Disclaimer: I still don't own Invader Zim or anything else that Jhonen Vasquez's mind has produced. Shocking, isn't it?
Now here's the next chapter. You will read it, you will review it, and you will enjoy it!
Gaz was waiting for me in the kitchen. On the table in front of her were a massive bowl and a box of Cheerios. What did the O's have to be cheery about? They were just going to get digested.
"You're really going to eat all of that?" I sat across from her.
She poured the cereal into the bowl up to the brim. "Nope. You are. Its breakfast time for you, Dib." She sauntered to the refrigerator and pulled out the orange milk carton. She poured in just enough to coat the bottom of the bowl. I couldn't cheat and say I didn't want it because it was soggy. Bitch.
"You can't make me eat, Gaz," I laughed. "And people think I'm the crazy one?"
She pushed the bowl in front of me and stabbed a spoon into it. "You're going to eat and you're going to fucking like it. Otherwise Tak and I will personally drag your butt down to meet my new stylist and we'll be having a spa day. Just us girls."
Did she really have to keep making jabs about my sexuality? I thought this was supposed to be some sort of anorexia intervention, not a hypocrisy convention.
"What are you waiting for? Eat."
I glanced down at the bowl. Make an idiot of myself in skool? Sure. Rescue some nerd from becoming pulp for hai skool lunches at the expense of my own leg? In a heartbeat. Feed my hand to carnivorous mutants? Easy. Fight to save the planet from aliens? Yeah, even if its been a while and I'm a little rusty, these people would still die without me. Shoot myself out of sheer boredom? Already did it!
Eat a bowl of Cheerios?
I wasn't so sure if I could do that.
My stomach contracted. It was a massive hunger pang, the type I hadn't gotten since going into the hospital. They'd made me at least pretend to eat three times a day there so I hadn't ever been quite this hungry since before the suicide attempt. (Failure). I thought I was going to be sick.
"If you eat you'll feel better." Gaz was smirking at me, no doubt laughing at how I was doubled over in pain just because I didn't want to eat. Eating like ravenous swine was something that guys my age did on a regular basis and this was my stomach's way of reminding me of that. "You're nutrient starved. I'm going to give you multi-vitamins after you finish eating. And a glass of milk, possibly some orange juice, too. You don't need your teeth falling out from scurvy. I will sit here all day if I have to. Now fucking eat." She snarled the last three words, pounding her fist on the table.
The spoon almost trembled hard enough to send the cereal flying from it when I scooped up a bite. Everything seemed to be "almost". Damn it. Couldn't I catch a break just once? Shit. As I chewed the cereal I started to salivate. That was a bad sign- I was getting truly hungry. A could feel the binge coming on and my sister was all too glad to help me with it.
By about the fifth bite I was stuffing my face. When the first bowl was gone Gaz refilled it, this time being generous with the milk. It was a miracle that I didn't vomit though I suppose the force-feeding in the hospital had helped my body be accustomed to taking in food. When the cereal was gone I ate whatever Gaz put in front of me, which, of course, was all health food. Pita chips, grapes, strawberries, a hunk of chicken left over from last night- really, I ate indiscriminately. She could have put raw meat from Krazy Taco in front of my and I'd have eaten it.
At some point she stopped putting food in front of me and I stopped eating. I hoped my stomach wouldn't rip open, spilling acid inside my body cavity to eat away at my internal organs while I died from sepsis. It was quite the relief when she didn't give me the milk and orange juice as promised- I didn't think my stomach could take any more.
"Go shower, Dib. You stink. I'll be waiting outside the door listening so don't even think about throwing up."
Gaz had reached extent of her capacity for sisterly caring. I hoped she never had children. They would grow up to be as mean as she was. I told her as much and she flipped me off. Nevertheless I obeyed her order, trudging to the bathroom that, as the frilly torture-chamber décor indicated, my sister allowed me to use.
xXx
Being clean felt surprisingly good. The whole process of taping a square of plastic over the gauze that protected the hole in my chest was a bother but it was only something I'd have to do for a little while longer. I had a doctor's appointment the next day to be declared a physically healthy individual and to be released.
