I wrote this just because I thought I really needed to, for myself, personally. It was kind of like a cleanser for me to get some emotions out. I know I have done something of the similar idea in 'Fleash, Blood, and Bone' which I shall continue once I get more time, and my work load is a bit lessened.
This little one-shot was kinda of like a little douse of medicine for me, and while some people run as a stress reliever, or paint, I write.
I do not have an eating disorder, but have had some failed attempts with it, so I can relate to this, somewhat. Please do not worry about me; I am fine! :) ...mostly.
I don't know why I identify with Bolin so much, and I am sorry if I bore people with my single character POV. I know I should try to expand my characters, but with Bolin, I feel I can most relate.
Don't know where this is going, but would make me very happy if you would comment.
.
I.
The first time it happens, it's an accident . He's ten and hasn't had anything to eat, so much as a piece of bread, in what feels like forever. He's slumped against the alley wall, nearly in a half-alive state from the hunger pains, and all he knows is that when Mako comes back, smiling, with a loaf of crusty bread, a bag of dumplings, and some fruit, it makes him alive again. He takes his share of everything( or maybe more, he doesn't care enough to comment) and stuffs himself so much, he barely has enough room to breathe. After a minute, it feels wrong. His stomach protests, his throat burns, and the ground is painted in the grays, browns, reds, and greens, of what was once so good.
He promises himself it he wont waste food ever again.
II.
The second time it happens, it's a reward gone sour. He's thirteen, they have a roof over their heads, and all the money he got from his bet from his good feeling, is transformed into something that is so warm, and gooey, and ohhh, Mako, taste this soup, it's so creamy, and, gosh, don't these dumplings taste just like Mom used to make? Mako's finished, and looking quite full (he's always been a picky eater) but he's still stuffing the next four- no six- meat-filled dumplings into his grease-stained lips, slurping his next bowl of soup with the etiquette of a poor boy struck rich. He doesn't stop when Mako groans that he's making a mess, or complains that two bowls of soup is enough, by Agni, Bolin, or even when a little bit comes back in a belch of hot tufu. No, he doesn't stop until his knees slam down on the cold tile floor, and the toilet steals away every good feeling he had an hour ago.
He learns to chew and swallow after that.
III.
The third time it happens, it's a broken heart's remedy. He's sixteen, embarrassed and betrayed into his who knows how many? bowl of what may or may not be sake-cooked noodles, and he really doesn't see himself stopping any time soon. If Mako can put his lips into Korra's mouth, well, then, he he can do the same with their savings. Really, it's only fair. It's only after that brother betrayer comes and drags him home, do the pains of anger, and resentment, and hurt start to fade, and the ach of too much too much start to fill his gut. This time, as he slams his knees onto the cold tiled floor, the toilet stealing away his heart break, at least he gets the to keep the memory that, for a little while, they got to share those noodles together.
He knows, at least, it won't happen again. Third time's the charm.
IV.
The forth time it happens, it's nearly a year later, and he's had the biggest knockout in Probending history! as an excuse (or at least that's what he tells himself) for breaking open the second bag of pau buns. The sweet cabbages fills his mouth, and his resolve crumbles (crumbles like the rocks he is so bad at bending) into another another crunch of fire flacks. Mako is a slowly rising cop, his smug face printed on the front covers of the Newspaper for the whole City to see, while his own defeat is talked about on the radio like Tuesday night gossip.
The radio cracks and pops with static, a hissing nose droning in the room. Well, by golly, that Mako's got more moxy than ever these days, busting down Triads like it's his job! And what do'ya know? It is! I'd say he's on fire, wouldn't you, Yumi? The female host's voice comes through the soundwaves, after a little giggle, oh, yes, Shiro, I agree! He should have quit the Fire Ferrets sooner! And speaking of Fire Ferrets...-
The radio turns off with a push of Pabu's paw, and the little furry creature wines. He jumps on the table, nearly knocking over his glass of lee-chi juice, whose contents he is still trying to dabble of his chin and shirt front. He's acting like a slob, and he doesn't care, no, no. He looks at the messy table, the crumpled box of fire flacks, the empty plate that he doesn't even remember using, among others. It's not like he needs to work out anymore; his training days are over. It's only after about ten minutes later, the second bag of buns swimming in his gullet, does it start to hurt. His stomach roles, and heaves with a coherent groan, and he clamps a hand over his mouth.
He's in the bathroom, before he even has time to remember how he got there. This time, it's by his own choice. His gut is moaning, and he feels like a balloon/mountain/is going to BURST and no, no, he can't have that, can't that, too much fat. His fingers are jammed into the back of his throat like a puppet on a string, pressing painfully to that little wobbly thing that hangs there (what's that thing called again?) and it's like the floodgates are opened. The mushy green of the cabbages, the dough, the powdery red of the flacks all come back up stream and in a burning acid cocktail. It makes horrible splash/splash/splash as they hit the water, and the smell and sight are enough to make his gut tremble once more. He grips the seat, his temple sweating, and waits for it to be over.
