Chapter 3: Drops of Jupiter

Binging has ruined my self-respect. I've deprived myself of candy for so long that I can't contain my hands from shoving the junk food in my face. Before I could comprehend what I was doing, the kitchen was swamped with brightly colored wrappers and half-eaten chocolates, Skittles, Starburst, and other name brand items, scattered at every compass point like a sugar graveyard. An hour later, I stared in disbelief at what I had done, scarcely accepting the facts to be true. But the evidence was there, gaudy advertisements and logos in all, proving to me that I had gone berserk. Seizing a fistful of my hair, I gazed at the counters, contemplating how I could have permitted such an act to be carried out. I already knew the answer to my question, which made everything even more aggravating to stomach. My control regulators collapsed so my selfish ego could gorge on empty calories. Basically, taste buds had conquered self-discipline, releasing the system of restraints long enough for my body to relive its childhood dreams of prancing around in Candy Land. Furious at my internal weakness, I slapped the floor with a bony palm, cursing under my breath as I did it. Immediately, I regretted the aggressive streak, flinching while horrible vibes traveled up and down my arm.

/And I know/

"I have to get rid of it..." I mumbled absently to the sweet corpses stuck to my hands, fear overriding the dull jabs of pain, "all of it. I have to get it out of me or--or--"

/I may end up failing too/

Too scared to finish the thought, I picked myself up off the tiles, catching the fall of some dark crumbs as I stood up. Disgusted and frightened, I searched for an idea of how to banish the unwanted waste in my abdomen, turning me sick and pale with grief. What was I going to do? Acquire a serious case of diarrhea? Get liposuction to remove the surplus fat cells? Exercise until I could no longer feel anything on me, much less my midsection?

/But I know/

No that won't work, none of those will work. I told myself. Despondency clawed at my insides, bit at my heart, fed upon the mocking laughter of my oh-so brilliant conscience. Of all things, I definitely didn't need the bitchy head voice to throw its two cents worth in. I was totally capable of dealing with anything else, everything except the cold, cruel tone that lingered in the corners of my head. Something...there has to be something I can do, some way for me to pull this crap out of me--

/You were just like me/

/Suuure their is. / the dreaded alter ego scoffed, slapping me with its normally derisive tone. /And the Sugar Plum Fairy really does exist. /

"Shut up!" I snapped, eyes shooting poisoned darts at the sink, teeth clenched together in dangerous fury. "You're fucked up!"

/And you're not? / the bastard of my nightmares shot back. /Have you taken a good look at yourself lately?/ When I didn't reply, the asshole interrogated me continuously, gunning my self-defense mechanisms down like a trained assassin. /Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Beluga Whale? Speak! /

As expected, my conscience knew what hurt my psyche the worst, which insults would haunt me in my dreams, all the sordid little secrets that gave it entertainment while I drew back in a ball and cried. This time was no different, attacking me with malignant remarks, ones that tore ruthlessly at my pride until I screamed uncle. Or until it was finished poking fun at me. Either would be remarkably rewarding to the dirty fiend.

/with someone disappointed in you/

Refusing to be the target of its slander, I responded with bitter determination, a tactic that was effective if used properly. "I'll find a way." I promised myself, including the dumbass that loved to rear its ugly face. "Don't worry, I'll find a way."

Expecting to be hit with an offensive slur, I shifted uncomfortably, waiting for a reply. What do you know, I didn't have to wait long for the bastard to vocalize its precious opinion, sounding as snotty and caustic as ever.

/We shall see. / taunted the darker half, berating my intentions. /We shall see. /

"And so we will." I declared firmly. "I'll make a believer out of you."

/I've become so numb/

But how? I wondered frantically, nerves drenched with trepidation, practically hyperventilating with each passing thought. A bead of perspiration drizzled from my temple, a precursor of angst and stress that haunted me during day and nighttime hours. Focusing my deadened energy on this growing problem, I dismissed the telltale sign of desperation. How can I make good on what I said if I don't know what to do? Damn, I'm so screwed! Screwed so bad that I just want to throw u--

/I can't feel you there/

Awful retching noises could be heard in the staff bathroom, an area designed to be a place of rest for food service employees. Most of the chefs, waiters, and interns had the afternoon off, so that narrowed down the tenants quite a bit. I knew it wasn't a house worker spewing their insides into oblivion--they'd hold the sickness inside of them so they wouldn't have to clean the same place twice. That left just one other person, a boy that fancied himself to be as robust as the Egyptian god cards, but in reality had an immune system as fragile as the Petit Angel.

