CHAPTER 11: DISORDER?

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Hiccup's POV

I eagerly took off the gown and pulled on my clothes and shoes. Unsure of what exactly to do with the unflattering "garment", I just folded it messily and put it on the table next to me. I crossed my arms across my stomach and swung my feet back and forth as I waited.

Oh, God, what will he think? He loves me in the way that parents have to love their your children. But what the hell did he mean when he said that he didn't care about me not playing sports and that he just wants mean to be healthy and happy? UUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHH.

Panicky thoughts ran through my mind and I breathed in and out slowly, careful not to give myself an anxiety attack like the day before in the nurse's office.

My spine straightened suddenly when the door opened and my dad and the doctor walked. The doctor gave me a sad little smile while my dad just gave me a worried stare. I forced myself to look at him.

My dad sank uneasily into the chair next to the table and Dr. Harris took a seat on the edge of the stool. He tapped his fingers against his clipboard thoughtfully for a second, then took a deep breath and opened his mouth. "Mr. Haddock, Hiccup is underweight." I didn't look at my dad. "His vitals are low, and because of the lack of nutrients his body doesn't seem to be receiving, his growth may be stalled." I stared at the doctor's shoes. "Obviously, this is very concerning."

I glanced at my dad out of the corner of my eye, but when I saw that he was looking at me with a scared expression, I turned my gaze back to the floor.

"Is it... what's causing...?" My dad trailed off. I decided to look up, I didn't want them to have a conversation like I wasn't there.

Dr. Harris sighed furrowed his brows. "I didn't feel or see any signs of cancer or tumors, but I'm going have him give some blood and urine today and we'll run some tests."

My dad nodded shakily. "Okay."

"I have a couple more questions for you, Hiccup," he said, meeting my eyes. I bit my lip.

"Have you fainted at all within the last two months?"

Fuck. If I say no, what if sometime in the future Gobber tells Dad what happened at tryouts? If I say yes, Dad will ask me why I didn't tell him.

Knowing I was hesitating too long, I shook my head. "No."

"Have you felt dizzy at anytime? Like, if you walk up a flight of stairs, do you feel lightheaded once you reach the top? Or do you get head rushes often when you get up out of bed or off a chair or couch? Anything?"

"No, not really."

"Hmmm," he looked at my dad, "If he shows any signs of getting worse, if he faints, feels dizzy, nauseous, vomits, begins to run a fever, defecates or urinates blood, feels pain in his chest or abdomen, or seems unable to perform simple functions such as climbing stairs, call me."

My father nodded unsteadily.

"And, Hiccup, you need to tell your father or your school nurse if you experience any of these symptoms, okay?"

I nodded. No, I won't. I just want this to stop.

Dr. Harris rubbed the back of his neck. "What I need to discuss with you now, it's— well, it's a very delicate subject." He cleared his throat and looked at my dad. "One of the possible causes of your son's current condition... could be an eating disorder."

My father drew in a quick breath. My head snapped up. "I don't have an eating disorder," I said heatedly.

The doctor sighed. "Hiccup, I may be wrong, but I have to consider this."

"Well, I don't," I said crossing my arms. I don't.

"Hiccup," my dad spoke up. He looked at me, and tried desperately to tell him "it's not true, don't believe him, I'm fine" through my eyes. My dad turned to the doctor. "Do you really think that could be it?"

"It's... it's a strong possibility."

"No, it isn't! I don't— I'm not—"

Dr. Harris held up a hand to silence me. He stood up and walked over to the counter, then opened a drawer and rooted around in it.

I don't have an eating disorder. I just don't need a lot of food.

The doctor straightened up with two business cards in his hand. He sat down on the stool again and held them up. "These are the numbers of a couple specialists that can help you. This," he stretched out one of them to my dad, who accepted it, "Is a nutritionist. Hiccup's body obviously isn't getting enough nutrients, and he can help set up meal plans or whatever he needs. And this," he fingered the second card carefully before handing it to my dad," Is a therapist—"

"What, why?" I burst out.

Dr. Harris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hiccup, an eating disorder is very likely the cause of your malnutrition. I think it would be a good idea for you to just talk to Dr. Nelson. This is a very serious issue, we need to find out what the cause is." I stared at him with my mouth open, trying to think of something to interject.

"I'll make appointments for as soon as possible," said my dad. I shut my mouth and glared at the floor.

"We'll send them Hiccup's information." He looked to me. "There's a nurse waiting outside for you, go with her now and she's going to draw some blood, okay? I'm just going to talk to your dad for a bit longer."

