Bulimia [3/4]
anonymous
March 15 2009, 13:18:16 UTC
The hospital food was disgusting, he decided. It had been a few days; every night, he'd make a weak way to the bathroom and... cleanse himself.
He always felt good after it, if a bit weak.
He shoved the food away, unsatisfied, and stood up. No one had visited him the last few days, either; he made the assumption that Veneziano was too busy with Germany, and Spain thought he was angry. Confident today, he didn't wait until nightfall to do it.
He steadied himself over the toilet, dreading the burning feeling that came up. It'd help him to look better.
Fitter.
More like the person people said Veneziano looked like -
His grandfather, Rome!
As he began, he heard a gasp and the door slamming shut. He jerked his head over to see, vomiting on the floor instead into the toilet as planned. He pulled his finger out of his mouth, fear clenching his stomach.
When he finally, weakly, desperately pulled himself out of the bathroom, he found no trace of anyone.
Romano hissed, and climbed into bed.
*
Spain didn't really believe Veneziano when he came to him, blubbering about his brother forcing himself to throw up.
After all, he assured himself, Romano was perfectly fine with his body. Wasn't he? He was still growing, after all, and a lot of changes had yet to take place.
It would explain the scars on the back of his hands though.
*
Romano was let out after a month or so.
He was put back in a week later after he found blood in his vomit.
Spain didn't comment on why he'd been vomiting.
Romano didn't explain.
It left them with an uneasy silence, in the hospital room together. Veneziano was downstairs, getting food, always getting food so he could avoid the silence.
Nurses sometime stopped in to check on their patient. They left as fast as they could --
The silence was overbearing.
It was only broken a few times - before bed and after each of them woke up.
Romano sighed, and watched Spain as he slept. He reached over and tousled the nation's hair, then quietly got up and left to the bathroom.
*
Veneziano always happened to come into the room, any room really, when the two were fighting. He flinched at the raised voices, the accusations, the excuses and weak defenses.
He shied away from it all, and hid, like a breathless shadow, close to the window.
He pretended it never happened.
"You're making yourself sick!"
"I'm not! Leave me alone, Spain!"
"You're going to die, don't you understand?"
"You're just negative, bastard!"
The words still haunted his dreams.
*
Romano was let out after half a year, no better or worse than when he came in. Spain avoided his charge for a while, refusing to look at him - even during dinner, lopping the delicious food onto his plate.
Romano hated it.
He'd done it to... To be as good - no... To be better than Veneziano!
Yet, everyday Veneziano came over to make sure he was alright, Spain would comment on how well Veneziano was growing.
He never commented about Romano. Nothing.
He wondered, as he paused at the bathroom door, if he'd done something wrong.
He always felt good after it, if a bit weak.
He shoved the food away, unsatisfied, and stood up. No one had visited him the last few days, either; he made the assumption that Veneziano was too busy with Germany, and Spain thought he was angry. Confident today, he didn't wait until nightfall to do it.
He steadied himself over the toilet, dreading the burning feeling that came up. It'd help him to look better.
Fitter.
More like the person people said Veneziano looked like -
His grandfather, Rome!
As he began, he heard a gasp and the door slamming shut. He jerked his head over to see, vomiting on the floor instead into the toilet as planned. He pulled his finger out of his mouth, fear clenching his stomach.
When he finally, weakly, desperately pulled himself out of the bathroom, he found no trace of anyone.
Romano hissed, and climbed into bed.
*
Spain didn't really believe Veneziano when he came to him, blubbering about his brother forcing himself to throw up.
After all, he assured himself, Romano was perfectly fine with his body. Wasn't he? He was still growing, after all, and a lot of changes had yet to take place.
It would explain the scars on the back of his hands though.
*
Romano was let out after a month or so.
He was put back in a week later after he found blood in his vomit.
Spain didn't comment on why he'd been vomiting.
Romano didn't explain.
It left them with an uneasy silence, in the hospital room together. Veneziano was downstairs, getting food, always getting food so he could avoid the silence.
Nurses sometime stopped in to check on their patient. They left as fast as they could --
The silence was overbearing.
It was only broken a few times - before bed and after each of them woke up.
Romano sighed, and watched Spain as he slept. He reached over and tousled the nation's hair, then quietly got up and left to the bathroom.
*
Veneziano always happened to come into the room, any room really, when the two were fighting. He flinched at the raised voices, the accusations, the excuses and weak defenses.
He shied away from it all, and hid, like a breathless shadow, close to the window.
He pretended it never happened.
"You're making yourself sick!"
"I'm not! Leave me alone, Spain!"
"You're going to die, don't you understand?"
"You're just negative, bastard!"
The words still haunted his dreams.
*
Romano was let out after half a year, no better or worse than when he came in. Spain avoided his charge for a while, refusing to look at him - even during dinner, lopping the delicious food onto his plate.
Romano hated it.
He'd done it to... To be as good - no... To be better than Veneziano!
Yet, everyday Veneziano came over to make sure he was alright, Spain would comment on how well Veneziano was growing.
He never commented about Romano. Nothing.
He wondered, as he paused at the bathroom door, if he'd done something wrong.
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