WC: tba!
Trigger Warnings: disordered eating, paranoia, self hatred, parental abuse and hallucinations
Chapters
ch1 | ch2
Brandon sits at the kitchen table, eating a sandwich comprised of nothing more than warm bread and melted cheese. There’s no emotion in him as he eats, and he stares straight ahead at the middleground.
How many “meals” did this make for today? Four? Five?
He didn’t care. As long as it made him feel something, it didn’t matter.
…Not that he felt much of anything right now. His mind is devoid of anything save for scathing remarks about his eating habits. How he’s getting fatter. How he’s going to die sooner than later if he keeps this up.
He’s doing all he can to ignore them all.
There was a reason he was like this, of course. Something that had set him off. But that was two cheese sandwiches ago. It’s not like he remembers anymore.
The microwave beeps.
Ah. Meal six.
+++
From birth Brandon had been overeating. It was nobody’s fault really, but circumstances added up. A combination of his mom popping a bottle in his mouth whenever he cried as a baby and him finding natural comfort in eating.
It, as many things do, spiraled from there.
Brandon grew to find out eating brought comfort, yes. But it also brought a feeling of nothing if the situation was bad.
Sometimes nothing was better than something.
+++
Brandon stares down at his planner, devouring a large bag of puffy cheetos. There’s about two weeks worth of homework he hadn’t done that’s starting to encroach on him and beginning to bite him in the ass.
His I’ll do it tomorrows had doubled and quadrupled until here he was, drowning in assignments.
He reaches for another cheeto only to be met with an empty bag. Frustrated, he tosses the fourth bag he’s had in that hour into his trash bin and roughly pushes himself away from his desk.
“Stupid fucking… who even does homework?” he grumbles as he heads to the kitchen. “Waste of time… waste of a good day… waste of space…”
He starts to breathe heavily. “Waste of space… shouldn’t even exist…”
Brandon stops short at the kitchen and stares at the pantry. Did he even deserve another bag of chips? Wasn’t he just blowing through their already tight budget by being so stupid and going through bag after bag without care?
He suddenly feels sick.
A quick turn leads him to the living room couch, where he falls face first into it. Breathing is not easy while like this, but Brandon can’t find it in himself to move. Eventually, he dozes off with voices berating him for being alive.
This was a good way to feel nothing too.
+++
“Here,” Sue says one day at lunch, interrupting Brandon from gnawing on his sweater. They hand him a couple of granola bars.
Brandon snaps them up, but still has a confused look on his face while unwrapping one. “What’s all this?” he smirks, burying his actual emotions. “Gifts from my good buddy Sue all of a sudden?”
“You always get antsy around tests,” is all they say, shrugging. “That, and you finished your lunch in about 5 seconds. You must still be hungry.”
Brandon blinks mid bite. They had noticed his obsessive eating? They had noticed it enough that they were able to pinpoint that it started getting worse around tests?
He swallows, giving a fake grin. “Aww! You’re so sweet, Sue.” He lids his eyes then, expression growing wry. “So what date should I be looking out for today?”
“None,” Sue says. “I think your tests are doing more to you than I ever could, anyways.” They stick out their tongue a little bit, playful smile on their face.
Bart and Paige laugh, and Brandon joins in a little late, a little weaker.
Sue had no idea how right they were.
+++
Saturday again.
Brandon wants to throw his phone at the wall.
Paige, Sue, Bart… all of them were busy. Just like last week. And the week prior.
It wasn’t like he doesn’t see them in school everyday of course. But that was school. They should be able to hang out like normal kids, right?
What about you is normal? something echoes in his head. You’re overweight, you’re stupid, you can’t focus on anything, you’re a speck in the universe that won’t amount to anything… shall I go on?
Brandon wants to bash his head into the wall.
He doesn’t, though.
Instead, he gets up and makes his way to the kitchen, barely paying attention. It’s all muscle memory that guides him down the stairs and where he wants to be. He just barely processes his mom watching the TV in the living room.
“Buenos días, Mijo,” she calls, a laugh in her voice. “About time you woke up, no?”
Brandon doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he opens the fridge with lidded eyes. “Mami,” he calls out, “Do we have anything to eat?”
