A/N: So, I have a potty mouth when I'm angry. But, there have been studies that show that swearing actually releases endorphins. Arguably, in this state, Seb needs some endorphins.
He is numb. He would say he feels, but how can you feel numb? Isn't numb the opposite of feeling.
He just wants to sleep. Bed is good. A little itchy and crinkly, but good. He is safe in bed.
Why the fuck is Nick shaking him and making him sit up and talk?
Why in hell has Trent showed up with that blasted plastic bear and cheese crackers? He fucking hates peanut butter crackers, but the yellow fake cheese makes him want to vomit.
Why is Jeff sitting here, holding an entire box of popsicles, trying to tempt him to eat?
He finally takes a popsicle, to appease Jeff. He's thirsty and his throat burns from vomiting. The ketones from spending his day disconnected still mean a little extra acid in his stomach.
He won't talk to them, though.
He wants his mama.
His body shudders with the force of emotion. His face crumples. The tears are not and wet and fast.
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, if such a being exists, he wants his Mama.
But… she can't come. She has work. And, he has to be strong.
He feels a hand on his shoulder, and twitches it off violently. Damn it! He doesn't want to be touched. He doesn't want to be comforted. He doesn't deserve comfort. He deserves to wallow in his pain.
The bare wooden stick in his hand has magically transformed into another whole popsicle. He puts it in his mouth. Because.
His body starts to tremble as he eats.
When he finishes, he gets up, and hurriedly wipes his tears from his face. He goes to the bathroom, and shakily washes himself. Nick follows him, standing in the open doorway.
He balls his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms and waits for the shaking to stop.
He wants to test his blood sugar, but he's afraid to do it in front of the others. Last time he went low, Trent was angry, frightened, disgusted.
If they see the blood, they will be repulsed.
He can't go back to bed. David is collecting the candy wrapers, trying to hide his look of … interest? Hunger? Let David eat the stupid things, if he wants.
Fuck! He can't read people when he feels like this.
He washes his mouth with water, and swallows. Fuck, he's thirsty. He has to pee. He glares at Nick, who hasn't moved from the doorway and starts unzipping his trousers.
He's standing there, midstream with the bathroom door wide open when the EMTs burst into the room, the old, fuddy rector hot on their heels.
He steels himself, and puts on his most charming smile. He is the fucking master of control.