste away like you did last time. Your eating problem has come back and something needs to be done about it before it puts you in the hospital again. Last Sunday, I heard you throwing up your breakfast again."

Alvin looked down, ashamed. He nervously fiddled with his fingers.

"Alvin, look at me."

Slowly, Alvin returned his gaze.

"...This needs to stop. I've been recording your food intake for the past few weeks and it seems like-"

"What?!" Interrupted Alvin, "you've been monitoring what I've been eating?! What are you, my own personal fucking 'food pyramid' micro-manager?!"

"No, I'm doing it to assure Dr. Callaway that you-"

"FUCK Callaway!" Spat Alvin, "FUCK therapy! If therapy means I'm going to be treated like a baby and watched all the time, then I'm not going to do it anymore!"

"I'm NOT letting that happen!" Yelled Dave, his voice rising in volume, "You need help, Alvin! Whether you refuse to receive treatment or not, you're getting it because you need help! Your mother would've wanted it-" Dave stopped himself. He'd said too much.

Silence returned to the room again. Dave opened his mouth to apologize, but before he did, Alvin spoke up.

"...Please leave my room, Dad. Please. I want to be alone."

Dave sighed wearily and nodded, "Okay. But I'll be back up here in an hour to check on you, alright?"

"Fine." Mumbled Alvin. As Dave left the room, Alvin curled up in a ball and laid on his side, his back to the window. He closed his eyes and begged for sleep even after dawn had already broken.

Thanks for reading, you guys! I know this story's starting off pretty sad and gloomy, but eventually things will get a little better! You'll have to stick around!

I'll be updating soon, so keep me posted! :)

-Blythe