“You’re already looking in the fridge, aren’t you?” his mom laughs. “You tell me!”
Brandon hums but says no more, choosing instead to scan the contents of the fridge. There’s a bunch of stuff, actually, but nothing that’s already premade. Nothing quick. Nothing easy.
This essentially means there is nothing in here.
Brandon sighs, moving over to the cabinet and pulling out a large bag of doritos.
“I’ll be in my room, Mami,” he says as he passes by her again to go back upstairs. “Call me if you need me.”
“Okay! Don’t eat all the chips, okay?”
“Mmm…” Brandon mumbles.
He intends to do just that, after all.
Brandon spends the rest of the day in front of his computer screen watching inane videos about things he didn’t actually care about, munching on whatever he could. Eventually he gives in and microwaves three different TV dinners they had, carefully timing it so his mom wouldn’t be in the room for the third one. She’d only be mad at him for eating so much.
His eyes cross as he hears her voice in his head anyways, yelling at him for rushing through everything they’d just bought. Some part of him wants to rip his hair out. Another part wants to lie down and never get back up.
Whatever. He takes another bite of his not warm enough burger and clicks on a new video.
Tomorrow would be much of the same.
+++
“Brandon Ariel Aguja!” Carmen shouts, and just like that he knows he’s in trouble. “¡Bajarse ahora mismo!”
“Ugh,” he groans. “I’ll be back guys,” he waves at the rest of the Bro Crew, upset. They were all on video call together.
He mutes his microphone and turns off his camera before trudging downstairs. “¿Si?” he calls as he comes down the stairs. He’s trying to concentrate the maximum amount of Innocent Brandon he can right now. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you dare try that little voice of yours!” Carmen frowns angrily. She’s pointing at a piece of paper that’s held sideways, a neat box on it filled with other boxes which hold scathing marks.
It’s his report card.
“What is this?” His mom is so angry. “You told me you’d work on this!”
“I am!” Brandon frowns, strained. “I—I just—I—” He’s struggling.
“You just what, Brandon?”
“I just got—I…” He’s got nothing. He didn’t even try to come up with an excuse while coming down. He sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t have an excuse.”
Carmen crosses her arms. “You don’t have an excuse,” she repeats. “Brandon, you got all A’s last quarter! This time you’re getting D’s? An F?” She points to the different scores on the paper. “You were doing so good! What happened?”
The memory of getting Tiesha to fix his grades for him last quarter burns in his head. “I…”
Carmen groans. “You know what? I don’t care. You clearly don’t have anything to say for yourself, so whatever.” She hands the paper over to him. “Do better,” she huffs before leaving and going upstairs. Brandon stands there as she leaves him until the sound of her bedroom door opening and closing happens.
Brandon’s eyes lose focus as he stares down at the paper. Was he trembling? He couldn’t really tell.
He quietly sighs after what feels like forever, walking over to the fridge. As he walks, he passes by the garbage bin, which he swiftly drops his now balled up results into.
Wonder if there was anything to eat.
+++
His mom isn’t home when Brandon bursts into his house. She had left to spend time with his aunt Quinn doing who cares what.
He was so mad. He was so mad.
After what felt like a good start to something, Leaf had to go and ruin everything.
Brandon angrily trudges into the kitchen and goes for the pantry. There were about two or three big bags of chips left, right? And some cookies if he recalls correctly.
Stupid Leaf. Stupid idiot who still saw him as Bad Brandon after he had successfully locked that part of himself up and thrown it away. As if Leaf wouldn’t have known, what with being a part of Paige. They had to know about Brandon’s little hike through the woods. Paige was literally there with him the whole time!
But no. Leaf, whoever they claimed to be, clearly didn’t know Brandon very well.
The teen scoops up whatever he fished out from the pantry in his arms and goes to his room where he deposits them on his bed. Time for the stuff in the fridge.
If nothing else, Brandon can now be assured that Paige can’t be lying about having some other person in his body. He didn’t really get it entirely, and he still really doesn’t, but he didn’t really have to, did he? All he knows is that someone else in Paige is pretending to know him when they didn’t, not really. Hell, they were using underhanded tactics just to try and get something out of him!
…Which he knows would have worked if he were still Bad Brandon.
