The racer stuck the red toothbrush down his throat, and emptied his stomach's contents into the toilet.

He was ashamed of what he had become. This was a disgusting habit and he knew it. He gently slipped an arm around his stomach, pushing the toothbrush to the back of his throat one more time. This time, he mostly dry heaved and threw up stomach acid, wincing bitterly at the taste. He threw the toothbrush aside, it clattering against the ground, a few lone speckles of vomit spattering around it. He felt tears stream down his cheeks, and he furiously wiped them off with his sleeves. He wasn't going to cry, this is his choice. He can stop whenever he wants. Besides, it was not very Turbo-tastic to cry like a baby.

Turbo stood, dizzy. "Oh, holy helmet..." He held his throbbing head until the ache subsided enough, and then he flushed the toilet. Now that it was finished with, he went to the sink, meeting eyes with his reflection. He was paler than normal, and the bags under his eyes were worse. His yellow eyes were weary, and tired looking. Turbo frowned at the reflection, and zipped his jumpsuit down, folding back the clothing. He stared at his sickly thin stomach, tracing the ribs with his eyes. He suddenly felt ill again, clenching his fists angrily against the jumpsuit.

All he saw was fat. It was disgusting. So he closed the jumpsuit, hastily zipping it up. He crumbled to his knees and clenched his teeth tightly. He felt sick of himself, and was just about to crawl over and force himself to throw up again, before a knock sounded on the bathroom door.

"Turbo?" He panicked. It was Nitro. "What the hell are you doing in there? You've been in there for 20 minutes!"

"I-I'm fine, loser..." Shit, his voice cracked.

"I didn't ask, but alright." The voice softened slightly. The other two racers in Turbotime had a sixth sense to him. They could tell when he was in pain, or upset.

"Go away!" Turbo growled, getting up from the floor and stabalizing himself on his feet.

Nitro wiggled the doorknob and pounded on the door. "Are you sick or something? I smell puke."

"I said, go away!" He paced around, bickering to himself.

"Open the door." Nitro stopped for a second, and Turbo heard something click into the lock, and the door swung open. He stared wide eyed at the twin, and just as Nitro was about to yell at him, his voice hitched.

Turbo's eyes were watering, and he was shaking. Nitro noticed his weary expression, which was filled with fear. Of what?

His eyes trailed down.

On the floor, there was a red toothbrush, in which the top was lightly coated in vomit. He picked it up, paling. "What the hell is this?" He ground out, feeling tears spike at the corners of his eyes. Turbo shoved his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. His hipbones dug into his wrists. "A toothbrush..."

Nitro shook his head. "Turbo." The twin examined the toothbrush with a look of worry. "Are you making yourself throw up!? Do you have any idea what that does to you?! No wonder you're such a fucking twig lately!" He tossed the toothbrush into the trash, and grabbed his shoulders. "You can't do that anymore, I swear to god, if you do this to yourself one more fucking time!"

Turbo ground his teeth and looked away, stifling a sob. "No... You can't force me to stop, I won't do it..."

Nitro shook him, and Turbo rattled in a breath, furrowing his eyebrows; or lack thereof. "Get ahold of yourself! You need to eat, and keep it in!" He pulled him into a tight hug, and they both couldn't hold their sobs back anymore. They cried into each others shoulders for a long time, finally pulling back.

"I have a problem, don't I Silver?" Turbo asked quietly, sniffling.

Nitro took ahold of Turbo's zipper and drew it down just enough, so he could see his stomach. He drew in a gasp, feeling sick. "Yeah..." He mumbled, zipping it back up. "You do... But I'll help you okay?"

Turbo nodded.

"No more of that red toothbrush..."