A horrid red mess. It was a horrid red, yellow and brown mess. It looked like a quagmire and it smelled like copper and sourness. The stark, rancid, acidic fumes rose, hitting my face and filling my nose, making me cringe. My mouth twisted into a grimace, my watery eyes tightened as the scent assaulted me, wetting my eyelashes in the small pools of tears.

I rested tired forearms on the porcelain bowl and bowed my head, breathing labored. My stomach tightened painfully as I heaved in breath and my throat felt as if I'd been swallowing razor blades – for all the damage I'd just done to it I might as well have been. I didn't bother brushing away the strands of hair that was sticking to my face, at the moment it was too much of an effort to do anything other than keep myself upright. My entire body was shaking, my knees weak, I felt like a car had just hit me.

In my fatigue I stared at the off white floor tiles that were no more than a foot in front of me trying to prompt my mind to concentrate on something and for gods' sake get a grip. They became hazy, mismatched squares as my eyes slipped in and out of focus and I couldn't remember that this was only my line of vision and the world wasn't actually blurry.

I turned my forehead that was resting on my arm to stare at the wall of the cubicle and thought somewhere in the back of my mind that it might be good to rest against Just for now, just for a few minutes. It wasn't a plush sofa but it might be okay.

I sluggishly removed myself from the death grip I had on the toilet seat and leaned my back against the hard cubicle wall, not bothering to flush, not really considering how disgusting it was to have been touching it in the first place.

I blinked dark eyes rapidly trying to clear my vision and drew my shaking knees to my chest, my face hot from exertion. As the concepts of time and place slowly became more recognized I could tell my mind was slowly catching up to speed, my body aching more as the adrenaline subsided.

Indeed enough I recognized that I was sitting on the filthy floor of the men's toilet in the local pizzeria, unable to gather enough energy to even stand up.

I recognized that I had just gotten onto my knees, plunged my fingers into my mouth and made myself regurgitate over and over again without a second thought. The knowledge of what I was doing made it impossible for me to pity myself – Because I had known it would hurt, I knew it was awful; furthermore I knew it was messed up and abnormal and I still did it.

I rested my eyes in my shaking palms as my mind cleared of guilt and urgency and the regret began to settle in. As it always does. The inevitable remorse that came when doing something so wrong sank into my blood like a stone into water. I mean, because it was wrong, wasn't it? There were a lot of people who needed to lose weight but how many of them would go so far as to make themselves sick?

In the midst of my regret I was a bit angry with myself. Angry at having to resort to such a vile act as purging, angry at being weak and angry that I'd given into it again. And I was ashamed, the act of throwing up your own nourishment in such a derogatory position, having to forcefully stick your own fingers down your throat to painfully force your food back up. It was just shameful, the weakness, the measures I let myself stoop to. The fact that I couldn't say no. I was acting pathetic.

Purging was far from pleasant. It took forever, it was physically demanding and it hurt to take such a large toll on the body. It wasn't the glamorous practice that movies and television made it out to be, it was nothing short of horrible.

Food restriction was okay, limiting calories was okay; I was fine with that, no matter how many people would tell me I was sick I would never believe them when I was restricting, because it made me feel good. It was when I binged and purged or just purged for no logical reason that makes me sometimes think maybe I am sick, it was my indicator that maybe something was wrong with me. Because what sane person does that?

To make it worse I knew, even with the knowledge that I was doing myself harm, I wasn't going to do anything about it. The ends justify the means - and the need to purge and restrict was far greater than the need to get "better".

Shouldn't that worry me? How apathetic I was about something that could potentially kill me?

But you need it.

I tried to even out my breathing, the shakes finally easing, and gathered enough wit to wipe away the sticky wetness from my hair and face. I must've looked like such a mess, with vomit over my face and hands, sweating, just holding myself up. I felt like a mess - better yet I felt like an idiot, a moron, because when had purging become necessary? The firm control I had over my actions were beginning to slip.

Rubbing my eyes wearily, I looked at my watch and saw that I'd been gone for 17 minutes. Yeah, like that wasn't suspicious.

The scenario: Friend who has eating disorder so willingly eats his pizza and then slips off to the bathroom taking much longer than it usually does to piss. No, not suspicious at all. Just glaringly obvious. You idiot.

