Chapter Text
Only two weeks have passed since his seventeenth birthday when Charlie finds out he’s dying.
It happens on a Saturday, the only day of the weekend worth doing anything.
Charlie woke up that morning feeling better than he’s felt in months. He’d slept clear through the night, a rare occurrence these days, and he actually felt well rested when he was awoken to the sunlight streaming in through the slit his curtains formed. He moved his sheets off of himself to jump out of bed and almost immediately tripped over a stray sock he’d forgotten was there, wincing and clutching at his stomach as he did.
Ouch . There’s that pain again, a sort of clawing, gnawing like something was slithering its way towards his back. It helps, slightly, if he bends over.
No , Charlie thinks, I refuse to be sick this weekend.
Charlie’s still holding his stomach and doubled over by his bed– stand up, idiot! –he slowly hobbles his way out of his room and to the bathroom.
For a second he worries he might puke, and what a great way to start the day that would be, but just as quickly as the pain came, it disappears. He’s able to right himself up and locks eyes with his reflection as he does so, his hair is wild as ever and he has a red line going down his cheek from his pillow. Lookin’ good, Spring, he thinks and then shakes his head trying to push the thought away.
He’s not supposed to be making self-deprecating remarks anymore, Jeoff thinks it contributes to his tendency to avoid dealing with his emotions. Charlie isn’t sure how those things are connected but Jeoff is the expert and who is Charlie to disagree?
He expects the kitchen to be full, as it usually is, but the only person there is his sister Tori. She’s lazily munching on some cereal when he walks in, glancing up when she hears him enter. “Morning,” She grunts in his direction, slurping up some of her milk off the spoon. Charlie nods at her and walks past her to look in the fridge for his own breakfast but even as he pulls the orange juice out he knows he won’t be eating anything, his stomach was still bothering him too much.
“Where’s mum and dad?”
“Dad went to work early. Mum is having brunch with her friend Kara.”
Charlie sits down across the table from Tori, tracing his index finger around the ring of his glass before he brings it up for a sip. It makes him wince, as it always does so soon after brushing his teeth, but he’d rather drop dead right here and now than to ever drink apple juice.
“Where’s your breakfast?”
Charlie just barely avoids rolling his eyes. He tries really hard not to show contempt for his family or friends when they ask him about his eating, he knows they’re only worried. He knows they’re all just trying to help but it could be so fucking suffocating, no matter what he did someone would always be watching him like a hawk.
That’s just what happens when you try to kill yourself and land yourself in an inpatient program for an eating disorder; your friends and family stop trusting you forever and spend the rest of every day of all your lives watching each and every move you make day in and day out just waiting for you to slip up so they can cry and blame themselves for not seeing it sooner . It’s a horrible, endless cycle.
Charlie’s tired of it but they won’t stop because nothing Charlie does now will erase their memories of what he did then . He shouldn’t take it personally, he knows.
“Not feeling well this morning,”
“You’ve been saying that for like.. three weeks.”
Charlie sighs, his patience thinning, “And?”
“And so, if you’re really still sick you might need to go see a doctor.”
“What do you mean ‘if I’m really still sick’? You don’t believe me, then?”
Tori sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance, her lips pursed slightly, “Charles, I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to, Victoria.”
Tori’s eyes narrow at the forbidden use of her full name, as if she hadn’t just used Charlie’s, “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just been forever and you’re losing weight again. I can tell. I know I’m not supposed to say things like that during your recovery but you haven’t been this small in years. You might actually be smaller . I’m just- I’m worried.”
She does sound genuinely worried and immediately guilt crawls itself down to his throat and lodges itself there.
Honestly Charlie hadn’t really noticed much of a difference in himself. Sure, some of his clothes hang off of him a bit looser than they had before but he’s always been thin. It’s not a cause for concern.
Three sharp taps at their front door interrupts anything Charlie would’ve said in answer and he jumps out of his spot, thankful for the distraction though he knows it’s not the end of it. Tori will wait until they were alone to start bombarding him again but he wasn’t even worried about that anymore because he knows that behind the door is Charlie’s favorite person in the entire world. His best friend Nicholas Nelson.
