Okay. Listen to me try to make this out of situation.

...see.

I lost the fic.

I found it in 5 minutes when I actually started looking for it.

DONT EAT ME IM LAZY OKAY? XD

Chapter Ten

.: Mark's Arrival :.

I woke up around 6 AM, only because Punk knew I had fallen asleep late that night so I knew for a fact that he forced me to wake up early only so I could lug around sleepily. I hadn't been to school in a while and I didn't think anyone would want me there. Shannon visited by this evening, looking at my stomach and then back at Matt, his expression still blank and the same.

"He's mine." Matt simply said, gesturing his hand to me, as if I was just some collectible rather than a person. Shannon simply glared at him and shook his head. "He has my baby, Shannon!"

"I had your fucking baby too. Phil belongs to me." Shannon responded. I knew his feelings instantly. While Jeff's feelings were much stronger to me than Shannon, the green link we had between us, the thin thread that tied us together for some unknown reason, it was telling me that Shannon only said that he wanted me to spite Matt. I felt so used. I knew Shannon was a good person but Matt had ruined him in every single way… I grabbed onto his eyes only for him to look deeply into my eyes and he gasped softly. "Phil, your eyes are yellow."

"Yellow…?" I dipped my head into the mirror and saw the whiteness of my eyes, they seemed to be yellow at that moment. I just blinked a few times just to check if it was real or not.

"What the fuck?" Matt snapped, 'are you always so damn sick?"

I felt lightheaded. I always did. My flesh had a feverish tone to it, but this might just be Punk messing around with me. I turned around to look at Matt who simply ran his finger over my face, "he's just feverish. It's fine, Shan."

"His eyes are yellow for fuck's sake!"

I looked back at the mirror and blinked for a few more times, still waiting for it to magically disappear. But in the end, Shannon and Gilbert dragged me and Matt to the hospital, worried about what this might mean for the child. Matt went to check on Jeff, some fucking boyfriend, and I was standing for what felt like hours. The tests felt like they took hours. They were talking to Gilbert and suddenly, my parents were around, sober and sensual, worried and talking to Matt and Gilbert, who straightened it out, leaving out the part that I was actually raped by Matt.

Just as I was relaxing into my position, prickles of pain ran against my side and a pound in my head of memory as a certain person walked through the double doors. With his black hair tied back, Mark looked down at me with a hint of a smirk in his lips as he stroked my face with his finger. "Hello, Philly…"

"You deal with mental-"

Mark shook his head. "I know, Phil. I know. I just wanted to see if my beautiful little Philly wanted a little help…"

"He's mine, Calaway." Matt snapped at him, looking back down at me but he only said this because I had his baby. He only said this because of the soon to be born piece of flesh and blood that might be tampered with by Punk. Mark just looked down at me as I stared at him, his fingers entwining into my hair as he leaned down to kiss me but I pulled off. Matt just launched towards Mark, battling him with his fists but Mark dodged him for a moment easily, grabbing Matt by his flying ankle and throwing him across the room as if he was a piece of insignificant paper. I knew Mark was strong but that strong? Mark flew towards the crash cart, hitting it and it was running at such a high speed from the impact, hitting me almost instantly afterwards. Knocked down onto the floor with various things have hit my body and my –

"MY BABY!"

Matt turned around to look at me, looking down at where a scalpel went through my stomach. I pulled it off, staring at the blood and staring back at Matt. I felt my head spin, I felt the taste, the scent, the anger boiling up in me… Matt reached in for help but I slapped his hand away, staring at him angrily. "My baby…my baby…my baby…" not dead, please, not dead.

Mark just smirked while Shannon and Matt paled over. I stared down at the horror scene again, flashing before me once more. I didn't know what happened next, just a blur of thought and disorganization. They rushed me into a room and stitched me, checking an ultrasound for the condition of my child and one of the Doctors then stroked my hair and told me I had PSC, Primary sclerosing cholangitis, which in what they said was a rare liver disorder and that I might need a transplant soon. They gave me some meds which they were sure wouldn't affect my pregnancy – but I was sure, I was keeping him or her, even if it meant that I'd die, at least he or she will live. I want baby to live…it was the only good thing I could ever accomplish.