I sighed quietly, unsure of what to do just yet, I'd certainly dug myself into a hole I wouldn't get out of very easily. I should be getting back soon, I have to get up. But what on earth could I say to my friends that seemed at least half plausible? Should I be annoyed that I knew they were going to assume and ask the obvious or should I be grateful? Would they be nosy or were they concerned? Over the last year or so I'd lost the clarity I'd once had to make that sort of judgment. Should that worry me?

As I was about to raise myself up, I heard the creaky swing of the men's bathroom door sway open and footsteps scuffle against the tiles. From the gap between the door and the grimy floor I could see familiar black muddy sneakers stop at my cubicle, and all was silent for a moment before a harsh knocking.

"Sasuke?"

I froze, hesitating to answer, and my mind raced, searching for every possible excuse. But I didn't know what to do, what should I say? He could see me on the floor, so he knew it was me. What do I say? Should I stand up, get out and pretend nothing happened? I mean it was obvious wasn't it, could I lie my way out of it? Be calm. Act calm. Don't look guilty, what's there to be guilty about?

Still unsure, I didn't say anything or move. My brain, to my frustration, refused to come up with any answers.

A few knocks were heard again before the nasally voice called out again loudly, the voice echoing on the tiles.

"Sasuke? Are you alright?"

I shuffled to my feet very quickly and brushed the imaginary dirt off me, thinking that was the smartest course of action for now. I didn't want, I didn't need to be caught out looking pathetic on the floor, although I knew he'd already seen me - but I could at least try to salvage some dignity. There was nothing more degrading than being found listless on the ground.

Mind still dashing madly, I made sure there was no vomit left on my face or in my hair, I opened the cubicle door, ignored Naruto and headed straight for the taps. I washed my face with the cold water, not bothering to make it warm and washed my mouth out. The blond teen came up beside me as I dried my face inspecting myself in the mirror, pretending that there was nothing wrong and that the small bathroom didn't reek of vomit. My eyes were red rimmed, my complexion was splotchy at best and I was, as always, impossibly fat.

How could anyone say otherwise when I could clearly see they were wrong? From the mirror I could see Naruto look at me appraisingly, scratching the side of his scrunched up nose awkwardly.

"You look like shit," he said loudly, verdict reached. "What the hell took you so long?"

I just glared at him through the mirror; maybe just for no other reason other than being so candid when it wasn't necessary, I wasn't in the mood for his shit. I set about drying my hands on the coarse paper towels, making doubly sure there was no dirt on my knees, what a dead giveaway.

"I wasn't feeling well," I snapped, suddenly feeling very impatient. I knew I looked like crap run over twice, I certainly felt like it - I didn't want to think about food, purging and morals let alone get into a conversation about it. Why should I have to explain myself?

Wanting nothing more than to ignore him I began to head back to the door, back to the restaurant and our friends, but Naruto blocked my path. Half taken aback by his stubbornness and half impatient I narrowed my eyes and tried to walk around him. He blocked me again, following my movements.

"I'm not stupid," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, eyebrow raised. Cocky little bastard.

"Could'a fooled me." I tried to get round him again, irritation beginning to simmer. His Save Sasuke crusade was getting very old very fast. But my insult didn't deter him (when does it ever?), and he kept standing there, looking at me expectantly, as if he thought I would burst into tears and confession.

The harsh, fluorescent lighting of the bathroom was beginning to give me a headache; I'd been in here too long. Impatiently, I rubbed my temple and waited for him to spit out whatever the hell he wanted to say. No doubt he'd turn this into a midday soap opera, shiny lights, soft background music and everything. C'mon, dramatize it already and we can be done.

"You were throwing up weren't you?" Ah, there it was, frank and on time, as usual, perfectly delivered - Naruto wasn't one to mince words. Anyone with an inch of tact might have said oh come on over here and sit down I think we should talk about this… but Naruto has as much tact as a snail had speed.

Maybe at any other time I would have appreciated his predictable attitudebut right now it was just adding to my growing annoyance. The lights, the headache, the pain in my stomach, his refusal to back down at all the wrong times were beginning to stress. I sneered at him, pissed off. What right did he have to question me over this?

