Offer
(Thursday Morning, August 14th)
"The lawyer told me your offer," Ben addresses, as he sits in the chair.
His father half laughs, "That's it? No 'how are you?', 'thanks for saving my life?'"
"I was handling it," Ben denies.
"Handling it," he scoffs. "You don't have the survival instinct." Ben quiets, and his father reminds him, "It's not polite to ask for favors when the person is suffering."
"There's no better time to settle a dispute than on someone's deathbed," Ben disagrees, and his father hums. "I don't want the money."
"You don't?" his father doubts.
"I won't live long enough to use it," Ben frowns. "I just want what's in mine. If we redirect the money, you can unfreeze it, right?"
"Sure," his father agrees.
"I have a condition," Ben interrupts.
His expression fades, "And what might that be?"
"I want half of the money to go to Mother," Ben seriously states, "in an account in her own name that only she can control."
"We're married," Adam dismisses.
"You're just afraid she will smarten up and leave if you give her any financial independence," Ben accuses, and he notices his father's mouth open. "The next time you kick her out or make her feel unsafe, I want her to be able to afford a place to stay."
His mouth shuts some, before he softly speaks, "That was a mistake."
"That you keep making," Ben finishes. "If you really care about her, then you won't have any problem giving her a way out. She loves you. She's going to stay, anyway."
"Belle doesn't need all that money." He fumes, "Who do you think pays for the electricity—the maids, and Mrs. Potts?"
"You can ask her to pitch in," Ben compromises. His father grits his teeth, "If you don't give half of the money to her, I'm going to fight for it and give it to her myself."
His father settles, "I'll contact Mr. Droit and have him sort it out."
Ben steps inside the hospital room, and Evie looks at him. "I can go," Ben offers.
"No," Evie refuses. "She's your girlfriend too."
He stares at Mal, "I can't believe I did this."
She stands, "This is not your fault."
"I drove her to drink." Ben's eyes widen, "I gave her a wine bottle."
"She's sick," Evie insists. "She's diagnosed and everything."
"I acted like her body could be bought," he rejects.
"And there's better ways to handle it." She breathes, "Punch a wall. Cry into pillow. Eat ice cream. Talk to a therapist." Ben eyes away, and Evie walks up to him, placing her hands on his arms. "This isn't your fault, and Mal—she's going to get better."
Ben hears the beep and notices her temperature lower to seventy-two, "How sure are you about that?" Evie fails to answer, and Ben's brows furrow as he notices something on Mal's arm. He walks up to her and examines the peeling skin of the handprint. "What's this?"
Evie walks over and sighs, "Looks like Lonnie was trying to help."
"And it didn't work," Ben realizes, before he gulps. "Jay was right. She's going to die, and it's my fault."
"Hey," Evie turns to him. "This doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?" Ben disagrees. "I was supposed to marry her, and what about you? Are you supposed to just go back to finding some guy to get your royal title back?"
"Mal made an impact on everything and everyone she came into contact with," Evie sadly smiles. "She changed me." She places a hand to his chest, "She changed both of us, and she will always be with us."
"Is she going to die?" Ben tears up, "Is she going to die? What do you see—or, uh, feel?"
Her mouth opens, "Ben. I… I really don't know."
"Of course, not." Ben tries to smile, "That would be too easy." before he starts to cry. Evie hugs him, and he whispers, "There are a million things I would change better."
"How much money is in your account?" Evie inquires.
"Around twenty thousand," Ben answers. "Sixteen thousand after I pay for my year at Auradon Prep."
Evie falters, "You're going to go through this money really fast. Are you sure you want to spend so much of it on a school?"
"It's my last year," Ben frowns. "I have to finish it. I'm going to need a good paying job, and I won't get that if I can't even make it through high school—royal or not."
"What about Beth?" she reminds him. "Is that something you still want to try?"
"Well, yeah," his eyes shift.
"And how much is that going to cost?"
"Between the human hair wig and colored contacts?" Ben adds up. "Not as much as what the school costs."
"You're making your eyes brown?" she assumes.
"Not brown." Ben thinks, "More of a honey or gold. I just want an overlay."
There's a knock on the door, and Belle opens the door, "Oh, good. I found you." She steps inside, "Ben. I got you a dentist appointment for tomorrow. Please, don't run away or get hospitalized this time."
"I won't leave town," Ben promises.
"It's at eight tomorrow morning." Ben nods, and his mother sighs, "Look. I know that what's happened to Mal must be really hard on you."
"Mom," Ben interrupts. "I really don't want to talk about it."
"It would be hard on anyone," she continues.
"You don't get it," Ben's voice raises. "I was the last person to see her. I gave her the wine that did this to her."