In the middle of the night, I felt a hand onto my cheek and looked to see Jeff standing there. My heart skipped a thousand beats, and I felt butterflies dance with my child. Jeff sat down and looked at my stomach, seeing the stitches then sighed. "You have PSC…the Doctor told me…if you need a liver…"

"If I need a liver, Jeff, then…" I sighed softly. "Then I'd just have to wait until the baby's born before…"

Jeff just stared at me blankly. "They don't know how long until the disease basically raptures your liver, Phil. If you get hurt…"

"I'm sorry." I whispered softly towards him, kissing his cheek and then lying my head onto his shoulder, his hand onto my back as he rocked me back and forth. "Your shadow…he…he's a criminal?" Jeff asked, blinking. I can see he had barely any interest. He just wanted to talk to me about something.

"Yes." I responded, looking down at the floor. "I'm not crazy, Jeff…this whole thing…it's out of control. Like you said…the orange energy, you thought I was doing something…it's part of this. I'm not human, Jeff. I'm not even any supernatural being. I'm just…nothing of this reality. I might look human but my shadow, that's what controls me and when you're around, he's gone…it makes me feel happy to be able to reach for a knife and not worry my shadow was gonna go sadistic and make me cut my wrist."

Jeff flinched at the thought and then held my hands tightly, binding our fingers and entwining them together. "Fine, let me feel his presence then, I think I'd be able to do that…" Jeff said, wanting to believe me but unable to, and I held our hands as tightly as possible before showing him my entire past into a whirlwind of pain and horror, a tornado of macabre twisting in itself, shown in front of him, something so…

Just indescribable.

Eight years old and barely making it to thirty-five pounds, I sit down onto the chairs, feeling my chest heave from the malnutrition that Punk had given me at that time. I shook my head and stood up again, barely able to walk to my room, feeling nothing but tiredness, emptiness and hunger. I was so fucking hungry but Punk wouldn't let my hands pick up the food that I've tried so painfully to pick up. I lied down across my bed, looking up at the ceiling, feeling my throat clog into painfulness and I closed my eyes, in hopes of a dream. I'd slept all the time at that age, sleeping from 7 PM and waking up at 11 PM the next day and taking a casual nap between 2 and 3 PM and waking up at 4 or 5. I'd spent most of my life sleeping as a child, the current sweeping me away into nothing but mere nightmares that Punk fed me. I tried so hard to fight back but my strength was weak and I was weaker, with my bones being fragile from lack of milk, and my flesh being cracked from lack of nutrition. I remember that Adam only had to twist my wrist once to break the bone underneath it.

But he didn't know that and nobody did. I still had to write with the pain emitting through and through my body. I couldn't have told my parents, what would they have thought? That I had some sort of eating disorder? Beyond the scale, the twenty rolls of bandages I'd kept hiding under my bed were there, where I'd used five entire roll just to wrap around my ribcage, legs and arms, just to try and make myself look more fuller, than I piled on so many clothes. I remember that I used to put on at least three or four long-sleeve shirts and then wear a sweater on top of them, and as for my legs, I wore a bunch of shorts before wearing jeans that were suited for my age. I felt so crushed, piling on so much…walking through the school hallways was a different reason, I felt buried, felt hidden underneath so much clothing and choking onto hot, humid air. Whenever someone would touch my face, it would be drenched with sweat. It came to a point where I had to use an inhaler to breathe sometimes because of the humidity that choked me endlessly. I knew Jeff felt whatever I'd felt and the memory just brought back dread.

Then there was Jeff, who was giggling enthusiastically to someone else's words, looking straight at me. At that time, Jeff was so crushed by peer pressure, at nine years old alone and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Nine years old and I just knew instantly he was hacking into his brother's liquor cabinet. He was lost into dots of ecstasy I suppose, I didn't know but walking past him, he'd grabbed onto a crushed wrist and then pushed me backwards. To others, hitting metal would be painful, yes, but you could get over it. But underneath the piles of thick clothing, my thin bone and thinner flesh felt the metal scrape against it in an explosion of pain. "Get over it," I hear Jeff mumble at the facial expression of my pain.