"What's your problem? Mind your own fucking business." Apparently that was enough to confirm his suspicions about my 'actions' and he glared right back at me, his face disappointed.

"What the hell do you mean what's my problem? You're in here, supposed to be all better, vomiting your goddamn guts out and I'm not allowed to be worried?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to suppress the urge to yell back. I didn't like this, The Bathroom Inquisition.

I felt more anger bubble up at Naruto and myself. He didn't have to know that I was weak enough to resort to purging; I was supposed to be better than that. I could see how disappointed he was with me, I was disappointed with myself. I was supposed to be better than this. Yet I was livid that he was trying to interfere, and I knew he was just trying to help but in my short mood it came off as patronizing and belittling.

"There's nothing to worry about, I'm fine. Move the hell out of the way already."

The loud teen just shook his head mulishly and scratched his head, brow furrowed. He was not happy.

Was he trying to guilt-trip me? A voice in the back of my mind said no, Naruto has never been like that, but paranoia said otherwise. Should I feel bad about this? We were close friends and I was betraying his trust in me, after all, I'd flaunted my so-called recovery in his face. That had to mean something.

But why should I have to answer to him?

He shook his head again and ran a thoughtful finger over his lips. "I just fucking wish you would talk to me about this stuff, you know?" And with this he leaned against the wall, giving me free access to leave.

But I didn't leave, as much as I wanted to, as incredibly tempting it would be to ignore it all. He probably deserved a little more than me walking out on such a dramatic moment, and besides that would be giving him self-righteous satisfaction. Or maybe he was just lucky that today I was feeling lenient. I leaned against the sink, porcelain digging into my back, crossing my arms over my chest and avoided his face. I avoided answering altogether - How would you even begin to reply to that? I should save myself the drama and let him vent, I mean I think that's what he was trying to do.

"I mean look at you, you're all skin and bones again," he lies, throwing his hands up into the air, "I just can't understand why the hell you do this to yourself. You're not fucking fat Sasuke - I can't understand it!"

I shook my head and rubbed my temples again, not trusting myself to answer calmly. Just let him vent. His voice echoed off the white tiles and reverberated in my ears in some roundabout way of drilling the words into my head. I could listen all I want to his words but I didn't believe it. How could I believe it? I couldn't allow myself to even think what he was saying was true for even a moment - How could I trust his words when my own eyes told me differently? I knew that I wasn't in shape and I could see the kilograms on my body and no pleasant words were going to make that different. I wanted to believe him; I wanted to believe the scales when they told me I was underweight, but how was that possible when my reflection painted me so repulsive?

"Look, can we talk about this later?" I said tiredly, "Your voice is giving me a migraine." He gave me a meaningful look as if to say you bet your ass we will be but didn't argue, thankfully. We both walked out and joined our friends again. They were staring at us, weird but cheeky looks on their faces. What were they up to now?

"Nice pash rash, Sasuke," laughed Kiba. I frowned, what the hell was he on about? I just gave him the you're-an-idiot expression and slid into the booth, suppressing the urge to cover the lips I knew were reddened by my purging. I knew that would only amuse the dog lover and we can't have any of that.

Naruto slid in next to me and clapped me hard on the back, laughing along with him. I rolled my eyes – those two were as thick as thieves. They both were crude, immature and uncouth - way too alike for my tastes.

"Caught us!" He said, acting sheepish. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, wondering why he'd played along, subsequently lying. Was it to make himself look good or was it to cover for me? I guess I should be thankful either way, it was a believable cover given our history. I gave him a look I knew he'd understand and took a long gulp of my water. This night was turning out to be much more effort than I thought it would.

"You took long enough in there. Jesus, get a room!" I rolled my eyes again and discreetly elbowed Naruto in the ribs, pretending to lean back. The contact was enough of thanks for getting me out of jail card, he knew that. I tried not to feel guilty for doubting him, for assuming his intentions were unkind, because they never were.

Turning my attention back to my friends, it seemed that our faux bathroom make-out was already old news. I suppose it comes in handy that most of us had a short attention span.

"…and she walked up to me and was all like 'I'd like some'a that!' and rubbed her boo-"

"Aw, whatever man."

"Yeah right!"

