Fantasy
(Saturday Evening, July 27th)
When Ben switches out of his jacket and tie to his t-shirt and button up, he hears a knock and goes to open the door. He unsurely looks at Evie before trying to smile at Mal, "May I help you with something?"
"Evie needs to use your scale," Mal asserts.
Ben half laughs, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"It's a very good idea," Mal answers, and Ben steps aside.
"Alright, then."
After they enter his room, Evie goes towards the bathroom, and Mal faces him, "Thank you. She thought she gained ten pounds this week, and I need her to eat at least something."
"Yeah." Ben hesitates, "Of course."
Mal looks him over, "Is something wrong?"
"No." Ben glances from the bathroom to her, "It's just, Evie said something earlier, and I'm not sure how I feel about it."
Mal stays still, "What did she say?"
"She made a comment on, uh." He wets his lips, "What's the word?" before he squints. "She talked about some of the more girl-like things I do."
"Your feminine side," Mal understands.
"I'm just not really sure where she got it from," he continues.
She shakes her head, "Don't worry about it. Evie hasn't been eating—more than usual—and she always says weird stuff like that when she starves herself."
"But where did she get it from?" Ben stresses. "Do I just have that much of a girly sense coming off of me."
"No, Ben," Mal sighs. "You're just as much of a guy as Jay or Doug." She moves his bangs from his face, "You're just sensitive, but you know what? That takes a hell of a lot of courage. And that makes you an even better man than any guy who'd hide their feelings with fights, sex, or drugs."
"Really?" Ben unsurely asks.
"Of course," Mal sadly answers, before she sees Evie exit the bathroom. She raises her eyebrows, "The hall. Now."
After Evie passes Ben and follows Mal out of the room, she notices, "You're stressed."
"Not as stressed as Ben," Mal takes a deep breath. "Did you really question his masculinity?"
Evie grins, "What masculinity?"
"The masculinity that makes him a guy," Mal defends. "You can't just tell a guy he acts like a girl."
"He likes flowers," she points out.
"It's a family thing." Mal glances down the hall, "And it's not like I like flowers."
"He gave away his foosball table."
"He wasn't using it." Mal huffs, "And he's been playing tourney for years."
"Ben hates group activities." She reminds her, "And he quit."
"I thought girls were supposed to be social," Mal refutes.
"I gave him a barrette and a scarf, and he didn't give them back," Evie discloses.
Mal's expression falls, and she takes a minute, "If Ben wants to express his gender femininely, he has every right to do that. You can't just say a guy's not a guy, just because they wear hair clips. Feminine guys exist, and here nail polish is considered makeup. Does that make every guy on the Isle who wore nail polish or eye liner a girl?"
"No," Evie giggles.
"Then what?" Mal's voice raises.
"When I talk to Ben," Evie thinks, "it's like… it's like I'm talking to a girl. You know?"
"No, Eves," she sternly replies. "I don't know."
"He feels like more of a girl than you," Evie informs.
"Ben's not a girl," she furiously whispers.
She shakes her head, "Why would it matter?" and Mal's eyes dart down and up. "It's Ben, Mal. Would him feeling like a girl really make you care about him any less?"
"I'm tired of this," Mal warns. "I want you to eat and get your head on straight."
"Straight or straight?" Evie takes offense.
"If I wanted a girl, I could just have you." Evie's expression falters, and Mal starts to cry, "I don't need another girl." She takes a deep breath, "I finally found a guy who makes me feel comfortable in my own skin, a guy who lets me be in control, who asks permission to kiss me, who is honest about his thoughts and tries his best not to hurt me—even at his expense."
"A guy who doesn't like sex," Evie frowns, and Mal wipes the tears from her face. "Believe me, if I have to share you with a guy, I'd like it to be Ben, but…" She sighs, "Maybe the reason why Ben seems like such a great guy is because he's such a girl."
"So, what?" Mal shakily laughs, "Guys can't be good?"
"They can be good," Evie evenly answers. "And they can be sweet, but even with Doug it feels like I'm talking to a guy." She shakes her head, "It's not like that with Ben." before she glances away. "With Ben, it's more like I'm talking with Audrey."