Outside, the apartment door opens with a call from his brother that he's home.
His voice is raspy as he respond, "B-be...be out in a minute." He flushes, washes his face, hands, shirt, brushes and gargles like there's no tomorrow.
He thinks it's the first time when he tastes doubt. It taste like guts. All guts, and no glory.
V.
The fifth time it happens, it's two months later, and he's Nuktuk of the South! but really, he's Bolin, and he really doesn't want to be. Mako thinks he needs to figure it out himself, (whatever that is) the girls are too busy, Ginger thinks he dumb, and Varrick thinks he needs to get this scene right so they all call it a day and go home. He thinks he has this down pat-he remembered all his lines, right? But, no, Varrick says it needs something more, more Pizzas! Passion! This is your girlfriend's life we're talking about here!
In the end, the scene is declared done for now, and shall be salvaged tomorrow. He doesn't know what he did wrong? Did he forget to do something, carry Ginger incorrectly?
The crew members are going out to dinner, and he tells for them to wait, hold up! as he ties his sash around his waist. But a guy ( he doesn't remember his name) makes a face and says, 'sorry, but unless you're willing to pay for your own food, you can't come. With the way you eat, I'd like to stay out of debt. He feels his face, heart, and stomach fall all at once. A few others laugh, but someone chides him, Chan, dude, that was harsh. Chan makes a 'so what' face, and shrugs, no, it's not. You don't have to have lunch with him.
He runs away before he can hear the rest of the conversation.
He eats their insults up. Eats and eats and eats until he meets the cold tiled floor, and the toilet steals it away.
He thinks for the first time, that maybe, he has a problem.
VI.
The sixth time it happens, it's a few weeks later, he has his own apartment, and he gets caught. Or more so, questioned.
Mako is coming out of his bedroom with a confused/angry/what the hell are these? expression on his face. And that's basically what he says, while holding the bottle of laxatives in his hand like it's some kind of bomb.
He's sitting on the couch, petting Pabu, when Mako asks him the question, and all he can do is stare wide-eyed as Mako's gaze hardens, and the silence grows more loud.
"Bolin, I asked you a question," Mako shakes the bottle right in his face, "What are these?"
"Um..." he curses himself for not hiding them better, "Laxatives...?"
Mako sputters, "I know that, Bolin! I meant, why do you have them?"
He goes with his gut, and remembers the glory. He acts. "My stomach's been hurting recently. You know, nerves from all the acting and getting the lines right. Butterflies. And I think I may be lactose intolerant."
"You eat diary all the time. We always have milk, and cheese and stuff," Mako says.
"Yeah, well..." he looks at his brother, holding his stomach for affect, "I've noticed that when I eat stuff like that now, it really upsets it. Like, it makes me have to go to the bathroom and stuff alot..." Spirit's this was awkward, "So, I, um, started using them, and they help!" he smiles, "No big deal, bro!"
He prays his brother will believe the lie, but Mako doesn't look convinced. "You have milk in your fridge, though."
"I've been testing myself." he scratches the back of his head, desperately thinking of a new topic, "I think that stuff's the culprit. Anyway! So tell me how your day was, Mr. Policeman!"
Mako looks at him, then back at the bottle for a moment, the pieces of a supposed crime solving itself in his head.
"Then why were they under your socks in your drawer," he says slowly, "and not in the bathroom?"
Shit. "Bro, I just bought them, and was putting stuff away, and I must have put in there by accident, okay? I don't know!" he troughs up his hands in surrender, "I'm not a very organized person- arrest me, why don't you?"
Mako just looks at him once last time, and grumbles something. He can see it in the firebender's eyes that he wants to believe this, but he doesn't.
"Promise?" Mako asks.
His heart is beating in his chest. Mako needs to leave like right now so he can erase all the bad feelings and puke. "I promise." Please leave.
"..Okay." Mako says finally, setting the bottle down, "I better get going."
"Yeah, you don't wanna be late for your night shift," Finally.
Mako's halfway out the door, when he stops, turns half way around and starts saying, "You've been loosing some..."but he shakes his head, and his sentence seems to die off.
He gulps, "W-what, bro?"
"N-nothing..." but he seems troubled, "see ya, bro. Night."
"Night."
As soon as the door closes, he attacks the cabinets:
Eat/Laxatives/ Puke/Rinse/Repeat.
Until he can't anymore. Until the toilet shows him red. Red, and foamy crimson.
He falls to the floor. His throat is on fire, vision growing dark.
The last time it happens, he knows it won't ever happen again.
All guts. Too many guts.
He was never meant to shine that bright anyway. Death tastes like all guts, and no glory.
*Ahem*
So...yeah...
I don't really know what this piece of crap was. Was really rushed, and more so as a stress-reviler kind of thing.
*Hits self on the head* I don't even know. So, tell me what'cha think, I guess.