"No! It's true I swear…"

Earlier…

Pulling my black sweater over my head I wondered why on earth I had agreed to go out for food tonight.

It wasn't that I didn't want to, because I did. Even if my friends were nosy, violent, rude, loud and altogether just weird I still grew up with most of them and they had never pissed off on me no matter how weird I was. I owed them that much, right? And I hate being in debt of any kind.

I used to enjoy the pizza nights that had become tradition in my group of friends, looking forward to them even. But now more than anything I grew terribly anxious over them, avoiding them as much as possible. I suppose that much had become obvious, which is why they were so determined to get me to go tonight. I'd caved in partly because I'd wanted to and partly because the words "back" and "off" were foreign to my schoolmates.

Inspecting my appearance in my mirror, pulling my belt on and trying to tame my hair (uselessly) I thought perhaps it wasn't so normal to be so afraid of doing something I've been doing for years.

I knew it was natural instinct to eat, to nurture oneself. I also knew what I was doing was technically considered to be putting my body into starvation mode, terribly unhealthy.

I didn't know why I did this to lose weight when I knew it was perfectly possible to do it the "healthy way" - A healthy, nutritious diet, regular exercise, plenty of fruit and vegetables and maybe a personal trainer. Or something.

I don't quite know how or when it became so inherently wrong to eat, how calories became scary and how the number of kilograms defined me, how food became unclean and being thin was purity. I don't know when it became wrong to want to take care of myself, to feel okay with myself. I knew I was making myself sick like this – it had gone way beyond trying to make myself healthy, I didn't care about that anymore.

But I couldn't go back to how I was before, completely uncaring about food and diet like a regular teenage male; it was like some distant fading memory. Furthermore, what reason did I have to go back? I was still fat, still disgusting, my job wasn't done. I think maybe I deserve this treatment.

After all, what kind of friend was I? What kind of brother was I? A terrible one, I mean really, if you look at it. And I'm not trying to be self-pitying either, it's the truth. In all my relationships with people I was emotionally detached, I wasn't particularly kind even to my closest of friends and, lets face it, I was the most self-centered person I knew. Everything I had done to this point in my life has been for my own selfish gain, stepping on whomever the hell I needed to.

These things that had before never bothered me, because it seemed that people accepted me for being such and I accepted myself.

But, in retrospect, they seemed like irredeemable flaws now. It was stupid, really. I knew I was being stupid and irrational and I should shut up because this is all so ludicrous but I couldn't stop thinking it.

Giving up on my helpless hair, I grabbed my phone from my bedside table and started texting to Naruto, my fingers swiftly pressing the small buttons of my phone like it was second nature.

I'll be there in 20. For gods' sake be on time.

I couldn't stand the ily c u l8er, k thnx bai style of writing that seemed to litter every text I received. I haven't spent my entire life being educated to write like I was an illiterate halfwit, no matter how convenient it might be. Closing my phone I grabbed my wallet, shoving it into my back jean pocket and fished out my keys from under a pile of clothes on the floor. I knew they would be there, organised chaos, that's all it was. Not mess.

Coming downstairs I saw Itachi sitting at the dining table, laptop on, typing away as usual, the bright light of the computer shining on his focused face. He'd been inundated with work lately, completely snowed under with paper work, poor guy. I felt kind of weird about leaving him alone but he'd already had the dinner I'd made for him, so he was looked after, I think. Relax, I thought to myself, he knows how to look after himself.

"I'm going out."

"Oh? Where to?" He asked, looking up.

"Pizza with they guys, I won't be home late," I said nonchalantly, like it was nothing, as if ridiculous anxiety wasn't eating away at me. Up until recently it was nothing, but nonetheless Itachi smiled, seemingly glad that I was "returning to my old self". Trying not to feel guilty, I gave a wave and I was off.

My friends were idiots. Tolerable, but foolish idiots. Whilst I didn't find flicking bits of garlic bread at one another particularly hilarious, it was somewhat amusing to see the team gang up on Naruto for instigating the mini food fight. He still hadn't gotten all the cheese out his hair.

It sometimes makes me nervous to think about friendship, about what it means, about what it means to me, what it means to them and if any of that even matters, and should it matter?