"No," Mal shakes her head hard.
"M," she tries to reason.
Her eyes widen, "I'm not going to believe it, okay? Not until Ben says it."
Evie takes a moment, "He's not going to say anything."
"I don't care," she reaffirms. "You also said he was going to get arrested for cannibalism. The last time you fasted, you said the gods would bow to me. How am I supposed to think this is anything more than what it really is?"
She stares, "And what's that?"
"You're sick." She quiets, "And I don't know how to make you better."
Evie slowly shakes her head, "Isn't that the point? You can't make me better. I don't need to be fixed. My life is meaningless."
Mal sadly smiles, "E. You're not meaningless."
"I'm messing up everyone's life by being here," she counters.
"How?" she disbelieves.
"You should be with Ben, and Ben should be allowed to be Ben."
"And if Ben really was," Mal nods, "girly, then how would he be told it's okay without you insisting he's that way?"
"Chad would know," Evie insists. "And they would be able to rule the country together, as you help Ben give the Isle children a better chance here."
"Evie." Mal breathes, "That's a fantasy."
"It's how life could be if I wasn't here," she sternly remarks. "Mal. My mother prolonged her pregnancy. I should be older." She points behind her, "I should be dead somewhere on the Isle. I wasn't even supposed to be a part of your life. I'm like a weed that just crept up and took over." She tears up, "And I'm ruining everything. I can feel it."
Mal kisses her, holds her arms, and looks into her dark eyes, "I would not be able to live my hell of a life if you weren't in it." Evie sniffles, and she wipes the tears form her face, "I need you, Eves. Don't think I don't." Evie shuts her eyes hard as she nods, and Mal takes a relaxing breath. "Can you please eat something for me?"
She thinks, "I'll make some lemon pudding if you eat it with me."
Mal's eyes shut, "Thank you."
In the bedroom, Ben unbuttons his long sleeve and lifts his t-shirt. You would think with all the muscle Mal claims he's lost that his mid-center would be smaller, but it's not. What he'd give to be more than a stick, some large block of construction board. He removes his shirt and feels the top of his chest. His fingers run along the top two bumps and then the third on his side, before his reaches the masses surrounding his waist. He grips them. In the mirror he sees how the loose skin extends from his hip to his chest like frog toes or bat wings. It doesn't make sense. It shouldn't be there. Mal had been right. His core muscles shank; however, the skin didn't retract with it, and there's still a good few inches of flab in the way. If only he could get the skin to stick in closer, as the muscles did.
Ben takes a deep breath and strides over to his desk, before he returns to the large bathroom mirror. He pulls apart the duct tape, places the black strap at his midsection, and starts tightly taping around his waist. He rips the endpiece off and sticks it to itself, before he examines his new figure in the mirror; however, when he intakes a breath, it's too shallow. He's restricted his airway. He can't breathe. Ben opens each drawer of the counters, but nothing's to be found. He races back over to his desk, finds the scissors in the first drawer, and hurries to cut himself free. He gasps for air, and he sits in his chair. He should have known that would happen, but he needed something to work. If he has to feel that fat one more time, he's going to cut it off.
Ben folds his arms, but when his hands slide down to that excess skin, he stands from the chair and heads for bed. If he's asleep it doesn't exist, and by the time he wakes up the anxiety will have faded. It won't matter. He just has to get through the night, and then his mind will become preoccupied by things that actually matter. A king obsessing over his looks is hardly professional. Even Chad doesn't fix his hair as much as Ben's been pinching his sides. He pulls the sheets over his back, as he hugs the pillow, but then there's a knock.
"Ben?" The door opens, and his mother partly smiles, "I brought you dinner."
"Mother," Ben stresses. "I'm tired."
"You haven't eaten at all today."
"Yeah," Ben's voice raises. "Because it was day. I had to wake up before noon. Can't you just let me sleep until midnight?"
"I want you to eat something first," she says, before she walks over to his bed.
