A/N: THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN SOME DEPICTIONS OF A EATING DISORDER.
This takes place in the same AU as "I am Machine", it occurs afterwards. Some characters from there will be present here later on.
Also it is relevant to know the plot for "Room for One More" to understand this story.
Burning and blood.
He felt his breathing becoming tighter, each breath was painful.
He couldn't move, his body was too heavy.
This was how he would die.
His body full of dolls, in a questionable workplace environment, alone.
He felt hot tears stinging his eyes, he didn't want to die at twenty five, he felt like he still had so much life to live for.
He blacked out for a moment as he blinked, when he opened his eyes, he swore he saw a big dog in front of him, it's eye glowing and sniffing his face, he knew that couldn't be right.
He blinked again and this time he swore he saw a black figure looking directly at him, he thought they talked but he wasn't sure.
Stanley opened his eyes, blinking a few times, seeing he was in the guest room at his sister's house, where he had slept for the last few months, having lost his apartment.
Like it was his fault, he blamed his stupid job, he hated it, but he had to get money and there was nothing else, he searched for anything and that wretched job was the only thing that was available, if he knew it would cost as much as he thought it really would he wouldn't have taken it.
Nothing gets in or out was the rule.
Stanley didn't know those dolls had crawled into his mouth. He didn't automatically assume his sore throat was a result of them crawling down his throat, he didn't assume his sore swollen arms and legs were them under his skin, he didn't assume him coughing up blood was a big problem. Even though everything else was bad, over the span of five days, his skin had looked more grey, he couldn't keep down any food and it really hurt to move his legs when he walked.
He didn't know how he went from coughing up blood on that cold floor, slowly dying to waking up again. He only remembered later, waking up in hospital, covered in bandages, feeling sore areas on both of his arms, legs, his stomach, and his throat, his mother was there softly running her hand though his hair like how she use to when he was young. He had a breathing tube, a feeding tube, he was loaded up with medication, stitched up like a rag doll, unable to communicate any discomfort.
The worst part was that he genuinely could not for life of him, explain to the nurse, the doctor, the police, his mother, his sister, or his brother-in-law, what happened.
He turned to get out of bed, he knew it was still late as evident by the room still being dark, but he just couldn't sleep. He took slow steps out of the room, opening the door quietly, and walking into the hall, he moved down the hall and opened the door leading to the bathroom. He closed it behind him and switched on the light, blinking at the harsh adjustment from complete darkness to the blinding white light above him.
He walked towards the bathroom mirror, his eyes locked onto his body.
He hated it.
He hated how fat he was.
His sister and mother use to joke about how skinny he use to be, saying he needed to eat more, but since the surgery, the recovery, and being on medication, he found therapy was no help, but eating was.
Stanley had always believed he would eat as a source of comfort, having a great grandma who use to make big dishes for the family, he remembered her despite she died when he was seven years old. His family always made big portion serving of breakfast, lunch, snacks, dinner and dessert and he was use to that. It didn't help that the medications he was on made him really tired, so he slept for ages and always woke up really hungry, so he'd find something to eat and go back to sleep, but he didn't count how much he was eating and he didn't notice what he was eating, and he let that get really out of control in his honest opinion.
He didn't realize how out of control it was until he looked at himself in the mirror one day, walked closer and grabbed his sides, grasping at rolls of unsightly fat, rushing to the bathroom scale and immediately weighting himself, seeing he was fat, like a gross pig, he had transformed because he had spent months scarfing everything.
When he cried about it, he couldn't explain to his sister, he was hysterical and she didn't understand, when he could explain; he didn't want to, he didn't want to say he was crying because he was fat and ugly, and he finally understood why Amber didn't love him, and no one else would if he looked like that.
Stanley had switched to wearing loose fitting clothes, baggy t-shirts, and long pants that dragged on the floor, he felt comfortable but ashamed. His brother-in-law Todd, appeared to had noticed the weight gain, because he suddenly kept asking Stanley to come to the gym with him, Stanley finally went once after Todd persisted so much.
It was the worst experience.
He knew by the way people did a double take when they looked at him...
They wondered why a fat sweaty pig was there.
He did try, he tried to ignore the staring, the comments, the snide remarks about "fat people taking up space", the people making faces, but while on the exercise bike, it got too much. He could see beautiful women looking disgustingly at him, men looking at him like they wanted him dead because he was taking up space. Stanley ran off in tears, not even waiting for Todd, who saw him run off and chased after him.
"Stanley, you are a great guy, someday, somebody will love you, not for how you look, but how you are."
Easy for him to say, he was happily married to his sister, and had a child, he had no right to try and reassure Stanley because he didn't know what it was like.
Todd had the perfect figure, not too skinny or fat, he had muscles, he could definitely sweep any girl off their feet and he chose Stanley's sister, Stanley could never do such a thing with his stomach spilling out at the sides like the top of a muffin, sometimes he was even out of breathe going down any stairs if he walked down too fast.
The problem was with Stanley being tall as he is, him being fat just looked wrong.
He just wasn't chubby, he was bloated. Chubby implied there was a level of cuteness, Stanley knew he wasn't cute, it was blubber, like a whale.
And it just wasn't his stomach, he put on weight everywhere, in particular he noticed his neck, his fat thighs and fat forearms. He went from the skinny man who barely ate to a man who doubled in weight, one that looked like he went to the drive thru too much.