I nodded, still sweating badly as I blinked and looked at him, offering a smile. Jeff just held onto my shoulders and pushed me deeper into the locker, his leg suddenly brushing against mine and his eyes warning me darkly. "I don't like you." I nodded, knowingly, looking down at the floor. I thought Jeff was about to let me go but instead, he hit me as hard as his tiny nine year old fist can and remembering the times that he'd spent with Matt, trying to "train" him for arm wrestling with Adam, and the impact of the punch was unbearable. I cringed and looked down at the floor, my pool of blonde hair dyed black, Punk had made me dye it at a young age and for so, my parents had gotten furious at me, in front of my face and before I could react, he grabbed onto a thick strand of hair and pulled it off. Having have dyed it just recently, the hair was fragile and came off into his hand. In the space of the hair, was just flesh. I looked down at the floor, blinking repeatedly in horror. "Jeff…"

"It's an improvement." Punk snapped at me, causing me to shake in terror.

Jeff was gone by then but the school day wasn't easier with people ridiculed me because of my hair. Whenever I looked back at Jeff, he was just smirking at me. I sat in my usual corner since nobody wanted to be near me, sighing and looking down at the sheet of paper. Punk had given me a headache and screaming at me different answers, while I wrote against the paper, feeling myself unable to concentrate at all. Sometimes, I'd scream "Stop!" in the middle because of the frustration, causing people to look at me, the mental patient that had a hundred different mental disorders. I looked at the window, the glass mockingly reflecting sad olive eyes and ruined dyed black hair. I looked back at the paper and just shoved in my answers, causing the teacher to "tsk" at me, as normal, shaking her head and passing through.

I walked off towards lunch, where of course Punk would refrain me from eating so I just sat in a corner, looking at people who would pass by looking at me as if thinking "he wants to get thinner?" I'd give anything to eat. And just as if it wasn't bad enough, Jeff, Matt and Adam walked towards us. Adam grabbed onto the wrist he'd broken and pulled my hand towards him to look at my hand. "Fucking thin hand."

I pulled it off, looking down at the floor with a soft smile on my face. Even if they hated me, at least they were people sitting with me. Matt just flipped through pages of his book and then smirked.

"You know, I heard that anorexics got aggressive went they were fed…" Matt just slammed his book shut and just as I was about to leave, Adam's abusive arms were around me in seconds.

For a normal person who didn't weigh too little, this grip was crushing. For me, it was like my lungs were dying and I was suddenly rasping for breath. I wanted my inhaler…I wanted to breathe. I could see black dots in front of my eyes but I pushed it away, seeing as Adam placed me onto the table, gripping onto me even tighter now as Matt suddenly returned with a huge pile of food. Normally I'd be happy but they were going to shove the food down my throat, I felt the dizziness overwhelm me as Matt grabbed onto an apple, biting it and then spitting the piece into his hand. It was huge enough, around three or four centimeters across and he shoved it down my throat. I could almost feel it going back up because of Adam's crushing arms but I forced it down, it was like acid to me right about now. The lack of food just went against me, this itty bit of food made me feel full instantly but Matt continued to spit and shove in pieces of the apple into my throat while Jeff just walked, enjoying my pain with taunting eyes.

After the apple he'd gotten a cupcake and shoved it fully down my throat, I could instantly feel it pushing back but even with the vomit-taste and the cupcake taste right about now, I pushed it back, the feel of the acid burning against my lungs was higher and higher and the black dots were more and more by the seconds as Matt continued to shove the cupcakes. I tried so hard not to hyperventilate but it was so hard, to pretend that I didn't have any breathing problems because I was underweight. After so many cupcakes and a celery stick, Adam finally let me go and now that he stopped gripping. I ran off, hearing them laughing at me because I was so touchy about the food. I stopped towards one of the bathroom stalls, finally collapsing into hyperventilation and I threw up as hard as I could have against the tiles, holding my hands onto the toilet and I continued to vomit for a few several minutes before allowing my face to fall back into the mixture of acid, cupcakes and the apple around me. I lied in there to what felt like hours, hyperventilating but I couldn't move. I felt myself so weightless and so made of air. I turned to look into my pockets but I'd left my inhaler in my locker. It was such a struggle to get up but I finally managed to, with the vomit sticking to my hair, I found myself moving mechanically towards the locker and then taking a drag out of my inhaler, followed by another one. I went back to the bathroom to finally wash bits of my hair, while someone told me that I had to mop up "your fucking bulimic mess".