I nodded apprehensively and slipped off the table, nervously glancing back at my father before opening the door. He gave me a smile that was probably supposed to be supportive, but only looked scared. I closed the door behind me hesitantly. The nurse in the blue scrubs was standing there with a clipboard.

"Here we go," she said positively, flashing me a smile. She lead me down the hallway, and before reaching the waiting room we turned into a room a little bigger than the exam room.

"Hold on a sec," she said, holding up a finger. I hugged my arm to my side awkwardly as she searched through a cabinet. She came back to me with a plastic cup with my name on it in marker. "The bathroom is right next door to the left," she said, handing it to me, "You know what to do?"

I nodded. "Yeah," I mumbled.

I came back five minutes later with the cup half-full of light-tea-colored piss.

The nurse bit her lip as she took it. "How much water do you drink a day, Hiccup?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, like, a couple glasses, maybe?"

She nodded, then put the urine sample in a drawer. "Try to drink eight glasses a day. I know it's hard to remember to do that, but you need to stay hydrated, okay?"

"Kay," I sighed. The whole day had been so exhausting.

She lead me over to a cushioned, gray chair with long, wide armrests. "Just make yourself comfortable," she said, sitting down on a stool in front of me and pulling on latex gloves. I sank down onto the seat uneasily as she fiddled with something on a table to my right.

"Stretch out your right arm," she directed.

"Do you have any problems with needles or seeing blood?" She asked as she rolled my baggy sleeve to halfway up my bicep. I shook my head. I did have a problem with this though. This, doctors asking me if I ate and nurses taking my blood for tests, was not my life.

She took a strip of rubber off of the table and tied it tightly just above my elbow. "If you feel a bit nervous you can just look away," she said, noticing my shakiness. For some reason, however, I kept my eyes fixed on my arm as she tapped the inside of my elbow with her fingers.

"I need you to relax," she said as she wiped the crook of my arm with an alcohol patch, "Just let your arm go completely limp."

I tried to release tension I hadn't realized I'd been holding as the nurse positioned the needle over my vein. At the last moment before it went in I turned my head away. I closed my eyes when I felt the prick. I felt her tape it to my skin, then there was silence.

After a few seconds, I glanced over at the crimson-filled tube coming from my arm. I leaned back against the chair and took a deep breath, trying to relax. The nurse, sensing my discomfort, started to talk to me.

"So, how's school going?"

I swallowed. "It's okay."

"Do you like your classes?"

I shrugged.

"Do you play any sports?"

"No."

"Oh, do you like to, though?" The conversation was a nice distraction from the needle in my skin.

"Not really. I tried out for football and failed."

She frowned sympathetically. "Well, that's alright."

I picked at my jeans with my left hand. "It was embarrassing." I don't know why I was being so open with this random nurse, I guess there was just a part of me that desperately wanted to let everything out.

"Don't sweat it, high school is only four years of your life."

I nodded. "Yeah."

She looked over the tubing and I stared at the floor. "Oh-kay, we're done here," she detached the line from my arm, untied the tourniquet, and pressed a piece of gauze onto the spot of blood, "Bend your elbow and hold your fist to your shoulder." I did as she said as she put the vial into some kind of container. "You're probably going to feel a bit lightheaded, so just rest for a few minutes."

She took the blood sample over to the counter and put it in a cabinet, then started writing something down.

I tilted my head back and stared the ceiling, puffing out my cheeks. In the silence, I worried about what the doctor and my dad were talking about. I was afraid that Dr. Harris would be filling his head with the certainty that I had an eating disorder and was completely nuts.

What am I going to do?

The question ran through my mind over and over. Everything was happening so quickly and suddenly I was having tests and being asked questions and being told I was underweight and that I should go to a shrink and a nutritionist.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to run away and forget that all of this was happening.

I wanted to run to the other side of the world and find my mom and bring her home and have everything go back to normal.

I wanted time to reverse and go back to three years before. Before my mom got the "promotion" that meant she had to leave us for half the time. Before my dad became depressed and distant whenever she was gone.

"Okay, you're good to go," the nurse smiled and took off the piece of gauze, replacing it with a bright blue Band-Aid and snapping me out my daydreaming. I pushed myself out of the chair, my legs wobbled slightly and a dizziness overcame my senses for a moment. The nurse reached out and held my upper arm, steadying me.

"Alright?" She asked, concerned.

"I'm fine." I was getting very tired of having saying that to people.