Sometime between last Tuesday and this Friday, Mokuba had picked up a brand new buddy at school, the type that leeches stamina from unsuspecting kids. No, I'm not discussing types of ingrate slackers like Wheeler, I'm illustrating the symptoms of a popular winter disease. At first, I observed nothing but a cough here or runny nose there, aspects of a harmless common cold which has a guaranteed recovery rate. It wasn't until the following morning that I witnessed him hacking and sniffling, huddled under four layers of comforters and shivering madly that I arranged for him to park his hindquarters at home for a week or so. Poor Niisan...it's been over five days and he still has the flu. If he gets better soon he might be able keep a meal down without vomiti--

Oh my god, that's it. I realized breathlessly, eyes as huge as dinner plates, teeth clicking in excitement. That's how I can get rid of what I ate. If I do the same as him, I'll be free of fat! Released from shameful habits! Liberated from all my depressing guilt!

/So much more aware/

Cracking a skeletal smile, I did a bizarre happy dance beside the dishwasher. Obviously, I had no clue that I was giving full permission to chaos to take my life and grind it in the garbage disposal, but lack of nutrition has ludicrous effects on the brain. As far as my diminishing super ego could tell, I'd probably be requesting a coffin for my next birthday. Or, at the very least, a headstone with my name and tender inscription carved on it, displaying when I was born to the current year. Either way, something inside me, some unexpected little voice was whispering that I was fucked. I just pray that it's not the dick I have confrontations with.

/I'm becoming this/

With the exit to the kitchen in sight, I tried to walk, but couldn't move an inch. My brow bunched together in petrified puzzlement, incapable of moving in another direction, stuck for what seemed like an eternity in a skin-tight knot. Oh, no...I moaned softly, almost dreamily. "Not here, not now! I can't afford this! I have to go! Have to go now!"

I attempted to leave the room once more, but quickly discovered the dream to be inaccessible. Panic was setting in, grabbing my throat, sinking its long, malicious claws into my body. Terrified, I repeated my demands again, willing the chant to push my limbs into drive. The whole package had the brakes locked on, a security system that was more than childproof.

This was one of those times where I longed to cruise towards the edge of a cliff, light a final cigarette, then slam the shift into overdrive to sail into a canyon. The closest drop like that was the roof of the mansion, but I couldn't do that here. Not when I could barley move a muscle. Besides, I wasn't in the mood for suicidal banter or serious contemplation of the topic. For once, I wasn't thinking about sky diving without a parachute or jumping into a pool without any water. I was concentrating on a lesser of the two evils, my sole request for the moment screeching--

/All I want to do/

"Gotta get rid of it!" I cried, cracking the fault line to make way for tears. "I just want it out, whatever I had, I need it to be out!"

/Is be more like me/

My head was unraveling, strangled by the flashback of manic demands, straining what was left of my sanity so much that I couldn't understand that I wasn't really looking for the nearest bathroom. I was lying on the floor. Arms were out wide, cheek kissing the stony slab, mouth ordering my disabled frame to do what was literally unattainable. Even with all those disturbing characteristics, nothing seemed as eerie as my eyes. Twin globes of blue stared vacantly out of their sockets, treading the waters of personal pain, falling into the river of a soul just as hollow as their vision. They didn't see a child on his knees with a wet, shiny visage, wearing an expression similar to a victim of a concentration camp. They didn't comprehend that the tears pouring down the youngster's countenance was for them, drops of Jupiter that were simplistic to behold, yet a very real representation of human misery. The boy could have committed self-mutilation, and these glazed spheres of mine would have continued to gaze out into nothing, drowning in the sea that masochistic routines created. His voice was the only aspect that rang clear as a mission bell, drifting towards my wrecked ship in horrifying waves.

"Get up Seto, ya gotta get up!" he bellowed. My listlessness drove him to greater extremes, humbling the kid to pitiable begging as he shook my shoulders. "Please?" he cried, his tone flaring with hysteria, digging his nails into my back. "Please get up, you have to get up! You can't just stay there and leave me here. You wouldn't, I know you wouldn't do that--"

Ceasing his physical distress, Mokuba withdrew from me and gave me a curious look, a combination of skepticism and sadness that made it tough to take him seriously. This was probably the most traumatic experience of his life, but his appearance of a comic book character destroyed the mood and tension of the atmosphere. His little mouth was drawn down in a hitching sob, the ends of his lips trembling while he arched a brow in disbelief. It was as if he couldn't decide whether to be mad at me or crumple into a fetal position and scream. Finally he chose an emotion, the aura of absolute sorrow, the single trait that I despised coming from anyone assuming the Kaiba name. The dam had burst, allowing countless streams to gush forth, leaking from his lids like shards of broken crystal.

In a voice I had trouble deciphering, he shouted, "I'll hate you if you do! If he leave me here alone, I'll never forgive you! Do you hear me, Seto Kaiba? I'LL HATE YOU IF YOU DO!"

/and be less like you/

Regretting the vehemence his anger and fear wrought, my brother fell on top of me, moaning like I had done after hitting the tiles, shedding tears resembling drops of Jupiter.