He opened the medicine cabinet, finding the pain medication that would make him drowsy enough to sleep. He rummaged through everything in the cabinet, his hand did briefly drift on some laxatives, but he went away to the medication he was looking for.
He took two and popped them in his mouth, swallowing them with ease, he then turned away and went back to bed, laying down, he heard the springs creak under him, another reminder of how fat he was.
Stanley woke again in the morning, his tongue was stuck on the roof of his mouth which caused him to cough.
He finally rolled out of bed, standing up straight, trying to avoid looking at himself, instead walking straight to the door, pushing it open and walking out into the hall, grabbing the rail to support himself as he slowly walked down the stairs, hearing each stair creak as his foot touched them, almost like the stairs were also mocking him for being over weight.
The worse part was the fact he went to the doctor and they said even though he was outside his ideal weight bracket, he was still healthy and didn't seem at risk for anything like heart problems.
He walked into the kitchen, seeing his nephew, Max, sitting at the table eating a bowl of his favorite sugary cereal with milk. His sister walked around the kitchen area, carrying a plate of eggs and bacon.
"Aren't you so pretty?" Stanley saw Todd walk in from the living room, he was wearing his business suit, which made Stanley feel self conscious at the fact he was still wearing what he had gone to bed in— a baggy pale blue shirt and long dark grey pants.
Todd planted a kiss on his wife, Stanley watched his sister giggle and he was immediately remembering Amber. It had been months since they broke up, but he remembered how much he loved her, and it just blew up in his face in the end. He wasn't ready for marriage and he was still grieving his father, which Amber had told him he shouldn't still be upset about it as he was dead and Stanley couldn't change that.
Stanley started walk backwards quietly and turned around, walking away, feeling like his life had been ruined, not by one catastrophic event, but rather a series of events, like dominoes falling, his father died suddenly, his girlfriend dumped him and less than a day later, she was with another man, his job went to shit, he got kicked out of his apartment and was forced to move in with his sister, burdening her, her husband and his nephew with his disgusting presence.
He walked back upstairs, trudging back to the guest room, just wanting to go back to bed, but he stopped in front of the bathroom, the mirror was visible as it was on the wall facing opposite the door, so he could see his reflection outside the room.
He walked forward, seeing his fat shape again, he pressed his hands against his stomach, pushing hard, watching his skin fold and twist, he brought his hands away and his form came back, like he was a jelly filled donut.
He did feel like one, if he was honest.
"Stanley!"
Stanley listened to the repeated knocking and yelling at the door, as he laid in bed, looking up at the ceiling, not wanting to look at himself at all.
"Stanley!"
He ignored his sister, thinking about everything he held dear just leaving him, he truly felt like time was sand and he couldn't grab any of it, everything was just lost to time.
He knew if he had more time things would be better.
"Stanley I'm coming in! You better be decent!"
He definitely wasn't.
His sister pushed the door open, looking at him, he turned his head, looking at her.
"Are you okay?" She was obviously concerned about him.
He definitely wasn't.
"I'm tired…" He mumbled.
"Is it the bed? Is it uncomfortable?"
Stanley knew this bed couldn't stand his weight. "No, just tired… I didn't sleep well..."
"Well… I made breakfast… so please come and eat…" She smiled.
"You know, I should make my own breakfast..."
"I'm not asking a guest to make their own breakfast…"
I'm not a fucking guest though, I'm a pig.
He pushed himself off the bed, standing up and following his sister, once again, the steps let out a creaking sound as he walked down.
"Did Todd go to work?" Stanley asked.
His sister nodded, "Yes, he went to work about ten minutes ago and I noticed you hadn't come for breakfast yet…"
"Well… I didn't want to disturb you… or your family…"
"Stanley," She turned to him, "You're my family also… you're my brother… we all love you here… Max absolutely adores you."
Max's favorite animal is also a hippopotamus, he's not old enough to judge anything, Stanley thought.
Stanley finally sat down at the table, his sister pushed forward a plate of eggs and bacon, he looked down at it, only seeing more calories.
But his stomach saw food and grumbled angrily because he decided to skip dinner last night when his mother came by.
In fact, he had been purposely avoiding his mother, he was ashamed of what he had become.
He would probably also avoid everyone else if it was possible.
He decided to eat, cutting off pieces of the egg and shovelling it into his mouth.
He became aware as he ate that he was being watched.
By Max.
"Don't you have to go to school?" Stanley asked him.
"Yes he does," His sister said, "Come on Max. I need to take you to school."
"Okay Mommy…" Max replied, his sister held out her hand and Max grabbed it, Stanley watched her walk away, hearing the door open then close, which signalled Stanley was now alone.
Stanley finished eating and stood up from the table.
It would have been the perfect time to help out around the house by cleaning up.
Unfortunately, Stanley had a bad back, meaning doing most chores was out of the question unless he wanted his back to start aching.
His back pain had only started after what happened to him.
It seemed like a bunch of problems had only come along after what happened to him, he had trouble sleeping, his throat felt permanently irritated, his arms and legs occasionally ached, sometimes he'd start coughing so much it would hurt his chest.
Worse was the scars from the surgery.
What he had paid attention to was the doctor explaining the necessary surgery to remove the "foreign" masses that were under his skin, and as a result, he had dark scars where they cut him open, on both of his arms, legs, along his stomach and on his throat, which was the worse one as he couldn't just cover it up easily.
He knew he couldn't be normal again, he just couldn't fit in.
Society simply had no room for him.