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Stoick's POV

"So, you really think that he could have an eating disorder?" I asked worriedly after Hiccup left the room.

The doctor sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yes. Yes, it's very likely that that's the cause."

All of the air fell out of my lungs. Oh, son. My Hiccup. My boy.

"How... how sure are you?" I asked again. I didn't have a lot knowledge when it came to EDs, but I knew enough to know that they were things I'd never want my child to have to deal with.

"Over ninety percent," he said sadly, "Even if he has a growing disfunction or another type of disease."

"How bad is it?" I asked, my voice sounding strange to myself. What am I going tell Val?

This is all my fault.

"He's... severely malnourished," the doctor said, "He needs treatment as soon as possible. The nutritionist will be able to help, I'm sure that she'll put him on a weight gain diet, and a transition like that can be... hard, so I think it would good for him to talk to a therapist."

"I'll make appointments right away," I assured him.

The doctor nodded. "Good, good. Now," he leaned in slightly, scrunching his eyebrows together, "Have you noticed any, um, peculiar eating habits with Hiccup?"

I ran my hand across my face. "I— yes, I have. His school nurse, she asked me about that yesterday, I only just noticed."

He cleared his throat. "What is he like during meals?"

"Well, he sort of avoids food. I mean, he tells me that he's not hungry, and he tried to clear his plate when he'd only eaten about half, it's—" my head fell into my hands. "Oh, God, I've been a terrible father, I can't believe I didn't see this sooner. I just— it's been difficult, with my wife gone." I groaned. "I haven't paid him enough attention, I never get home before eight, I'm not sure if he even eats breakfast or lunch or dinner sometimes. Oh, God."

The doctor sighed. "People with disordered eating usually hide their behaviors."

I looked up. "What should I do?"

"The nutritionist will tell you what he needs, just make sure he eats that, and any of the complications that may arise can be dealt with in therapy. That's really all I have to say at the time."

I nodded. "Okay. Thank you," I said gratefully. I'm going to fix this. I'm going to get my boy better.

Dr. Harris glanced at his watch. "I have another patient in a few minutes. I'd like Hiccup to come back in a week, and to try to gain at least a pound."

"Alright."

"His test results should arrive in about six to eight days, and whatever we find out from them we can deal with then."

"Thank you," I said again, and I really meant it.

I left the room and made another appointment at the front desk. Hiccup wasn't done with getting his blood drawn, so I sat down in an empty chair and waited.

I pulled out my phone and typed eating disorders into Google.

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Published: September 19, 2015

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Hiccup's POV

I leaned my head up again the window and closed my eyes, the rumbling of the truck mimicking my shaken thoughts.

"Are you going to call mom?" I asked quietly.

My father sighed. "I have to, Hiccup."

"No, you don't."

"Son, this is serious. She needs to know. We're going to sit down tonight and Skype and we're going to tell her everything, okay?"

I didn't want her to know, I didn't want her to worry. Things weren't going the way they were supposed to. My mom was supposed to come home in a few months, and then we'd follow up then. Hopefully I would have made several successful moves on Astrid, and then I'd have a badass girlfriend and a whole family and high school would be the best time of my life.

Medically underweight wasn't supposed to be part of who I was.

"I don't have an eating disorder, Dad. The doctor's wrong, I'm fine," I said forcibly.

"Denial of a problem is one of the symptoms."

I frowned at him. "How do you know?"

He cleared his throat awkwardly. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "I, uh, read some stuff online while I was waiting for you."

"Oh, yeah, the internet, the most reliable source of information," I scoffed sarcastically.

He fixed his eyes on the road. "Dr. Harris said that your test results will come back in about a week, and he wants us to go and see him again then."

"'kay," I mumbled, staring out the window.

"And I made appointments for the nutritionist and... therapist," he finished carefully.

"I don't need a shrink, Dad," I spat vehemently.

My fathers knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Hiccup, we're going to follow the doctor's advice and go see them, okay?" It sounded more like an order than a question.

After a moment, I said quietly, "When?"

"Dr. Greene, the nutritionist, he can see you tomorrow at one," his voice was steady, but with an underlying tone of unsteadiness, "and Dr. Nelson said she had an empty slot at four, also tomorrow."

So many things were bursting into my mind. I needed an excuse, quick. "I have school tomorrow, though," I said.

"You can just go for the first half of the day, then."

"No, I can't, Dad, I need to catch up. I've already missed too much with yesterday and today."

"You'll just have to go to your teachers and ask for the assignments you'll miss," he countered.