…Which doesn’t make any sense!
Why do they know about Bad Brandon but not him? Why not normal, everyday Brandon when Paige did? It didn’t add up and it was pissing him off even more!
Steaming, Brandon collects some things from the fridge before slamming it closed and going back up to his room.
This Leaf stuff was just confusing. And it pissed him off that they would ask him something stupid and shitty like that.
And so, back in his room, at his desk and a video loaded, Brandon eats.
Chapter 2: Subject: Orville Squeeze Jr. / Disorder: Bipolar induced Psychosis
Chapter 2: Subject: Orville Squeeze Jr. / Disorder: Bipolar induced Psychosis
Click!
“C’mon, you can smile wider than that, kiddo!”
Orville forces his smile to be bigger. It hurts a bit.
“Th-ere we go!” the man behind the camera cheers. “Just like that! You’re a star! Be proud of yourself!”
Orville had just won his first tap dancing competition. He’s now having various and copious amounts of photos taken of him, his partner also being photographed just a couple feet away.
The boy fights back a frown every second, uncomfortable. He wasn’t particularly fond of having his picture taken, but…
Gazing away from the bright flash of the cameras, he can see his mom in the crowd, still jumping and hollering with joy.
These pictures would make for good memorabilia for her, wouldn’t it?
“Kid, kid,” the cameraman groans. “This way!”
Orville snaps to attention and gives another weak smile. He wishes this was over with already.
“There we go!” the cameraman smiles. “You kids are so young, y’know?” he continues for some reason. “You’re gonna have everyone know your names after this!”
Orville blanches. Surely this man was exaggerating.
“C’mooon, smile!” the cameraman complains again. “The whole world’s watchin’, kid!”
Orville stiffens.
The whole world? Watching him? After he had put on such a scuffed performance that anyone worth their salt could glance at and call out as sloppy?
Orville’s breathing picks up.
The cameraman then, blessedly, lowers his tool. “Hey, you okay?” he asks. “You need to take 5?”
Orville, feeling sick to his stomach now and unable to respond verbally, just nods. He then absconds as soon as he possibly can.
He remembers later that night feeling so, so sad. Devastated. He had messed up in front of the whole world.
“Mama,” he mumbles quietly the next day, head hung low, “I don’t… I don’t think I wanna dance anymore.”
Not ever, he thinks. Not if the world is watching.
His mom is confused, but nods. “Okay, little man.” She bends down to his height and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Do you wanna tell me why, though?”
Orville shrinks in on himself before mumbling, “The whole world is watching.”
Dani tilts her head. “What d’you mean by that, Orv?”
The boy shakes his head. “The whole world is watching,” he repeats, unable to find other words. “I… I don’t want to be watched…”
Tears are beginning to form in his eyes and Dani is quick to shush him.
“Okay, okay,” she says, scooping him up and bouncing him. “No tears, Orv. No tears.”
Orville cries anyways. He finds he can’t keep it inside of himself anymore, and he clutches at his mom’s neck.
“I-I’m sorry…” he despairs through tears, “I’m s-sorry…”
“Hey, hey.” Dani holds him impossibly tighter. “There’s no need to be sorry. You don’t wanna dance anymore, right?” Orville breathes heavily and shakes his head. “Okay. Then you don’t havfta.” She pulls him away just to look at him in his gross feeling face. She gently knocks their foreheads together and speaks quietly. “You don’t havfta, okay?”
Orville has since stopped crying, but he sniffs heavily. He finds talking is difficult, but he manages one word.
“O-okay.”
The next day, Orville is unenrolled from the program to the extreme disappointment of seemingly everybody.
None more so than his father, though. In fact, he’s more than just disappointed.
He’s furious.
“You won one competition,” he scolds, a steely gaze staring down unapologetically at his son. “I paid for several years worth of lessons.”
“I-I…” Orville tries, only to find his throat is rebelling against him. “I…” he tries again.
“You,” his father breathes, eyes squinting with malice, “Are a money sink. See if I agree to some frivolous thing you want after this.” And with that, he storms off.
Orville does not think he will ask for any extracurriculars from now on.
+++
“He’s weak,” Orville remembers overhearing his father say on the first day of his new martial arts class. “Make him strong.”
