Distorted & Disordered
Chapter 10
Trigger Warning: Eating disorder details mentioned in this chapter.
It was Tuesday when the symptoms of Loki's cold plowed into him like the city of Manhattan.
He woke up in the morning with the thought that he immediately shouldn't have done that. A headache three times the size of the sun cradled his gooey brains in a tight, tight hug.
His sinuses were blocked from Florida to Argentina and his eyes watered like he was perpetually in a flood. His body felt like a dead weight and he struggled with the momentum to lift his legs off his mattress.
When, by the fourth time he had failed again, Loki decided he'd rather just stay in bed, and let his mother's worried gaze find him here.
Of course, just as his headache began to blossom and open its petals to the bright sunlight shining through his curtains, was the time that Thor decided to barrel into his room.
"Loki!" Thor all but shouted into the quiet air of Loki's bedroom.
Loki snarled a guttural sound in response.
"Thooooorrrr," he whispered in a rasp, hands like heavy weights clung to his arms as he motioned for his older brother to turn away and leave him be to die in his misery.
Thor's eyebrow immediately rose in confusion. "Loki? Are you all right?"
Loki groaned again, his voice soft as feathers as he mumbled his response, "No, Thor, I'm sick." He emphasized his words precisely as he began to cough, a wet sound that catapulted from his lungs and smacked into the air around him.
Thor backed up in response, palms facing his younger sibling.
"Whoa, there, brother," Thor may not be the sibling to get sick himself, but Loki when sick was thoroughly contagious so Thor wasn't going to stick around for any chances that he would get ill in turn. He had a wrestling competition coming up on Saturday, after all.
"Would you like me to get mother?" Thor asked dumbly, already knowing his younger sibling's answer.
Loki made a soft mewling sound.
Thor swallowed reflexively, turned around and tiptoed out of the room.
Loki tried not to laugh when he heard his brother holler for their mother, seemingly just down the hallway.
Loki tried counting to ten over and over again until his mother came sauntering into the room. He made it to his second round at number two before he heard his bedroom door click open softly and the sleek fabric of his mother's clothing shimmy into his headspace.
"Loki, dear? You're not feeling well?" Frigga cooed, one delicate hand coming to rest upon his forehead, which was hot and almost sweaty, before being retracted much too soon.
"Mmm," Loki drawled, just getting comforted by the coolness of her touch. He coughed lightly, his chest rumbling in response, as a rattle of sputum knocked around his alveoli.
He grimaced again as his mouth was gently opened to receive the thermometer his mother had been quick to be prepared with.
After a short moment, Frigga took the item back, noticing with concern that his temperature was a high one hundred and two degrees Fahrenheit.
"Allow me to get you some cold towels, my son," Frigga whispered, laying a hand upon Loki's cheek before scurrying out of the room to fetch her needed supplies.
Loki huffed underneath his breath before he sensed another, cooler presence in the room. He shifted to his back, eyelids slanting open to peer out and see his father. A beat in silence occurred; until Odin came to tilt his head and tsk, tsk lowly.
"My son, how is it that you wind up so often in these predicaments?" Odin's voice carried a heaviness that Loki could only interpret as shame.
His green eyes narrowed at his father.
"Maybe just to spite you, father," Loki flashed a sneer at him, of which Odin's shoulders merely sagged and he sighed deeply.
"Drink this, my son," Odin's voice cracked at the end of his sentence, as he held out a glass of Emergen-C water. It was from one of those packets claiming to work against sickness that Loki knew was more of a scam than practical as he began to voice to his father.
"You know, technically-" Loki protested, but Odin served him a stare that meant no funny business.
Loki smacked his lips closed, then reluctantly wrapped shaky hands around the cool glass.
As he began taking small sips, mother returned to the room with cold rags. She shot a glance towards her husband, hoping he hadn't provoked their boy in any way, then reached out and slid the towels onto Loki's forehead and around his armpits.
Loki managed to blush profusely as he lay in a swan position on his comforter, rocking with small shivers as the chills began to sweep him up and his father looked at him with almost malice.
He wanted to chide his father more, get him to snap because, well, if you can't beat your enemies, join them. But he knew his mother wouldn't agree, or worse wouldn't understand, so he kept his mouth shut and listened to her sing quietly to him as she encouraged him to get more rest.
He slipped into an uneven slumber before his heart could convince him otherwise.
Loki awoke groggily at noon, a small table lying over his lain form where a bowl of chicken noodle soup rested steamily.
The young adolescent swallowed reflexively.
How could he possibly eat this? After all the good he's done in the weight he's lost, how could he possibly forfeit his good work over a bowl of god damn soup?
Loki swallowed again, the house was empty.
Thor was busy at school not paying attention, mother and father were both at work, and Loki had been left instructions on how to care for himself on a floral notepad. He knew the instructions by heart now, as being sick was his natural territory. He hardly needed to remember which vial of medication to slurp down and which to avoid. He appreciated his mother's caring however, which is why he never said anything…about anything.
This is exactly the reason Loki made up his mind, climbed slowly out of bed, and trudged to the kitchen to dispose of his 'meal'.
He couldn't let his hard work be for naught. He had to keep fighting, he had to keep on losing the weight, he had to become better and perfect and loved and worthy.
All of which he was not as of yet.
He glanced at the bathroom as he passed it again, and decided to check on his weight once more. As he hopped on, the digital meter blinked one, two, three times before showing him the results:
122.4
Loki practically hissed and squealed at the same time. Hissed, because it was only a pound lower than a few days ago, and squealed, because he was lower already. He would attain his goal, which he had marked on paper on the back of his calendar.
He lifted up the kitty calendar and stripped the sticky note from its holder, re-circling the number that lay before him:
115
His green eyes glistened with water, as he imagined the fat slopping off of him and turning into a beautiful man respected by all that failed to notice him now. He would be glorious, he would be wanted, needed, and most of all, he would be loved.
This was his purpose. This was his dream.
Now it was time to make it a reality.
A/N:
Ohmygod. I am sooooo sorry it's been SO LONG since I updated this. I legit had the first four paragraphs written up July 10th 2016 and then proceeded to get stuck indefinitely. It didn't help that by the fall I got some concerning reviews that put me off from writing this content for a while, as well as the fact that I became unwell again myself.
Regardless, in my three day long writer's block, I have RETURNED with this update! I hope you guys enjoyed it, oh, us Loki hurt/comfort's we are! And that you stay tuned. I will not give up this fic, not ever! Thank you for reading! And please leave a review, thank you! *hugs*
PS This chapter was written with the background song "Recover" by Natasha Bedingfield which you will see again in the future. :)
April 2019 A/N:
Ooof, I'm getting close to the chapters where things get even darker, and is it messed up for me to say I'm really looking forward to it? Just such heavy foreshadowing that I'm keen on re-reading. I'm hoping that I'll be able to revise/write up the next few chapters today too, hopefully. Hopefully.
Leave me a review of what you're thinking about this story, please! :D
See you soon. xxx