"But I need to actually be in the class, or else I won't know the material to do the work. You see, that's kind of the whole point of teaching—"

My father suddenly slammed his palm down on the top of the steering wheel, interrupting my sarcastic snipe. "Goddammit, Hiccup!" His voice cracked on the last syllable of my name. "You're physically unstable! You're vitals are irregular and you look like you're about to collapse! I saw you this morning, Hiccup, you look skeletal! I'm taking you to see the nutritionist and the therapist and we're telling your mother!" He let out a deep sigh and his tone softened, "I'm worried about you, son."

"Well, that's a change," I mumbled out the window.

I could feel my dad's eyes on the back of my head. "What did you say?" His question wasn't angry or threatening. If anything, he sounded hurt.

"Nothing," I said.

"Hiccup..." he said quietly, "Do you think I don't care about you?"

"Never have before." It just slipped out.

My father was silent.

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Stoick's POV

He's right. Or, he has reasons to be right. I do care about him, I really do. I just don't know how to understand him. He's always been so... different. I know what I was like as a kid, and how my father spoke to me... but, Hiccup is not me.

Not that I was disappointed in him or anything.

Val is so much better at things like this. She knows how to make him talk. She knows how to make me talk. I couldn't believe that she would be gone for three months. I knew something was going to go wrong, I knew it. Every time that something's gone wrong with Hiccup, it was when she was on a trip.

No mother should have to come home to find their twelve year old son lying on the couch propping up a sprained ankle on a pillow. Or hiding a bruise from running into a wall with makeup. Or with their arm in a sling from the time when they thought it would be cool to try and build a treehouse by themselves.

All my fault. I hadn't been paying any attention to him. I swore to myself in the Berk High School nurse's office that that would change.

I promised Valka that I would protect him while she was gone. At first I thought that the black eye was the worst thing that would happen, but all of this...

I'm a terrible father.

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Hiccup's POV

I went straight to my room when we got home. I think my dad started to try and say something, but he stopped when I climbed the stairs. I was careful to walk completely normally and confidently, I could feel his eyes on me, watching to see if I looked dizzy or tired.

I slammed my door pointedly, accidentally bumping Toothless with it as he bounded in after me. He yelped and I said a quick apology before locking the door. I went over to my bed and fell face down into the pillow. I groaned, contemplating screaming into the soft object. Toothless hopped up on the bed and nuzzled me, making the soft 'waroooo' noise he makes when he's concerned about me.

I rolled my head over and looked up at him. "I'm kinda havin' another rough day, bud," I said. He licked my face with his sandpaper tongue.

I lay there for a couple more minutes, just letting him clean my cheeks and forehead with large wet kisses. I rolled over onto my back and wiped my face with my shirt sleeve. I felt a buzz in my pocket and pulled out my phone.

Astrid: are you going to be at school tomorrow?

There were also a few texts from Fishlegs, about fifty problems in Pre-Calc (he went to the teacher and asked for me), he didn't know what I had missed in Chemistry, I had to read the next two chapters of The Scarlet Letter for English, and do a two-hundred word paper about Stalin's five-year plan.

I sent him a simple thanks, then ran my thumb over the message from Astrid, wondering if I should reply or not. Deep down I knew that there was no way that I could convince my dad to cancel my doctors' appointments, but I still wanted to try. I clicked off my phone and set it aside. It was only 4:30, and my father would probably come get me for dinner, and I hoped he wouldn't try to talk to me before then.

I sat down at my desk and flew through the paper for History, even though I was usually pretty bad at that class. Math was super easy and snapped into my head right away, but the chapters of Nathaniel Hawthorne's insufferable novel droned on for what felt like hours.

I checked the time again, only an hour had passed. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. Usually, at this time, I would be downstairs watching television, or playing with Toothless and Skullcrusher in the backyard.

If I go downstairs while my dad is there, he'll try to talk to me and act all fake caring and shit.

I picked up my phone and opened it again, my thumbs poised over the keyboard.

Maybe, I replied.

She texted back within the next two minutes. What did ur doctor say?

Oh, god, what am I supposed to day to that? I panicked in my mind.

H: I'm fine, he just wants me to take it easy

A: did Dagur fracture your ribs or something?

H: no, he just told me to rest, i dont know why

A: oh ok, will you be up for tutoring me tomorrow afternoon?

I bit my lip. Astrid was going to come over at five, and my therapist appointment was at four. Maybe I could get out of that if I told my dad about Astrid...