The Bronx Box Center was a place where several different sects of self defense classes took place. As for why he was here, well…
Orville is in 3rd grade when he returns home one day with a nasty black eye. His mom is distraught, but his father simply frowns.
A few days later, he finds himself here.
“You got it, sir,” the person accepting the money nods, flipping through the bills. “This is only good enough for the week, you know that?”
“Yes,” Orville’s father confirms politely. “We’ll be going week by week, if that’s okay. Previous things such as this…” he trails off before turning and locking eyes with a distracted Orville who was supposed to be changing.
…Did the air turn colder all of a sudden?
His father turns back to the tiller and flashes a bright smile. “Well, let’s just say they did not last very long.”
“Gotcha,” the worker nods. “Well, hopefully the little guy gets his money’s worth here, huh?” They smile. “What’s his name again?”
“Orville Jr.,” his dad answers, eyes crinkling. Time for his favorite line. “Like mine, but smaller.”
Weaker, Orville can hear between those lines. Beneath me.
The child’s breathing is suddenly speeding up.
There was no way he was allowed to fumble this. After all…
Click!
Orville blanches.
…The whole world was watching him.
+++
Judo is actually a lot more enjoyable than Orville thought it would be. He continues going for several months, slowly climbing through the ranks. White to yellow, yellow to orange, orange to green…
Orville hasn’t smiled so genuinely proud of himself in a while. He confidently holds his new blue belt high in the air, admiring it.
Click!
A shutter sounds off somewhere. Orville eyes widen as he pulls the belt down, rapidly looking all over the room. His teacher is standing with her phone in outstretched hands. They’re about the same height, so he can’t even see her face past the thing.
“Aw, c’mon, Orv!” she's laughing. “I know you don’t really like pics, but you’re our first blue belt in a long ass time! A couple pictures can’t hurt, surely?”
Orville’s whole world is shifting around him. Suddenly the room feels really far away. Instead, the boy finds himself cornered, surrounded by cameras. They go off one after the other, again and again and again.
Orville’s breathing hitches as he covers his head. No, no, no. He was doing so good here. He couldn’t ruin this now.
“Hey,” he can hear just barely through the snaps of cameras, “Orv, buddy? You good?”
A hand reaches out of the amalgam of cameras and Orville panics immediately. Luckily, with his newly acquired blue belt, he doesn’t have to worry too long.
The boy grabs the arm and pushes his legs far apart enough to make himself sturdy. He then uses his whole upper body to twist and flip his assailant until they’re on the ground in a heap.
He can hear his surroundings again suddenly, gasps and stunned noises filling his ears. He blinks, standing up straight again and looking around.
He’s back in the center.
“Ugh…” his instructor, now splayed out on the floor like an upturned turtle groans. “Okay. No pics,” she coughs. “Got it.”
Orville takes a deep breath.
And then he sprints out of the room.
He collects his things from the locker rooms with watery eyes. Checking his phone hastily, he can see his mom wasn’t to pick him up for a few hours more.
He could always call her. He knows she wouldn’t have a problem picking him up early.
…But that would mean sticking around here and waiting. The embarrassment that floods Orville’s senses is too unbearable to even think about considering that.
So, after making sure he’d gotten absolutely everything, the child sneaks out of the building and makes a b-line towards the nearest bus stop. He’s like 9, he knows how to ride all by himself.
He composes himself as he waits for the bus to come, scrubbing at his eyes and trying to neutralize his expression. When it comes, he’s careful to keep his face blank as he boards. He slips in his two-way metrocard and sits near the back of the bus.
His stop wouldn’t be for a while now. He tries to keep his breathing even for it all.
He just barely manages to succeed… until he reaches his house. There he immediately crashes onto the couch and bawls his eyes out.
He had messed up. Again.
And, just as promised, the whole world was watching him.
+++
His father is upset with the news. He makes it very known.
Orville does not return to Judo classes.
+++
Bang!
Orville pushes up and off from his kneeling position, rushing forward. Kids of all sizes tear up the ground with him, all running towards the same goal.
The boy has been in this track and field class pretty much all year now. He’s 12 now and with his newfound lease on life after moving in with Sam—his new mom—he feels as free as an uncaged bird.