There had been a time, right after my parents had died that I'd refused to speak to any of them and they became nothing to me, I didn't want anything to do with anyone but my big brother.

The unsteady hand of friendship from children had hardly stacked up against the grief that had swallowed me, the grief I couldn't seem to let go of.

Seeing Neji at that time was probably the hardest, seeing him and his family reminded me of nothing more than my own predicament. At 8 Neji and I had probably been just as close as Naruto and I were now and after countless efforts of pushing him away his Hyuuga pride had gotten the better of him and we were distant for some time. I would have done the same, who wouldn't? How could I blame an 8 year old for thinking if you're going to be a bastard then who needs you?

We'd made up over time, but it was never the same and I guess we're both okay with that. It made nervous to think that I'd come to value these friendships over time when I had so strongly denied and protested against them not that long ago. I wasn't quite sure how I should feel about these things.

I should stop feeling guilty about the fickle nature of my childhood, up until recently I'd passed it off as being a kid but something in my mind kept pointing it out as one on my irreparable flaws. How ridiculous is that? I knew it an absurd notion that had no real bearing on the present and yet my head was running at a million miles an hour telling me the opposite. Why was my thinking so out of control?

"Are you sure you don't want the Meatlovers, Sasuke?" I turned to stare at the foolishnotsoloveableidiot and raised an eyebrow; this song and dance was beyond being unfunny. Was it really so amusing to see the same reaction over and over again?

"Are you sure you weren't dropped on your head as a baby, dog breath?" Kiba just gave a toothy grin and shook his head, ignoring the jibe as usual as he leaned deep into the red leather seating.

I think our group was beyond being hurt by the name-calling, it happened so frequently and with such fervour in the war to out-insult one another that it lost all edge. And in the war, my vegetarianism was a favorite point of attack from those thought the idea of abstaining from meat was hilarious. I'm sure it was hilarious in the beginning (to everyone else) but I'd passed the annoyed stage, the angry stage, the slightly irritated phase, the over it phase. Now names like "hippie" "tree-eater" and "pale-faced bitch" were almost as endearing as schnookums and honey-bun. A little bit off and odd, but almost endearing. I'm sure after all my shit there are worse things they could say to me.

"Don't worry," Naruto interrupted, "he'll come around and realize what he's missing someday - If not there's always force-feeding." Turning my head to the side I saw a cheeky expression flitter across his face and I smacked him half playfully, half annoyed upside the head. I knew he was joking but the idea of force-feeding was distinctly unpleasant for a few reasons, memories of being drip-fed entering my mind intrusively. But Naruto didn't seem fazed, so I dropped the subject quickly; he just stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry. Very, very mature.

"Oh your wit astounds me," I said sarcastically and began picking at the cheese of my pizza and chewing the tiny pieces slowly. I was one to prefer my own cooking but these wood-fired pizzas were amazing. I was entirely too tempted to pick up the pizza piece by piece and devour it as fast as I could because it smells so good and it is so tempting. Naruto opened his mouth to shoot back some retort when Kiba gets there first.

"As I was saying before, that eyebrow guy just came up to Gaara in the change-room and just starts hitting on him! Like fully going at it!" He exclaimed, laughing at the memory as if Gaara wasn't there, sitting to his left. Said red-haired just shook his head and punched Kiba in the arm "...and- ouch, Gaara, shit!"

"You moron. He wasn't hitting on me," the red-head spat but offered no other explanation. Kiba just looked at him as if to say oh whatever girlfriend! minus the clicking of the fingers and the stereotypical voice and continued.

"Oh that's right he wasn't all Oh Gaara," he mimicked, putting his hands on Neji's arms, pretending to feel him up, "Can I borrow your towel Gaara? Do you want to go out sometime Gaara? Do you want to go to feel my– Jesus Christ Gaara, stop hitting me!"

The red head just remained expressionless, sighing as if he was bored already. He probably was, he had even less patience for their antics than I did. But he still put up with it like a trooper; the violence was something I could approve of. I'm sure he was capable of worse.

Kiba was starting to speak again; mouth flapping about something that vaguely sounded like oh you should have seen the two-lovebirds before Gaara swiftly backhanded Kibas' outstretched hand holding a half-eaten pizza slice, causing the food to smack into his face. The group laughed (except Shikamaru, who just groaned at the commotion) as thick sauce and cheese covered his mouth as he blinked in shock.