H: yeah, definitely

A: ok, good, I really want to see u soon. hope you feel better

H: thanks

There was a sudden knock on the door and I jumped. "Hiccup, you in there, son?"

I sighed. "Yeah, what do you want?" I snipped, my irritation returning.

The knob shook as when he tried to turn it. "Can I come in?"

"Why?"

"I'd like to talk to you."

I groaned and gave Toothless a 'can you believe it?' face. He cocked his head at me concernedly. "Can't you just tell me through the door?"

"Hiccup," he said firmly.

"Fine," I got up and unlocked the door.

He opened it carefully, peeking through the crack before stepping through.

"So, you know that we're telling your mother tonight."

I stared at the floor. "We don't have—"

"Please don't start this again, son."

I shifted uncomfortably. "What are you going to tell her?" I mumbled.

He massaged his forehead with his fingertips. "I think... let's just tell her what happened at school, and what your doctor said."

I nodded shrugged. "'kay."

"Is... is there anything you want to tell me, Hiccup?" He came closer to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "You can talk to me. I want you to."

I shook my head, eyes avoiding his.

He patted my back awkwardly. "Well, I'll just... uh, come get you when dinner's ready." He said the word dinner carefully, as though testing my reaction.

"Fine."

He nodded awkwardly then headed out the door.

"Um, wait, dad?"

He came back quickly, sticking his upper, hulking half back through the doorway. "Yes?"

"I just remembered, Astrid's coming over tomorrow at five for math tutoring, so I can't go to Dr. Nelson," I hoped with all my heart that he would just say 'okay'.

"Well, can she just come over a few minutes later? She said your appointment was only going to take about an hour," he frowned at me. "Don't try to get out of this, Hiccup, you're going." And with that final note he left.

I groaned and fell back on my bed, closing my eyes against the world. Toothless, who had been laying on the floor silently, hopped back up on the bed and curled up next to me, resting his head on my chest in a 'please be okay' gesture.

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"Come downstairs, Hiccup!"

At 7:30 I clomped down the steps and into the kitchen, unenthusiastic and stoic. I may not have inherited much from my dad, but the meaning of his name definitely applied to me at times.

"I made spagetti," he said holding up two plates with heaping piles of noodles, sauce, and meatballs on them, "and you're going to eat all of it," a firm stare accompanied this order. He set the plates down on the table across from each other next to napkins, silverware, and glasses of water. "Dr. Harris wants you to gain at least a pound in the next week."

He whistled to Toothless and Skullcrusher and filled their bowls with dog food while I set myself down uncertainly in a chair.

My dad sat down, put his napkin in his lap, picked up his fork, then gave me flick of his eyes to tell me to start eating.

I sighed and twirled some noodles onto my fork and sucked them into my mouth loudly and animatedly.

"Hiccup—"

"Trying to eat, dad. I can't eat while I talk," I said snarkily, and I immediately felt terrible for it, but I was already sick of his 'caring'. I just felt like it wasn't real or genuine.

He rubbed his forehead. "Easy on the attitude, son. And you don't have to talk, just listen."

I stared at my plate and spun more noodles around.

"I know you think that I don't care about you, Hiccup," I wanted to open my mouth to stop him, but there was food in it. "I haven't given you as much attention as I know I should be..."

I swallowed. "Dad—" I started, trying to get him to shut up. This kind of stuff was painful to listen to. It made me feel like I hurt him and he was mad at me.

He cut me off. "Son, please. I just... From now on, I am going to treat you better, I promise."

"You treated me fine dad, this speech is really unnecess—"

He glared at me and kept talking. "I'm going to tell my boss that I can't work on as many cases and as many hours at the firm, which is something I should have done years ago."

I gulped another small glob of spaghetti down my throat. "You can't do that, you'll get paid less." And it will be my fault.

"Well, no... no, I won't. I've been —and I hate that I have— I've been working overtime for— for a while now, so my pay will just be normal."

I poked at the pasta. I knew it. He's just been trying to avoid all this time, he hates me. I'm just a big disappointment. "So that's why you're home so late a lot," I whispered.

"I know, I know, and I feel horrible about it, son, I'm so sorry..."

"It's fine," I mumbled.

"No, it's not. I don't..." He exhaled. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm going to be here for you now, and I don't know what has happened to you these past few years." He paused, and then his tone became more interrogative. "Do you eat dinner when I'm working late?"

"Of course I do," I said, meeting his eyes challengingly and taking a sip of my water.

"How am I supposed to know that you're telling the truth after what the doctor said?"