Things were finally starting to look up for him. He could finally take pictures without freaking out (even if it was only if it was by someone he trusted) and the world would remain normal. He was doing something he felt proud of again, something that motivated him. Something that he felt he could really make his own.
Orville is running, running, running. He can feel all the stamina in his small kid body slowly tick away with each time he sticks out a foot. His breathing is strained. His muscles ache.
He feels alive.
There’s someone right behind him, encroaching on the win he wanted, the win he deserved. He had, at some point, gained his ma’s competitive nature. He had to win. There was no other way for this to end.
…The whole world was watching him, after all.
Orville’s breath hitches suddenly and he shakes his head and then he’s tripping over his own two feet and he falls onto the coarse dirt underneath him and everyone else wizzes by.
From where he lies on the ground, cheek grinding into the dirt, Orville takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
Okay.
So, he had lost. And he had lost bad. The ground was silent next to him, signifying the rest of the runners had long finished.
But!
But, but, but!
He could recover from this. No, losing was not on the docket, and he wishes he hadn’t screwed up at the last moment. (he had landed right in front of the finish line) but! This was not the end.
He would make sure of it.
He can finally focus enough to open his eyes, only to be greeted by some folks looming over him. They shade him well from the blinding sun and he’s glad for it for just a moment.
Then he blinks hard and looks up proper.
…Every person above him has their phone out. They’re giggling.
Orville’s first reaction is fear. He wants to curl up on himself and try not to cry. He had messed up. Again. And the whole world was watching.
…And then he gets mad.
From seemingly out of nowhere, Orville is filled with a burning rage he’s never felt before.
The whole world was watching him, huh? Well why the hell weren’t they doing anything? Here lies a young child face first in the dirt and all the people around him can do is point and laugh?
A growl rips its way out of Orville’s throat as he lifts up. “What is your problem!?” he shouts at the people who now surround him in a loose circle. Their phones are still out.
They’re recording you, something in the back of his mind says, but he finds he can’t quite care at the moment. So what if they’re recording him? It would just show proof of their negligence. Proof that he was in the right for getting angry.
“You all watch me trip and fall and you do, what? Crowd around me and point and jeer and try to make a fool of me?” He stomps his foot, malice sharpening his gaze. “I will not have it! I don’t care who’s watching, I refuse to accept this botched defeat by the hands of you all!”
He’s breathing heavily as he stops, glaring at the children who now surround him. Their phones are finally down. Their mouths are agape and they look…
Scared.
They all look scared.
Oh.
They all look scared because of him, don’t they?
All the wind is knocked out of Ovrille’s sails as the anger drains from his body and leaves him with cold exhaustion. Disappointment in himself stabs through his chest like a wooden stake. It's rough and unevenly carved and it has the intent to kill.
Orville trembles. He feels disgusted. How could he have a blow up like this? At school of all places? He was supposed to be an A student. Teacher’s pet. Golden child. He was always these things. He was… He was…
He was going to throw up.
+++
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says the second he climbs into the RV with Sam.
“Sweetie…” Sam mumbles from where they sit in the driver's seat. “They said you caused quite a scene. Are you sure you don’t wanna—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Orville hisses. He crosses his arms and curls up sideways in the back seat, shutting his eyes angrily.
“...Okay, honey,” Sam sighs.
Orville has to fight back sobs all the way home.
+++
There’s a video.
Everybody in the school has seen it. They make fun of him, calling him a freak and labeling him the smart kid who’s actually crazy, so don’t mess with him.
Orville wants to cry. He wants to hide away and never be seen again. He wants to leave the city, the state, the country, the world.
There was no salvaging this. He had failed. Again.
+++
Orville switches schools at the end of the semester.
+++
Orville taps quickly at his keyboard.
Bipolar
Bipolar 1
Bipolar 1 in teens
Bipolar 1 test
Manic episode
Depressive episode
Aripiprazole
Aripiprazole side effects
Eventually he has more than enough tabs open to begin his research.
Now, Orville had found himself down rabbit holes similar to this before. He often learned about mental sciences, something that intrigued him a fair amount. The mind worked in mysterious ways after all, and Orville liked knowing the types of ways people could tick.