"Last I checked," Belle sternly remarks, "you did not give her three bottles." He eyes away, and she reasons, "Mal stole from us. This isn't your fault."
"That's what I keep trying to tell him," Evie inputs.
Belle looks at her, "I talked to Dr. Roberts. He agrees with you, that putting Mal on some medication might be good for her. When she wakes up, he will coordinate with her therapist."
"You're thinking she's going to wake up," Ben points out.
"Mal's a strong girl," his mother reminds him. "Very intelligent and intuitive."
"Whatever that means," he irritably replies.
She reiterates it in French before smiling, "She's going to make it through this."
Ben's mouth opens, "When your body is failing you, it doesn't matter how good or smart you are. The doctors scanned her brain. It's broken. She can't take heat, and if she can't take heat, she can't wake up."
"And the doctors don't know what to feed her," Evie adds. "Even if they order the feeding tube formula that uses milk instead of water, it will take a few days to get."
"What about blood?" Belle asks.
"Mal only drinks that when she's sick," Ben dismisses.
"Or if it's baked into something," Evie adds.
He turns towards her, "What about bone juice?"
"Marrow?" she understands.
"I feel like that would be hard to find," Belle mentions, "and it's not really a liquid."
"She's going to starve to death in her sleep," Ben analyzes.
"Maybe she can't feel anything," Evie encourages.
"Trust me," Ben faces her. "She can. I don't know about you, but when I'm hungry I don't wake up. I always feel like the best way to deal with it is by dreaming eating. You can still feel it, but you don't have the strength to do anything about it."
"That reminds me," Belle intrudes, and they look at her. "What do you want for dinner?"
"The nurse put Evie in charge of my meals," Ben reminds her.
"But honey," she starts to cry, "you're still so skinny. I could tell Mrs. Potts to stay longer, put a feast together."
"Mother," Ben's voice raises.
"Unless that feast includes chick pea spaghetti, almond flour desserts, and lightly cooked meat," Evie discerns, "then you can forget about it."
"That's not a feast," Belle half laughs. "I can only imagine the kind of meals you've been making him. I don't understand how a nurse trusted an anorexic with the king's nutrition."
"Evie's been helping me a lot," Ben defends. "She had to learn how to cook completely different for me. It's only been a week, and she already learned five foods."
"But you don't like them," she assumes.
"She's a great cook," Ben gapes.
"Then why aren't you putting on weight?"
"Because, I don't want to," Ben yells.
Her eyes widen, "Keep this up, and you're going to die."
"What's new?" Ben stands, "That's all I hear. You're going to die. Die. Die." before he takes a deep breath. "I'm going to die anyway, and it's not like you care."
She whispers, "I care." and Ben quiets. "You have medication now. You stand a chance. Don't you want to fight the odds?"
"I'm tired of fighting." Ben announces, "I'm done. With everything."
Her face scrunches, "Ben."
"Get out of here," he shouts.
"Honey," she shakily breathes. "Please."
"I told you to stop calling me that," Ben reminds her, before he walks over to her. His expression falters, as the cantaloupe scent strengthens.
"Ben?"
He meets her sad eyes, "You need to leave me alone."
"Well," she nods, "if that's what you want."
His eyes lower to her lips, before he notices the blue vein in her neck. His teeth ache, and he stares, "I do."
"Okay, then." She turns around, Ben follows her, and when she exits the room, she faces him. "Ben."
He closes the door and steadies himself with the doorknob. The world slowly turns, and he rests his head against the wood. "Are you okay?" Evie asks.
Ben turns and then slides down the door, folding his arms over his knees, "I want her so bad. I wish she loved me."
"In what way?"
Ben eyes up, the dizziness overtaking him, as he sighs, "Everyone would be better off if I were dead."
The woman stops cleaning Ben's teeth, once the black-haired man enters the room, "Good Morning, King Ben. I'm Dr. Herz."
"Hurts?" Ben raises an eyebrow.
He chuckles, before he takes the other dentist's seat, "Tell me something about yourself."
"Like what?" Ben questions.
"Anything," he supplies. "How your day's going? How you feel about school starting soon? Your favorite thing to eat."
"I hate dentists," Ben admits. "The last ones I went to didn't even help."
"How so?"
"I told them it still felt like I had a, uh…"
"Cavity?" he inquires.
Ben's frown deepens, "They said my teeth were fine."
"Which ones felt like cavities?" he asks.
Ben uses his thumb and ring finger to point to the two on the sides, "These."
"Those already have fillings," Dr. Herz examines.
"The x-ray didn't show any cracks," the woman informs. "It looked like they did a good job on it."
