Nobela ni Ahbryellx

I wake up not dreading the day because Ander is by my side. I turn, moving closer to him and inhaling more of his scent. It's so intoxicating, it does nothing to help my morning wood. I can't do anything about it though because since I agreed to be his friend, Ander hasn't made a move on me sexually. Yes we cuddle and feed each other and can't get enough of the other's presence, but nothing sexual. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad one. Ander shifts in the bed too, turns to face me but isn't awake. I stare at his peaceful face. He never looks like this when he's awake, always has his face scrunched up like an unlubed butt plug was shoved in his ass for too long. I'm tempted to push the curls off his face and I do. Passing my fingers through in a faux attempt to untangle the strands. As much as I hate to admit it, Ander is the reason I'm on this bed right now. If not for him, I probably would be a rotting corpse in the bathtub. Sometimes I consider telling him this truth

If anybody were to call me a crazy person, I wouldn't fight them. Instead, I'd give them a trophy for telling the truth. I am a crazy person, and this realization is driving me even crazier. Why am I crazy? I'm crazy because I'm parked in the driveway of my girlfriend's house. Evana was the 3rd year film student I spilled my drink on when I was drunk off my ass at a party. Unlike the expected reaction, she apologized to me instead and sat with me till I sobered up. She's funny and interesting but I never liked her romantically. I still don't, but somehow it feels like there's this pressure on my shoulders to be perfect. I see Ander with his mood swings and tantrums — things that make him the dysfunctional person he is. But I can't be like that. I'm to be the better son. And the better son likes women. Evana comes out of the house in her usual clothing. A cottage skirt, shirt just a size smaller than hers and loafers. She's modest yet incredibly sexy and I should feel something for

I'm pacing the driveway, my fingernail in my mouth. I don't know, or rather, I know. Heck, what am I even saying?I stare at the keys in my hand. I want to go, but I shouldn't. He hates me, and I don't blame him. But I need to see him. It's an urge so strong my hair is standing like I've been electrocuted. Archer asked me where I was headed this morning and I told him to go fuck himself. His brows creased, not very glad my response was crude. But, it's not my fault. It's one of those days I can't get a single thought in my head. It's hyper fixating on Vicky. My brain that is. And no matter what I do, I can't get it to stop. It's like I'm buzzing so much I'm vibrating. "Are you alright?" My brother yells from the balcony. My balcony. My safe haven. I flip him off and gain enough motivation to get on my bike. I don't drive like a mad man like I normally do. Maybe if I drive slowly, by the time I get there, Vicky would've left for classes and I won't have to face him. Archer's apart

It's yet again the same routine. Wake up, lie in bed till my intestines threaten to rip into pieces then go downstairs. Archer has been feeding me, yes. But sometimes I just can't keep the food in. Last night was one of those times. I puked so much, it took my lungs a whooping 45 minutes to recover. And I tried taking a little whiskey to help with the nausea, but the ass wouldn't let me touch anything. I don't know why he bothers or why it bothers me. I always ask myself questions. Does he care? But I know he doesn't. It's so I'll keep his secret. Today's meal is the leftover pizza from last night. There's 3 slices on a plate, a fruit bowl and yoghurt waiting for my consumption. "There's no need. This isn't a very wise bribe." Archer doesn't answer me, but continues staring at the pizza in the microwave. I shrug and eat. My stomach twists, surprised by the intruders, but I force it down my throat. I felt like I was going to die last night. And honestly, I really don't like that fe

Oh my goodness. I'm awake again. It's not a good thing to dread it, but I do. I wake up starving and run to the kitchen for anything edible or closely related to food. Archer has had groceries sent to me twice so far, so there's a decent amount of ingredients to choose from. I snack on the unopened tube of Pringles before making a cereal then an omelette then some toast. I may be eating a lot, but don't look it. I'm still skinny and maybe even paler than I was before. Checking my class schedule, I have 3 classes today, the first one starting in about an hour. I could skip, like I've been skipping but it's about time I go back to living a normal life. Nothing about the last few months have been normal, and I'm trying to end the trend of crazy. I take a relaxing shower and apply my makeup. It's minimal, just to hide the eye bags and my droopy cheeks. After one last fit check, I leave. My taxi is waiting for me right on time but I get to the class a little late. The professor allows

I would've stayed asleep longer, but the growling coming from stomach or the gnawing of my intestines steal the sleep from my eyes. I roll around a couple times, and search on the nightstand for anything edible I might've left on it. There's nothing there. Few days ago, I googled why I didn't have an appetite. It was concluded — by website links that had already turned purple — to be anorexia. The only problem with believing that, is that I'm not actually anorexic, or I don't think I am. I would say I don't have a distorted body image, but I don't think i have an image at all. I've sort of been living in this bubble for a while now. A bubble where I exist and don't at the same time. A therapist would have answers to all this shit, I just need to get one first. I drag myself up, and to the bathroom. While on the toilet seat, I stare at the mirror staring at me. I'm speechless. That isn't me, is what I would've said if I didn't know it was me. Sunken cheekbones, hollow eyes, scars ev