But today was different. Today he was about to weather the final frontier.
His own mind.
Now, Orville wasn’t dense or anything. He knew having kids call him bipolar like it was his name meant nothing.
But the doctor’s referral note said otherwise.
Tomorrow he and his moms would be going to pick up his new medicine to treat his now diagnosed bipolar 1 disorder.
Most of the questions they had asked him were now just a blob of words that held little meaning in his head. He remembers keywords like irritable and depressed and overly excitable, but most of the structure and context behind said words were gone.
That was okay though. That’s what the internet was for.
Orville scours the web for every piece of information he can gather. Even when he’s yawning every two seconds and his eyes are watering from it, he just dries them and powers through it.
At some point birdsong graces his ears. He checks the time.
…When had it become 5 AM?
The teen sighs and shakes his head. Didn’t matter. He was so close to being done with his research. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
+++
Orville startles awake.
“There’s my little man,” his ma says as he looks up at her, one hand rubbing his cheek. He had fallen asleep on the keyboard and was dearly paying for it now with the imprints left on his face.
“Mm… morning,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes now. “What’s up?”
“What’s up is that it’s nearly 2 PM on a weekend and I have yet to see my little dude all day!” Dani smiles, giving Orville a light noogie.
The boy smiles a bit, pushing his mom’s hand away. “Sorry,” he says earnestly, glancing away. “I think I got too caught up in my research last night.”
“Oh? What’s the hot topic, Orv?” Dani asks, leaning over him and taking a look at his screen. He has no idea what article he was looking at last. He panics just a bit.
“Oh, you were looking up your thing, huh?” his mom asks, lifting back up. “That’s smart. I should probably do that too now that I think about it…” She has her hand to her chin.
Oh. That reaction was leagues better than the out of nowhere fear that his mom would hate him suddenly because he had decided to research something. Especially since it had to do with him.
He feels dumb all of a sudden.
Of course his mom wouldn’t react like that. Did he really think that little of her?
His eyes well up without his say so. God there was something wrong with him.
“Orv?” He can see her frown through his unshed tears. “Orville, what’s wrong, honey?”
Orville screws up his face and takes a deep breath before pushing his face into his mom’s stomach. “I-I’m sorry!” he bawls immediately. “I’m sorry!”
“Hey, hey!” he hears his mom try to soothe, patting him on his head. “I-it’s okay, buddy! You didn’t do anything!”
“There’s something wrong with me!” he wails.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Orville,” Dani says. Though it sounds sincere, Orville can’t find it in himself to believe it quite yet. “You’re my little guy. My favorite kid in the whole world, okay? There’s nothing wrong with you, and even if there was?” She pulls him away from her and bends down to his level before putting her hands on his shoulder. “It wouldn’t matter. You know why?” Orville, miserable, shakes his head and rubs at his eyes. Dani gives a determined smile. “‘Cause I love you. And nothin’ is ever gonna change that.”
Orville looks at his mom, a myriad of emotions rushing through him.
“I-I…” he tries, only to sniff so hard it makes him cringe. “I l-love… you too…” he manages.
“I know, kiddo,” Dani says, engulfing her son in a blessedly tight hug. “I know.”
+++
It takes a few weeks, but Orville adjusts to his new medicine very well. Sure he found himself a lot thirstier than when he started, and he was also pretty drowsy some days, and sometimes he had impulses and urges he could never explain, but…
At least things aren’t so rough anymore. In fact, it takes until he finally has a clear head to even realize things were rough to begin with.
He’s set to start 9th grade soon. Things would be good at this school. He’d be calm and normal and he wouldn’t do anything outrageous anymore.
He was going to be the good kid he always was destined to be. His moms would be so proud of him. He would be proud of himself.
Orville smiles at his reflection in the mirror. He’s in his brand new uniform and he looks pretty snazzy, too! He was so excited to start this new chapter of his life.
Tomorrow would be great.
+++
“You can’t keep leaving for bathroom breaks every two minutes, young man,” his new Social Studies teacher frowns after he asks for the third time this period.
“But—” he starts, only for her to raise her hand swiftly.
“Go,” she instructs. “But you will stay glued to that seat from now on, okay?”
Orville nods and shuffles his way out of the classroom’s door.