"Alright." He looks up at the monitor, "You had an appointment last year, during which they cleaned your teeth and filled the cavities. You brush and floss once a day and use mouthwash when needed. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Ben confirms.
"You're a heavy soda drinker."
He watches him scroll past the marked box for eating disorder, "You're not going to say anything about that?"
"About what?"
"The, uh, eating thing," Ben answers. "I was told I had to put it down, even though I'm not diagnosed."
"If it's a problem, your teeth will tell me," he reassures, before he finishes with the medical history. "Can I see the x-rays?" The images change, and he nods, "Next." He points to the screen, "Next. Next. Next." He turns towards Ben, "Your Highness. Do you want to see?"
Ben looks at the screen, "What am I seeing?"
He points, "Small roots." before faces him. "It's important that you don't get gum disease. That means good flossing and more cleanings."
"Okay," Ben understands.
"Do you ever get tooth pain when you're not eating?" he asks. "You might feel like biting something when it happens."
Ben glances down, "More than I like."
"It happens to a lot of carnivores," he informs. "If you don't use your teeth, the placement of the roots can become weak. If you don't keep your gums strong, then you can lose your teeth."
Ben shakes his head, "I floss."
"It's more than that." He pauses, "If you don't use your teeth, you can lose them. There are chewing sticks for carnivores for that reason. I can give you a pack on your way out."
"I've never heard of that," Ben informs.
"It's new." He admits, "A year ago we were handing out dog dental sticks."
The woman hands Ben a black board, "Sign, please."
After Ben writes his invisible signature, Dr. Herz requests, "Say 'rar' for me."
"Rar?" he questions.
"As big as you can make it," he clarifies.
Ben widens his mouth, "Rar."
"Good." He jots it down the measurement, "Now move your jaw to the side." Ben does it, and he nods, "You don't get any locking of stiffness, do you?"
"I don't think so."
"Close your teeth together and see if you can move them side-to-side." Ben offers a look, before he closes his teeth and they fail to move. "Canine guidance."
"My teeth don't move side-to-side," Ben informs. "My last dentist was upset that I couldn't. He told me to do it, like, three times."
"You have a nice, deep bite." He records, "No flat surfaces."
"The only things I can eat are pickles, corn, and green beans," Ben complains.
"You have an easy time with meat, though," he presumes.
"Until my teeth hurt," Ben mentions.
"Here." Ben opens his mouth, as he brings the foam to his teeth. "Chomp. Chomp." Ben bites it, and he takes it back, "They got your bite wrong. Your teeth hurt, because they have the fillings too high. I bet it's the same with the other side." He moves the foam towards Ben, he opens his mouth, and he bites at the new foam. The doctor takes it back, "Yes. I see, now." before he smiles at him. "I'm going to take a little off the fillings. When I do, you should feel a lot better."
When Belle is led into the room, she asks, "How did it go?"
"I was right," Ben informs. "The other dentists didn't know what to do with me." He sits up, "Whoa."
"Dizzy?" he asks.
"Yeah," Ben sighs.
"You might have to eat something." Dr. Herz turns to Belle, "I fixed his fillings. That should make things a little easier."
"That's good to hear," she smiles. "He needs to put on some weight."
Ben glowers at her, "Just because I can eat, doesn't mean I'm going to."
"Regardless," Dr. Herz interrupts, "there's something I want you to consider." They look at him, and he explains, "King Ben's teeth have dulled a little. There's an option for reconstruction, where we can add to the tips to make them sharp again."
"No," Ben rejects.
"Are you sure?" He informs, "Most carnivores enjoy the results. Having sharper teeth make them feel more powerful, more like themselves."
"I'm sure," he asserts.
"He probably doesn't even know what you're saying," Belle reasons. "His English has been better."
"I understand," Ben denies. "I understand that he wants to make my teeth sharp, and I don't want that."
"It's more than just cosmetic," he interrupts. "Having sharper teeth makes it easier for carnivores to eat."
"Well, maybe, I don't want to be a carnivore," Ben asserts.
"You can't change what you are," his mother reminds him. "This would be good for you. Remember that last time you tried having steak? You had to use a knife to cut it."
Ben's eyes widen, "Yes. Because royals use knives. I'm not going to make my teeth sharper, just because you all think I'm some kind of beast."
Belle points out, "Your teeth are supposed to be sharp. If your father were here, he'd make sure it was done."
"Then, it's a good thing he's not," Ben warns, "because if you do this to my teeth, I'm going to pull them all out."
She laughs, "And then what? Get fake ones?"
"Yes," Ben declares. "Nice, human ones."
Belle sighs before facing Dr. Herz, "I'm sorry. He's still having a hard time accepting what he is. We hid it from him for too long."