It was a bit annoying that- since Gaz had thrown out all of my toiletries when I'd shot myself to make room for more of her things (she wasn't the grieving type)- I smelled like a girl. I think her shampoo was honeysuckle- and vanilla-scented or something along those lines. Other than that, though, I couldn't complain. She had relatively good taste.
"Besides, her conditioner made my hair really soft," I rationalized to myself, slipping a t-shirt on over my bondage pants. I wasn't ready to admit that I liked it.
I kicked a pile of jewel cases aside and sat at my desk. My computer stared back at me, its flat screen monitor gathering a bit of dust. I fished come canned air (which is really diflouroethane, if you want to get technical) and sprayed the dust off of it in a cloud. I did the same for the keyboard. Dust-free they seemed less neglected.
My finger itched to push the power button, to connect myself to the world beyond my bedroom. It was really easy but I wouldn't do it. Perhaps I was punishing myself for something I didn't know I'd done yet. I can't say for sure. All I know is that I straight up refused to turn on my computer. I sat staring at the screen for the better part of an hour until my sister pummeled my door saying that it was time for her to drive me to therapy.
Gaz watched me take my new anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, a multi-vitamin and a calcium supplement before we left. She even went so far as to grab my face and wrench my mouth open to make sure I wasn't hiding any of the pills in my cheek or under my tongue. Then I folded myself into her Volkswagen Bug and we were off.
Did I forget to mention that they'd taken away my driver's license? Yeah, they did. Or rather, Dad told them to. He didn't want me running away. He wanted me to recover in the safety of my own home.
Very funny, Dad, because we all know that mental illness is the sort of thing that just goes away on its own.
I didn't do anything productive in therapy. I didn't feel much like it. I still had indigestion and was pissed that my stomach was rounded because of the food I'd stuffed into it. Well… that's not quite true, the unproductiveness thing... When Dr. Morrison asked me again why I'd tried to kill myself I had this to say: "I thought I already told you. I needed a change."
After the appointment I went home and stayed up all night again, steadily drinking cup after cup of the tar-brew Dad called coffee. It made me jittery and alive. I started reading the leather-bound encyclopedia set that was stashed under my bed. There were at least two volumes of thin pages with dinky print for each letter.
When I was half was through the first "B" volume Gaz stormed into my room. She put a plate in my lap on top of the encyclopedia. On it was something that looked like it had crawled from the kitchens at McMeaties.
"Eat it."
"Gaz, thanks, but I'm still really, really full from earlier." It wasn't quite true but the hamburger on the plate looked like it was still alive.
"I said, EAT IT!" She stood in front of me, blocking my only escape route other than the window. Knowing my luck I'd throw myself out of it and die on accident.
I took a tentative bite of the burger. It was exactly as I remembered McMeaties' food tasting- flavorless except for the salt and dripping with grease. I had a hard time swallowing but, from the wicked stare she gave me, I didn't doubt that Gaz would shove it down my throat if I didn't comply.
She gave a curt nod of approval. "Good boy. Finish it. You need the carbs and the protein."
"I don't really like red meat, sis…"
"I don't care," she growled, "Healthy people need to eat light meals up to six times a day. The computer says so. Gorging you earlier was my way of proving a point and torturing you with it: you need to eat. This is the start of your six light meals a day. Next will be a salad in a few hours, if you're awake. You will eat it, you will digest it and you will be healthy, Dib. Deal with it."
I took another bite and the look of impending homicide left her face. That was a relief. She stuck around for the remainder of my meal, her attention focused on- what else?- her Game Slave. When I was done she took the plate back and sat outside my room for the better part of two hours, making sure that I didn't decide to shove my finger down my throat during one of my bathroom breaks.
Idiot. I glowered her after getting up to make a new pot of coffee and finding her tailing me, eyes glued to the game's screen. There was a difference between anorexia and bulimia! Bulimics were the ones that binged and purged. Anorexics just flat out didn't eat and sometimes went on exercise binges. My binging on food was just a freak occurrence. Eventually she went away and I resumed reading.
I got halfway through the D's by dawn.
A/N: So there we have it, minions. Love it? Hate it? Think we can improve? Think we're perfect? Well, then let us know! Reviewers get majorly loved on. No lie.
~ Invader Nae & justmacy