Finn sunk into the cushion bed.
Oh, look. Family Guy was on. The TV sure was a little loud for him to handle, though the remote was pretty far. He wasn't willing to move his arm, so that immediately disqualified him for changing the volume. Why even bother anyways? At least it wasn't too quite or inaudible instead.
Starving to death. Well, not actually, but Finn couldn't explain how hungry he was so he resorted to exaggeration. Besides, he would be starving to death soon enough, so why struggle to be accurate? He was just planning for the future ahead of time. Nothing wrong with that.
Will was now peeking in the room. "Hey Finn, how's it going?"
Finn glanced to meet Will's eyes. His neck tired of being turned, he decided he would just turn his entire body and lie to the side. Wait, nevermind. It was all in his imagination, and in fact, his eyes were still at the TV and he hadn't flexed a single strand of voluntary muscle. "Hmm," he managed to get out. Wait, wait... No, tat was his imagination as well. Damn, time was going too fast for him to act after his brain. Actually, it wasn't time, it was just the fact that he was too lazy and worthless.
Sigh.
Will flicked on the light and entered. "Just checking up." Duh, Finn wasn't a fucking dumbass. But whatever. Who was he to even interrupt? He would only commit to it for 0 minutes, 0 seconds, 0 milliseconds, and the rest he gave no care about explaining. He was probably too stupid to explain anyway.
"You hungry?" Will asked. "It's about suppertime."
"'Kay." Finn barely said. Even though it wasn't okay. He didn't need the food. If he ate, he would just be hungry again later. What was the damn point? If he received a reply of "You need it," then he wouldn't be willing to agree. Though he was willing to agree that he could be left to starve since he would die sometime anyway.
As with everything else: he gave so little amount of fucks, that he couldn't give any less. It was like negative 100 fucks given.
A tray was set before him as usual, including everything he "needed." Chicken pasta, carrots, baked apples, with a side glass of warm milk. What was the point in this?
Now, suddenly out of bitching nowhere (at least, as Finn was willing to know), a spoon appeared by his mouth. What. The. Hell. Was. This?!
Whatever. It would take a struggle to decline. So, in that case, he opened his... Nevermind. It was too much.
Will was now lightly forcing his jaw down with fingers. What was fucking wrong with him?! Not necessary! Wait, no. It was needed much, because Finn was too worthless and incapable to open his mouth on his own. Oh, okay.
"You have to do this. The doctor won't allow nasogastric tubes because you are fully capable of this." Will was not angry, but firm. He was encouraging in a heavy way, but Finn couldn't process how that worked.
Finn knew that this happened almost every time he was fed. Most persons like him were made to feed themselves, but Will as able to compromise - actually more than compromise. All Will required was that he open his mouth for the spoon to go in. And Finn couldn't even do that! Oh hell, he was so horrible and didn't deserve anything anymore! He never deserved anything!
He rolled onto his belly, face dug to pillows. He began to cry, and within barely a moment it morphed into a small tantrum. The outburst, he couldn't help it. How could he be this way?!