David, Come Home
Title: David, Come Home
Author: tmd_writer
Rating: PG-13 / R
Pairing: P/D
Disclaimer: Don't know, Don't own, Please don't sue!
Summary: David's in trouble, can Pierre save him?
David was sitting in a mass of his own vomit. Just looking at the bathroom floor, and thinking about how gross he felt made him want to throw up even more. He put his fingers closer to his mouth, but he didn't have anything more to purge. His system was completely empty. David Desrosiers had eaten so little in the last two months that it had finally happened. He had nothing left in his entire body. His hand was still bleeding, from forcing his once slender and beautiful fingers just far enough down his throat so that he would throw up. By the second week, his mouth had become so insensitive to his long fingers, that he had to force a toothbrush down to make himself throw up.
Every six hours, unless he was sleeping, he would groggily drag himself through his beautiful penthouse apartment to the large bathroom at the other end of the hallway. David had always thought that these accomodations were too fancy for him, with the delicately painted floor, the large hot tub and the comfortable shower looking too high-class for his black Dickies, and his favorite pink shirt. The one with "Slut" written across the chest. This particular afternoon was painful. He thought he had had an ulcer, because his stomach was hurting so badly, so he had called up his best friend, Pierre, to ask for some advice. No dice. His only contact to the outside world for the last two months wasn't available. Voice Mail. After leaving a short message along the lines of "Don't worry, just need some advice, have fun with Seth", David had officially decided that cellphones and Voice Mail sucked.
David's trip to the bathroom consisted of him using one hand to prop himself up against the cold walls, and the other to clutch his chest. Throwing up made the pain go away. The hurt would just leave. His excuse to himself was that he needed to do whatever made him feel better. Suddenly he remembered what one of his High School health teachers had said to him once. "Purging is extremely dangerous to your health. Besides having long-term side effects, it could even be deadly." David brushed this thought aside. She had also been the one to tell him that "Queers are discusting and wrong. They deserve the death penalty, for what wrong they do to society." He was so far beyond caring. He had been stabbed in the back by his best friend one time too many. The only thing that made it worse was that Pierre Bouvier had no idea that bring Seth home from their post-tour party was only turning the knife deeper into his back.
He turned around and reached for the razorblade. Today could only get worse, why not relieve all of the pain at once? His pale hands groped around on the countertop blindly. He thought aloud, "How about my wrists today? Would he even notice? No. All he does is fuck around with Seth." David knew that latter wasn't true. Pierre Bouvier was the most caring person to exist on the face of the planet. Even if he didn't want hott monkey sex with David, he still loved his best friend. They had Friday night dates, curled up on the couch to watch Mandy Moore, and had even slept on top of in the same bed as each other, but both parties knew it wouldn't be anything sexual. David, despite his current state-of-being, smiled through his tears. No wonder he, half the girls in America, and Pierre himself had fallen for the beautiful Bouvier.
As David was reminiscing, he held the razor tighter and tighter in the palm of his hand. Suddenly, the blade punctured the soft meaty area of his palm, right where his hand connected to his fingers. Blood rushed out of his already foul-looking hand, and he whimpered as the sight of the blood mixing with the stench of the vomit, and he heaved once again. He began sobbing, and at the same moment, his cell phone rang, from the depths of the pockets of his brand new jeans. The purchase of said jeans had not satisfied his misery. That was the reason why he had driven home two months ago, and resorted to an alternative that he had not used since trying to avoid school in the 6th grade. Purging.
As if the young bassist wasn't skinny enough before he had become bulemic, weighing in at a mere 120lbs, David had lost 18 pounds since he began earlier this year. His bandmates had noticed that he was growing more pale, thinner and more easily exhausted during these last two months, but they never thought that he might have been bulemic. Anorexia had crossed their minds, but how do you tell someone who watches the Food Network in their spare time, and eats enough for the whole band that they should be eating more?
David was still shrinking in waist sizes. These jeans were to show his bandmates that he hadn't changed. That his jeans were still tight on his small waist. Even still, he had not reached his goal. He still had four pounds to lose, which would reach his goal of 98 Pounds. 98, for the year that the band had started playing together.