Caught off guard by the action the dog enthusiast had a mildly surprised expression for no more than a second before he wiped his mouth on his arm and shoved the smaller boy.

"Asshole." Gaara only smirked; satisfied he'd gotten under his skin, before looking blank again. The red head was no push over, to the delight of some, to the annoyance of others, particularly Kiba, the biggest shit-stirrer of them all.

Not interested in getting involved, I looked around at my surroundings, mainly too keep my attention away from the food in front of me, and observed the people sitting in the booths around us.

People were strange. Some took large bites of their food, tearing at it with their teeth like an animal on a carcass. Others took tiny or medium sized bites, chewing, chewing, swallowing. Drink. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Others ate messily, leaving smears of sauce and grease on the sides of their mouths, on their lips, their clothing. Some were meticulous in keeping themselves neat, wiping the corners of their mouth with their white napkin after every miniscule mouthful.

People would laugh and speak with their mouth full of food, chewing, chewing, looking more like wild animals than the highly evolved, highly civilized species we all claimed to be.

But the worst thing of all was the sounds that we make when we eat. If you block out everything else and focus on the sheer noise that comes out of all our mouths when we masticate you come to realize how revolting it all seems.

But I wasn't doing that. My stomach rumbled, greedily begging for more than the bare minimum it had received today. Two mouthfuls of a salad sandwich and a stick of celery.

I was drawing my attention back to the greasy Italian food before me wholeheartedly, contemplating should I, shouldn't I? The pizza smelled like better times, looked entirely too enticing and I was so sick of thinking about food, I wish my brain would just shut off and function on empty.

Would a little bit hurt? I want to be normal. Just a little bite. Don't be an idiot. But it smells so good. You're disgusting. I'm so hungry. Don't you dare touch that!

Before I really knew what I was doing I was giving into the sensory sensations that had bombarded me since I'd walked through the door by lifting up a slice and biting into it. I savored the first bite, intending to have only that, but my taste buds were in overdrive, my stomach asking for more.

Before I could get a hold and stop myself, I would bite into it again and again and again. I would finish the slice.

But my hunger wasn't satiated, a little bit wasn't enough, it tasted so good and I hadn't had this in so long and I just wanted more, just one more. Lift, bite and finish, I was feeding my monstrous hunger slice after slice and just for a moment my brain stopped working, I stopped feeling and it was great.

This went on until I felt my stomach become very bloated, full, a feeling that I hadn't felt in a long time.

Stopping and looking down I'd realized I'd eaten at least 2 thirds of my pizza and before I could think about what I'd just done a deep panic settled into my stomach, making me feel sick. My mind cranked itself up again going at full speed, feeding on my panic, becoming unreasonable before I could stop it.

What have I just done? I've just ruined everything, all the days of restriction and exercise and resisting temptation, I'd been doing good. How many calories had I just consumed? How long would it take to burn off? What have I just put into my body? Why did I do that?

Anxiety clutched at my stomach painfully with an iron fist, creeping it's way into my veins, pinpricking me. This wasn't something I could just ignore or exercise off; I had to get rid of it.

Under the table I clenched and unclenched my fists, worrying. I had to get it out because it was making me feel sick and guilty and horrible and disgusting. I had to get it out, didn't I?

It felt heavy and oily in my stomach, reminding me of everything I'd just consumed – countless calories, saturated fats and god knows what else - I'd just fucked all my efforts up. I felt like I'd fallen asleep in an exam that I'd studied a month for.

Shit, what have I just done? You are so fucking disgusting, why did you do that? A heavy guilt laced through my body, gripping my thoughts, making me feel ill.

Wiping my mouth with my napkin and taking in a large mouthful of water, I slid out of my booth and stood up.

"Need to piss. Be back in a few."

A/N: I'd like to thank everyone for their kind reviews and being patient with me. This chapter was a pain in the ass, I'm not completely happy with it but I don't think I ever will be. That's okay.

This was officially the end of Orexis, no more, but the Leptos compilation will continue, but it might be a while because I have exams coming up.