+++
“Hey,” Dani says one day as Orville’s in the fridge pulling out his 5th juice box this past hour. “Kiddo, how many does this make?”
“Um,” Orville mumbles. Would he get in trouble if he told the truth?
Dani crosses her arms in front of her. “Orville,” she frowns.
“F-four or five…” he answers, glancing off to the side.
“Four or five?” Dani repeats in disbelief.
“I’m really thirsty!” Orville defends, shoulders shooting up to his ears.
There’s a hand on his head suddenly and he looks up. His mom looks worried. “...How long have you been this thirsty?” she asks cryptically.
“I-I don’t know…” he murmurs. “It just started one day, I guess.”
“Was it about a month ago?” Dani presses.
Orville rubs the back of his neck. “I guess…? I don’t really know…”
Dani frowns. “...I gotta go talk to Mandy, little dude,” she says, catching him off guard. What? What did Sam have to do with this? “Meanwhile, you do me a favor and switch to water for now, okay buddy?” She punctuates it with a light noogie.
“O-okay,” Orville nods weakly.
Dani nods herself before walking away. “MANDY!” she calls into the house.
“WHAT?” sounds back.
“Where are you?”
“Bedroom!”
“Okay, stay right there!”
The redhead looks back at her son one last time before she heads upstairs.
Dread suddenly fills Orville. He would say he’s not even thirsty anymore, but…
He swallows. It’s dry.
…Looks like he’d have to pour himself some water soon.
+++
Orville finds himself at his PCP the next day. They poke and prod at him and he’s tired with it by the third needle that’s been pushed into him.
He hopes he never has to see another needle in his life.
+++
Only a few days later, Orville is being driven home with a bag filled with several pens of medicine, all brimming with insulin.
He does really well that night and absolutely does not cry at all. His pillow was simply a traitor and a liar.
+++
His aripiprazole dosage is raised.
Orville feels like nothing can defeat him.
+++
The doctors say he’s been having a manic episode for the past 3 weeks now. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.
They lower his dosage.
Orville feels like the smallest thing in the world.
+++
The medicine’s been messing with him. He starts getting irritable again. He’s just outright mean in some circumstances, even.
Then, if he’s not mad, he’s sad.
Then if he’s neither one of those, he’s elated.
It’s… tumultuous to say the least. But it wasn’t as bad as things used to be.
He could deal with this.
+++
Paige throws a second dart and it hits. He actually won. Twice in a row. At a rigged game.
The same game Orville had just spent so long trying to beat.
Anger, sadness, joy… All of them whip around in his head. He feels the cameras trained on him. They’re primed and ready for his outburst. He’s about to throw everything away on this date he had just barely managed to somehow shimmy his way into.
Then Paige turns to him and goes, “Okay! Which one do you want now?” He’s completely oblivious to the horrors Orville is about to bring forth.Completely in the dark on how much he’s about to ruin everything.
After all…
“OJ?” Paige asks, sounding and looking worried. “Are you okay?”
“Yes!” Orville gasps, pulled out of his reprieve. “Yes, yes, I’m quite fine. I just…” He takes a breath. “I was just surprised! Even when I win at this game, it normally takes me a good couple of shots between wins!”
Paige smiles blindingly at him, giving him a peace sign. “I guess I’m just lucky!” he beams. “Now c’mon! Pick one, pick one!”
Despite his emotions exploding just a moment ago, Orville finds himself calmed. He was here. He was present. He was on a date with Paige and he couldn’t be happier.
With these thoughts in his mind, he finds he’s able to laugh. “Okay, okay!” He walks over to the stand next to Paige and inspects the stuffed animals. “Um… let’s see…”
+++
“You want me t’ sleep with you?” he finds himself asking Paige later that night. The other had kind of asked him out of thin air. Sure he fumbled his way through it, but honestly? That just made it cuter.
The other is in the middle of backpedaling when Orville just giggles. “M’ve over.”
It’s not long until he’s facing Paige, arms wrapped around the present that he had won him, slowly dozing off.
Here, in his bed, laying with his favorite person, Orville was safe.
No cameras could catch him here.
For just once in his life, Orville can confidently say the only person watching him was Paige. And honestly?
He could get used to that.