His phone was still ringing, his hand was still dripping with blood. Nothing had changed in the last three minutes. Blood still equaled pain. He used his defective hand to pull himself up to the mirror. He screamed in agony, and expected to see his reflection in the mirror when he looked up. All he saw was black.
"Hey, Seth, try calling Dave again for me, will ya? You know, it's illegal to drive and talk at the same time!" Pierre and his boyfriend of two months, Seth, chuckled, although they had no idea why.
"Pie, in LA, do they have a law against ugly poor gays kissing beautiful hot gays?" Seth looked at Pie with a smirk on his face.
"Hmm, Yeah, I think they do, actually. But I don't think there's a law against beautiful hot gays kissing ugly poor ones. That means that I'm the only one that can kiss you, and you're not allowed to kiss me back!" Pierre leaned over and kissed Seth squarely on the lips. "Say, Seth, did David ever picked up his phone?"
"Nope, but do you have to go see him now?" Seth looked dissapointed. David was only competition, nothing more, nothing less.
"Aww, can I please, Seth? I haven't seen him in two weeks! Besides, he left me a voicemail, and I'm worried about him." Pie gave his famous puppy dog look, and his lover reluctantly agreed.
"Okay, but while you're there, I get to borrow your car!" Pie pretended to think about it, and gladly agreeed. The rest of their car ride was silent, save the band's new CD playing softly.
Once they got to David's building, Pierre handed his keychain to Seth, and slipped the one to David's apartment off of the rest of the keys. He rode up in the elevator with some old lady who smelled awful, and couldn't wait to see David. His hair smelled considerably better than Old Lady did. He let himself into the apartment, and yelled out.
"David, are you home??? I want to see a movie with you tonight! I cleared my schedule!" He listened for an answer, and realized that the sink was running in David's bathroom.
ToBeContinued...Well, I don't know. Maybe. Meh. Depends when I'm in an EmoMood(tm)
Author: tmd_writer
Rating: PG-13 / R
Pairing: P/D
Disclaimer: Don't know, Don't own, Please don't sue!
Summary: David's in trouble, can Pierre save him?
David was sitting in a mass of his own vomit. Just looking at the bathroom floor, and thinking about how gross he felt made him want to throw up even more. He put his fingers closer to his mouth, but he didn't have anything more to purge. His system was completely empty. David Desrosiers had eaten so little in the last two months that it had finally happened. He had nothing left in his entire body. His hand was still bleeding, from forcing his once slender and beautiful fingers just far enough down his throat so that he would throw up. By the second week, his mouth had become so insensitive to his long fingers, that he had to force a toothbrush down to make himself throw up.
Every six hours, unless he was sleeping, he would groggily drag himself through his beautiful penthouse apartment to the large bathroom at the other end of the hallway. David had always thought that these accomodations were too fancy for him, with the delicately painted floor, the large hot tub and the comfortable shower looking too high-class for his black Dickies, and his favorite pink shirt. The one with "Slut" written across the chest. This particular afternoon was painful. He thought he had had an ulcer, because his stomach was hurting so badly, so he had called up his best friend, Pierre, to ask for some advice. No dice. His only contact to the outside world for the last two months wasn't available. Voice Mail. After leaving a short message along the lines of "Don't worry, just need some advice, have fun with Seth", David had officially decided that cellphones and Voice Mail sucked.
David's trip to the bathroom consisted of him using one hand to prop himself up against the cold walls, and the other to clutch his chest. Throwing up made the pain go away. The hurt would just leave. His excuse to himself was that he needed to do whatever made him feel better. Suddenly he remembered what one of his High School health teachers had said to him once. "Purging is extremely dangerous to your health. Besides having long-term side effects, it could even be deadly." David brushed this thought aside. She had also been the one to tell him that "Queers are discusting and wrong. They deserve the death penalty, for what wrong they do to society." He was so far beyond caring. He had been stabbed in the back by his best friend one time too many. The only thing that made it worse was that Pierre Bouvier had no idea that bring Seth home from their post-tour party was only turning the knife deeper into his back.