"I can't eat right now," Ben excuses.
She sets the small plate of cheese and salami on the bedside table, "I'd really like it if you just had a bite."
"Unless you're offering," he snaps, "I'm not interested."
She nods once, "Is that what it would take? Is if I offered?"
Ben sighs, "I just said that, so you'd leave me alone."
She sits on the bed, "Ben. I know you desire me."
He cringes, "Don't say it like that."
"You want my blood," she rewords, and he shuts his eyes. "It's nothing to be ashamed of." He keeps quiet, and she asks, "How is it again, you would describe my scent?"
He takes a moment, "Cantaloupe. The orange kind." before he pauses. "The way it should, anyway. The fruit doesn't taste as good as I always think it should… That's part of why I never have it. It's pointless."
"Maybe the fruit is pointless," she accepts, but eating isn't. If all you can stand right now is blood, I'd rather you have that than nothing."
"It's not that I can't have anything," Ben denies. "I just… I don't know why."
She moves her wrist towards him, "Take it. Please."
"I can't bite on command," Ben frustrates.
"Sure, you can," his mother counters. "You just open your mouth and then close it again. Hard." She takes a second, "Pretend it's an apple."
Ben's eyes widen, "Do you know how hard it is to eat a frickin' apple? After I bite it, I have to chew it with my front teeth five more times, and the skin is impenetrable no matter what I do." He takes a deep breath, "The amount of energy I get from an apple probably gets used just from trying to eat it."
Belle nods, "Perhaps, but if you can bite an apple, you can bite my wrist."
Ben falters, mouth cracked open as he glances down, "I can't."
"You can try," she encourages.
"Mother." Ben meets her sad brown eyes, "I can't do this with you."
"Why ever not?"
"Because, it would mean something," Ben stresses, before he looks down and wets his lips. "I could mean something."
She takes a long minute, and she notices a couple tears fall from his eyes, "So long as you eat, I don't care."
He takes a settling breath, "I would."
She strengthens her voice, "I want to help."
He refuses, "I don't want it."
She contemplates, "Sit up."
"What?" Ben's frown deepens. "Why?"
"I want to see you," she insists.
"I really just want to sleep," Ben excuses.
"You can do that after I see you." He doesn't move, and she persists, "Now, please."
Ben shakes his head, as he sits up and lets the sheet fall to his legs. He sees her cover her mouth, as she gasps. "Mother?"
She reaches towards his chest but pulls back before touching it, "My God."
They're not supposed to mention God outside of intellectual conversation. His mother didn't want him to experience the same unsupported fears she still struggles with. The fact of the matter is Hell was borrowed from the Pagans' belief in Hades—the underworld. It's a lot like a Christmas tree that way. As they say, 'old habits die hard'. He notices her start to cry, "Mother? What's wrong?"
She shakes her head, "Your ribs. I can see them."
Ben glances down, "It's only the top ones."
"Only?" she exasperates. "Honey… There are dips in between. There's no cushion. If you fall, you could hurt yourself."
He unsurely smiles, "You make it sound like I'm a skeleton."
"That's exactly what I'm saying," she confirms. "Ben. You need to eat something."
"No." Ben argues, "If I was really a skeleton, I'd look like Evie. Every bone in her ribcage shows. Mine doesn't do that."
She stares at him in disbelief, "You're comparing yourself to Evie?"
"If I was really too skinny, I'd look like her," he concludes, before he watches his mother stand from the bed and wipe her tears.
"Where are you going?" he sighs.
"I can't right now," she proclaims.
Ben watches her head for the door, "You expect me to sleep after this?" but she continues out the door without a word. He drops back onto the mattress and stares at the ceiling. What had he done wrong? He feels his ribcage under the sheet. There's a smooth surface of skin across a good portion of his chest, but that same portion is connected to that extra skin covering his waist. Does he just have so much skin that he can't tell how much fat or muscle he's lost? It's possible with the amount of times he's gained and then lost five or ten pounds in a single week. He places a hand to his head. He feels like he's losing his mind. He has a fever, so, of course, he is.