I just blinked at the man and took the mop from him, scrubbing down the tiles with the scent lingering into my head. By the time I finished, I stood up and walked towards my last class, which I was 20 minutes late for. I got a shouting, as usual, and walked towards my seat at the end of the class, sinking and burning in silence. She called me a thousand words that hurt my heart, since I had no control over what happened. I had no control of anything. After the bell rung, I was met by Matt in the parking lot, who simply grabbed onto my hand and pulled me towards the playground and towards the end, nobody was there as he'd slowly put me horizontally on a swing, my stomach onto its base and he twisted me across it. The cold metal digging into me, hurting me in every way but I looked down at him, questioning. "You got my Jeffy to drink alcohol, didn't you?" he twisted me even deeper into a knot. "He told me you."

It was Adam, I knew that much but I didn't say anything. I just stared at him. I couldn't say anything. I was crushed under thick metal. I was just so out of breath as he finally un-twisted the metal and caused me to fall from the height towards the sandy ground. He grabbed onto my shirt and threw it off. Quizzically staring at the other layer of clothing I had on. "What in hell's name?" He stripped off four layers of clothing only to be met with my layers of bandages. "What in fuck's name is all this?"

He tore them off as viciously as he can, until he'd seen the thin layer of skin I had around me, my ribcage showing and his eyes finally meeting the innerness of me, the skinniness I tried so hard to hide. "You're sick."

He simply spat at me, causing my heart to jump start from pain as he pushed a boot into my stomach, causing me to sit upright at the jolt of pain. Underneath all the layers of clothing, it was hot, but now, I was freezing. The cold air finally meeting real flesh and the suffocation of such a cold world…Matt left me in seconds. I looked at all the torn shirts and bandages. I had to walk like so through and through the day. The bus driver stopped to stare at me as I got in the back of the bus. Matt, Jeff and Adam were riding into Chris's car, Jeff checking through Adam's phone and grinning. I looked away from the window but there was nowhere to look at. I was humiliated and it was raining by the time I got off, the coldness got worse as I got inside of the house. My drunken Father walking towards me and staring down at me, pushing me aside and then walking out…

I bathed and wore some clothing and just as I was about to sit down, Punk made me go and eat, even though I felt like eating nothing. Grabbing a patch of cupcakes from the counter, my Mother stared at me quizzically, still a little ditzy from alcohol and the aftermath of her fun with my Father, which usually put her in some sort of tired and uncaring trance. She told me to not make a mess as I grabbed onto about twenty cupcakes and Punk shoved them all down my throat. By the twentieth once, I sprinted towards the bathroom upstairs and threw up again, shakily locking the door and looking down at the second mess I've made that day. "Pretty, hmm?" Punk mumbled to me…I just trembled in place, feeling nothing but the sadness burning into me as I curled up towards the tiles, staying there for what felt like years.

Jeff flinched away, looking at me as if he was just now figuring me out. "I did that to you…? I didn't remember… I was drunk…I knew you were thin but…that thin? Plus, what the fuck? The bruises on your body…"

I looked down at the floor. "It's okay. Being underweight made me bruise easily."

Jeff just stared down at the floor, looking across every mental disorder I was diagnosed for…and biting down his lower lip. "Can I look…more? Please? I wanna know you, Phil. I know it's gonna be hard to look through…what I used to be…but…can I hold your hands and you show me again?"

I nodded my hand, grabbing onto his hands again and let my childhood pain over wash us again.

Oops~!

;) I see there was some accidental angst added in there...

...Okay. It was on purpose. Sue me.

NOW FEED ME

(with reviews)

I wouldn't mind a five-star three-course dinner either way.

xx Sam.