"Are you going to believe a random stranger or your own flesh and blood?" I sniped, hoping to bank on the "sentimental fatherlyness" he was apparently trying to display.

"I'm going to believe the medical professional who diagnosed you with severe malnutrition," he threw back at me. "And eat your food, I've eaten more than you and I've been talking the whole time," he added.

The next twenty minutes were agonizing, with me choking down the whole plate of noodles while my dad watched critically. When I'd finally finished, he cleared me to stand up and put my dishes in the sink.

When I turned around from the counter my dad was there. He put his plate and glass in the stainless steel tub then put his hand on my shoulder to stop me from walking away. "I have to do a few things to do on my computer, just a some reports I was supposed to finalize at work today. Could you take Toothless and Skullcrusher for a walk?"

"Oh, um, yeah, sure." I usually only took the dogs for a walk early in the morning, then let them out in the large, fenced-inbackyard any other time. "Can I do it in like ten minutes? I've gotta go to the bathroom and pack my backpack for tomorrow."

He nodded. "Okay."

I headed upstairs and went into my bathroom, shutting the door before Toothless could follow me in. I sat down on the floor, groaning, and leaned up against the wall. I felt bloated, as though my body was a balloon and had been overfilled with water. I wanted the sensation to stop, I wasn't used to being this full.

After a couple minutes with no relief, I flipped up the toilet lid and sat down. Nothing happened, the sick feeling wasn't that far down, it was my stomach. I pulled my pants up and stared back down at the toilet.

Should I...?

No, no, only freaks do that.

But my stomach feels horrible. I just want it to stop, is that so bad?

I think I'll throw up anyway, so...

I twisted the faucet knob and let the water run at full force and I turned on the bathroom fan. I wanted to create as much noise as possible, if my dad found out what I was going to do... that would be really bad.

I washed my hands in the sink and let the water keep running. I locked the bathroom door. I stood in front of the toilet and flipped up the seat, then bent down.

"I just feel really sick, that's all, I just feel sick," I whispered to myself as I lifted two fingers up toward my mouth.

I closed my eyes as I pressed my fingertips as far back as I could, but my instincts kicked in before I could trigger my gag reflex. I choked and pulled my hand out, coughing. I tried again, and again, but each time I couldn't find the courage or will to keep my fingers all the way back. I'm a wuss. A wimp.

My dad would probably get suspicious if I took much longer, so I decided to do something that I knew about from television, movies, and just from being a high schooler.

I took my toothbrush and wet the end without the bristles under the water. I kneeled down in front of the toilet again and gripped the brush end tightly. I slid it down along my tongue until I could feel it pressing the back of my throat. Every muscle in my hand and arm was screaming 'GET THAT THING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, YOU IDIOT, YOU'LL CHOKE!', but I held steady until I felt...

I yanked the toothbrush out my mouth and threw it to the floor as my dinner belched past my lips and into the bowl. I breathed deeply and opened my eyes, leaning back away from the mushed up spaghetti floating in the water. After I caught my breath I stood up shakily and slammed down the the seat and lid and flushed the ugly mess away. With trembling hands I washed my face and mouth in the sink and gulped down water to get the taste out.

I felt shaky, but my stomach no longer felt swollen. I turned off the water, the fan, and exited the bathroom. Toothless had been waiting for me, and when I came out, he whined and sniffed me.

"I'm fine, bud, just fine," I said to him and headed downstairs. My dad was at the table, papers spread out around his computer.

"I'm going now," I said, taking my coat off the hook and pulling it on. Toothless, his worry for me momentarily preoccupied by his excitement for a walk, jumped at the hanging leashes.

My dad turned to me as I laced up my shoes. "Okay, don't be gone long, we're talking to your mother at nine."

I sighed and tried not to think about it. I clipped the leashes onto the dogs collars and walked out the front door without another word.

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**READ THIS**

A/N: I know that some people are going to be wondering "Is Hiccup bulimic now?", and the answer is no. Bulimia is when someone follows a binging and purging pattern, where they feel shame when they believe they've eaten too much. Hiccup is just not used to eating so much, and he threw up because he felt sick. Obviously, this is not good for his weak body, though.

So, I was gonna have the Valka conversation in this chapter, but I guess it'll be in the next one. I keep accidentally putting it off. I have about half of it written, though. This time, I'm not going to say when I'll have another chapter ready, because I honestly don't know. It could be two days from now, or two weeks from now, or a month from now. I'm really trying though, guys, just hang on.

Please review, thanks :)

Published: November 1, 2015