He turned around and reached for the razorblade. Today could only get worse, why not relieve all of the pain at once? His pale hands groped around on the countertop blindly. He thought aloud, "How about my wrists today? Would he even notice? No. All he does is fuck around with Seth." David knew that latter wasn't true. Pierre Bouvier was the most caring person to exist on the face of the planet. Even if he didn't want hott monkey sex with David, he still loved his best friend. They had Friday night dates, curled up on the couch to watch Mandy Moore, and had even slept on top of in the same bed as each other, but both parties knew it wouldn't be anything sexual. David, despite his current state-of-being, smiled through his tears. No wonder he, half the girls in America, and Pierre himself had fallen for the beautiful Bouvier.
As David was reminiscing, he held the razor tighter and tighter in the palm of his hand. Suddenly, the blade punctured the soft meaty area of his palm, right where his hand connected to his fingers. Blood rushed out of his already foul-looking hand, and he whimpered as the sight of the blood mixing with the stench of the vomit, and he heaved once again. He began sobbing, and at the same moment, his cell phone rang, from the depths of the pockets of his brand new jeans. The purchase of said jeans had not satisfied his misery. That was the reason why he had driven home two months ago, and resorted to an alternative that he had not used since trying to avoid school in the 6th grade. Purging.
As if the young bassist wasn't skinny enough before he had become bulemic, weighing in at a mere 120lbs, David had lost 18 pounds since he began earlier this year. His bandmates had noticed that he was growing more pale, thinner and more easily exhausted during these last two months, but they never thought that he might have been bulemic. Anorexia had crossed their minds, but how do you tell someone who watches the Food Network in their spare time, and eats enough for the whole band that they should be eating more?
David was still shrinking in waist sizes. These jeans were to show his bandmates that he hadn't changed. That his jeans were still tight on his small waist. Even still, he had not reached his goal. He still had four pounds to lose, which would reach his goal of 98 Pounds. 98, for the year that the band had started playing together.
His phone was still ringing, his hand was still dripping with blood. Nothing had changed in the last three minutes. Blood still equaled pain. He used his defective hand to pull himself up to the mirror. He screamed in agony, and expected to see his reflection in the mirror when he looked up. All he saw was black.
"Hey, Seth, try calling Dave again for me, will ya? You know, it's illegal to drive and talk at the same time!" Pierre and his boyfriend of two months, Seth, chuckled, although they had no idea why.
"Pie, in LA, do they have a law against ugly poor gays kissing beautiful hot gays?" Seth looked at Pie with a smirk on his face.
"Hmm, Yeah, I think they do, actually. But I don't think there's a law against beautiful hot gays kissing ugly poor ones. That means that I'm the only one that can kiss you, and you're not allowed to kiss me back!" Pierre leaned over and kissed Seth squarely on the lips. "Say, Seth, did David ever picked up his phone?"
"Nope, but do you have to go see him now?" Seth looked dissapointed. David was only competition, nothing more, nothing less.
"Aww, can I please, Seth? I haven't seen him in two weeks! Besides, he left me a voicemail, and I'm worried about him." Pie gave his famous puppy dog look, and his lover reluctantly agreed.
"Okay, but while you're there, I get to borrow your car!" Pie pretended to think about it, and gladly agreeed. The rest of their car ride was silent, save the band's new CD playing softly.
Once they got to David's building, Pierre handed his keychain to Seth, and slipped the one to David's apartment off of the rest of the keys. He rode up in the elevator with some old lady who smelled awful, and couldn't wait to see David. His hair smelled considerably better than Old Lady did. He let himself into the apartment, and yelled out.
"David, are you home??? I want to see a movie with you tonight! I cleared my schedule!" He listened for an answer, and realized that the sink was running in David's bathroom.
ToBeContinued...Well, I don't know. Maybe. Meh. Depends when I'm in an EmoMood(tm)