"In that case," he evaluates, "it might be best to hold off on this. He can always request it if eating becomes too hard for him." He smiles, "Speaking of which, I'm going to give him some chewing sticks. Make sure he starts using them. If he doesn't keep his gums strong, his teeth will start to fall out."
Belle nods, "I'll do my best."
After Carlos writes down the dice results on the game sheet, he brings the pen to his mouth and chews it. "Hey," Aziz asserts. "I told you to stop that."
"Right," Carlos recalls, before Aziz rolls the dice.
He catches Carlos chew on it again, "Seriously?"
"Oh," he takes it from his mouth again. "Sorry."
"You know how many germs are on there?" Aziz reminds him.
"Probably a lot," Carlos concludes, before he brings it towards his mouth.
Aziz takes his wrist, "Seriously. Stop it."
"But I want to bite it," Carlos pouts.
"It's a pen," he points out. "Why do you want to eat it?"
"Not eat." Carlos corrects, "Bite. I feel like biting something."
"Then eat something," Aziz recommends. "You're better off having brownies than some germ-infested pen. We've all probably held that. You're going to get sick."
Carlos frowns, "Brownies aren't hard enough. I need something hard to bite."
"Why?" he emphasizes.
Carlos's eyebrows furrow, "My teeth hurt. What's it to you?"
"Your teeth hurt?" He argues, "You know, when people's teeth hurt, they tend to avoid chewing things."
"There's popsicle sticks in the freezer," Aladdin solves, and Carlos stands up to go get one. He faces Aziz, "Can you be nicer?"
"He's not making any sense," he disbelieves. "His teeth hurt, but he wants to use them?"
"It's probably just his body's way of telling him that he's hungry," his father reasons.
"Then he should be eating something that's not a pen," he retaliates.
"I know his quirks are getting on your nerves," he examines, "but there's only three more days. Please, just try to be accommodating."
Aziz sighs, and Carlos comes back with a red popsicle. He sits down, takes a bite out of it, and by the time the dice returns to him, he's chewing on the stick. Aziz irritably responds, "It's gone. You can get another one."
Carlos rolls the dice, "But I like the stick. It tastes good."
"It tastes good," Aziz repeats.
He rolls again, "And I really like biting it. It feels nice."
Aziz stares, as Carlos rolls again. "How does chewing on a stick feel nice?"
"I don't know." Carlos writes on the game sheet, "It just makes my teeth feel better."
Aziz continues to glare at him, and his father reminds him, "It's your turn."
Aziz takes his turn, and a few rounds later, Carlos takes the split stick out of his mouth, "I should get another one, before I swallow a splinter."
"Yeah," Aziz strongly agrees.
Carlos frowns, "Why are you so upset?"
"There's food here," he asserts. "You don't need to be trying to eat things that aren't."
"You have a very loose definition of food," Carlos disagrees.
"I have a loose definition of food?" Aziz gapes. "You're the one eating sticks."
"Well, at least I don't eat leaves," he seethes. "Why grow your own, when you can just pick them off trees?"
Aziz takes a moment, "You're kidding, right?" Carlos stands from his seat, goes back to the kitchen, and Aziz asks, "He's just getting another popsicle, right?"
"I'll check on him," his father offers, before Aladdin trails after Carlos.
After he enters the kitchen, he sees Carlos sitting at the island counters. Carlos notices him and wipes the tears from his face, "I'm sorry." He sits across from him, and Carlos comments, "I think I'm just tired."
"And hungry?" he assumes. Carlos eyes down, and he sighs, "You're too young to be doing this to yourself. Putting this much strain on your body isn't good, especially when you're still developing."
"I reassure you," Carlos evenly expresses, "I'm fully developed."
"Even if you are," he doubts, "your brain isn't. You need the energy."
"Right. I'll just eat something, then," Carlos irritably replies, before he rests his head in his arms.
"I know I've already said this," Aladdin starts.
Carlos interrupts, "I'm not going back to Auradon."
Aladdin nods, "Do your teeth still hurt?" Carlos nods. "The popsicles are sugar free. You can have a few more before going to sleep."
"What about the game?"
Aladdin shrugs, "It's family time, not a championship. I'm sure Aziz will understand."
"I was too hungry to sleep earlier," Carlos confesses. He meets his eyes, "You don't have one of those tablet things, do you?"
"All we have here is tea," he answers. "Do you want to try some?"
"Sure," Carlos accepts.
"You sure?" Aladdin teases, "There's leaves in it."
Carlos's eyes narrow, "If you really want to see if I'm a carnivore, I could bite you."
"Wow, you're grouchy."
Carlos watches him fill the kettle with water, "I'm sorry."
"I know," he accepts. "Don't worry about it."