Nick had moved to town when he and Charlie were four and five respectively and they’d been friends ever since. Nick was boisterous and funny when they were young and though he’d calmed down significantly since then Charlie could still see a sparkle in Nick’s eyes when he got a good laugh out of a group of people.
Charlie pauses at the door, takes a deep breath to prepare himself, and then pulls the door open with a grin plastered to his face. It feels a bit forced, that pain is back and it’s intense but Charlie’s powering through it as well as he can, “Hey!”
“What’s wrong?”
Nick always knows. Charlie isn’t sure why he’d even tried. It’s impossible to hide anything from him, like he had a sixth sense for Charlie’s emotions or something.
“Nothing. Just a small pain. It’s fine,” Charlie pulls him into the house quickly. He tries to ignore how his heart squeezes in his chest at the contact of their hands. Charlie has been in love with Nick since he knew he liked boys, Nick with his warm eyes, goofy smile, and freckles.
He’s the most attractive boy Charlie has ever known. Probably the most attractive boy he will ever know. No one else could even compare.
“You sure?”
Charlie sighs, “Yes, Nick. I’m fine.” but before Nick can answer, ask again if Charlie’s fine or sure as they head back into the kitchen his mum enters in from the garage, hanging her keys up as she did.
“Good morning, did everyone have breakfast?”
After Tori nods and Nick answers, Jane’s eyes land on Charlie and he shrinks back from her gaze before he grabs his glass of half drank OJ and moves to pour it out, “Charlie, have you eaten?”
Charlie is rinsing out the glass and turning to put it back on the drying rack when it happens.
“I will, mum. I’m just not feeling-“ he’s saying, when suddenly the pain is back in full force and his breath sticks in his throat.
It’s bad—a deep, white hot burst of agony that rocks his body and makes him double over immediately, the glass flies out of his hand and the world goes blurry and then black as Charlie’s body hits the floor.
Charlie pitches a hell of a fit when his mum tells him that he has to go talk to a doctor. He’d woken up from his fainting spell on the floor with all three of them surrounding him. At first his mum had asked if he’d been eating like he should but Charlie tells her it was just this pain he’s been having and once Tori says that Charlie’s been complaining about it for a while and Nick agrees that Charlie has been looking pale, the decision is made.
Someone must call his dad because he meets them there and Charlie thinks, wow this must be really serious if he left work early for this.
Dr. Peterson sends Charlie back for tests immediately which is terrifying but also has him feeling just a tad important, no one he knows has been sent for tests at a hospital before. It takes forever and when Dr. Peterson comes back he asks to speak to Charlie’s parents in the hall and they all step out leaving Charlie alone with his thoughts.
He tries to distract himself but there’s nothing here except white walls and too bright lights and the smell of cleaner so strong he can’t even pretend he’s anywhere other than the hospital. And eventually the curiosity gets the better of him.
I’m not spying, just stretching my legs. That’s all.
That’s what Charlie tells himself anyways as he climbs out of the bed and creeps towards the door. He was going to try to get close enough to hear what Dr. Peterson was saying but immediately he knows that he doesn’t have to. The scene in front of him is enough to confirm every suspicion and all of his worst fears at once.
His mother is crying. Well, no. Not crying. She’s wailing. Hysterically. Her entire body is shaking with the force of each ugly sob escaping and Julio is holding her up but even as Charlie watches, his father looks like his knees may buckle and take them both down. Oh, this is bad. This is really fucking bad.
Charlie stumbles back from the door and nearly busts his ass on the floor before he finds his footing again and climbs into bed, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating and failing miserably. Only one thing could cause such a guttural reaction in his parents but even the idea of it is impossible for him to comprehend.
His thoughts are racing through his mind so fast it’s hard to focus on any of them long enough to focus. They race into his head and slam into his skull like bombs and Charlie can’t keep up.
Impossible.
This can’t be happening.
I should’ve said something about the pain sooner.
Maybe then..
Oh, god.
Tori.
Nick.
Nick, oh fuck. Nick.
Oh god, how am I going to tell Nick I’m dying?
And then, somehow, a thought lands and it sticks. It’s almost comical how this is the one that Charlie’s mind has latched onto but he’s laying in his hospital bed clenching his fists while he fights back tears and the one thing his brain focuses on is, I can’t die, I have a book report due on Tuesday.