author's note ~
hello everyone. thank you for taking the time to read this story. i want to address a couple of things before proceeding to the prologue.
this story is inspired by the song "empty" by jaidenanimations and BoyInABand, touching on the subject of the struggles with anorexia nervosa. this is a very sensitive topic, followed by topics of depression, suicidal ideations, self-harm, anxiety, abuse, and sexual content. please read with caution as these will be recurring themes throughout the book.
i hope you enjoy, and please remember that you are never alone in what you are feeling. please feel free to reach out to a friend, trusted adult, family, or even me if you are struggling. you are loved. you are cherished.
~iikaiyo
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tsukishima's mother was gawking as she flipped through the photo album. "look at you kei! you were such a chubby little baby. my little bag of fat." she was trying to be endearing, right?
"hey, you! skinny!" a voice called from the gym. was that supposed to be a compliment? snide observation? something about the owner's voice irked him to his core.
"hey tsukishima!" his captain beams, mouth full of yakiniku beef and rice. "you need to eat more food!" what does he mean by that?
"you look like a twig," his coach states matter-of-factly. "i worry these spikes will break your arms in half."
"you oughta work on your stamina," a mentor of his stated. "you are the slowest player on your team. you don't want to hold them back, do you?"
"you know, being cooped up in your room studying all the time will just wear you down. why not give a sport a try? the exercise will do you good."
"you know, kei," a faceless man rasped as his hands traveled up his legs. "it's a shame you haven't grown into your body yet. this could be much more fun."
these are just words. harmless, meaningless words. right?
***
"kei!" his brother called from downstairs. "hurry up, you're going to be late to the game!"
tsukishima sighed as he finished drying his short blond hair. the sun rose another day.
today marks the miyagi prefecture's interhigh prelims for boys volleyball. tsukishima had been looking forward for this day...to pass by. not that he wasn't thrilled about playing volleyball, he was. it was just tolerating the feral children for an obscene amount of time he was not in the mood to endure. just the mere thought of dealing with their antics and loud, unintelligible arguing made his veins pop.
unenthusiastically, tsukishima put on his volleyball club shirt and joggers on, checking himself out in the mirror. his throat went dry, his heart started racing, and a sharp cold feeling shot down his spine.
mirror mirror on the wall.
tunnel vision on the flaws.
he lifted his shirt up to look at his stomach, pinching and pulling at the tight skin as if trying to pull out a splinter. the amount of thick skin he was able to pull up unsettled him. next, he trailed his eyes down to his thighs, slapping the back of them and watching them bounce around from the contact. his biceps did the same.
in the scale of things, it's unimportant.
so no talking, but it's still an intrusive thought.
his hands then snaked up to his neck, probably one of the most grotesque features about him. too many chins, he thought as he wrapped his hands around his neck.
he's healthy. at least, he thinks he is. six foot, four inches. on the starting line-up on a volleyball team that went to nationals. doesn't drink. doesn't smoke. he's the spitting image of societal expectations. but is he really healthy?
tried hard to correct it.
but nothing was effective.
as he looked in the mirror, he saw nothing of value. his image was the pure reflection of disappointment. where some would see beauty in that of diamonds, he saw a demon. a distorted, ugly figure with eyes that pierced back with disdain.
no one else seemed so obsessed with it.
things were desperate until the voice crept in.
WhatHaveYouDone lookatyourself yOuREugly uSELess YOurEfat yOUdeserVetOsTArVE thISwillmAkeitBettEr makEYOUbetter dISgRace yOURenoTHIng
"i can help you, trust me, you're ready"
it seemed dangerous, but it said to have faith in it
his hands tightened as the voices crept in with a vengeance. his breathing became labored as he felt himself sinking into the void of his own mind. the air became thick, and breathing was tight. his body was stinging with the urge to slash. the walls were closing in and the noises were only getting louder --
"kei!"
tsukishima flinched as his hands made their release, gasping desperately. his neck was red and irritated from the tight hold.
his door swung open and slammed against the wall. akiteru let out a huff. "dude, are you deaf? i've been calling you for the last 5 minutes. we gotta go, or you'll miss the bus to the game."
"apologies," tsukishima muttered, grabbing his duffel bag and making his way downstairs.
"you didn't come down in time to eat breakfast, so i packed it up for you. take it."
tsukishima swallowed, feeling a hard lump in his throat and a wave of disgust slosh in his stomach. "i appreciate it, but you know i don't eat before a game. it makes me nauseous," he lied.
akiteru raised an eyebrow. "since when? i thought you always ate before a game."
tsukishima didn't reply, slipping his shoes on and opening the front door. he avoided akiteru's questioning eyes. this was always the hardest part. when you're trying to hide something big, you tend to start running low on sufficient covers.
"okay, well eat it after your first game. you'll need fuel, especially if you end up going against aoba josai again." akiteru handed tsukishima the wrapped bento box before they got into akiteru's car. tsukishima just scoffed, muttering a quiet "thanks."
the car ride was silent; tsukishima felt like he was suffocating from the tension in the air.
"you look sleepier than usual...you sure you're okay, kei?" akiteru asked, breaking the silence.
"i'm fine," tsukishima replied in a monotone voice.
fine.
that was always the word he would describe himself to others. just fine.
he didn't believe he was anything other than fine and even if he wasn't, who was he to bother other people with it? he can take care of himself. hell, he lasted 16 years and managed to stay alive.
it's no secret that tsukishima struggles with low self-esteem. he never considered his skills or achievements as anything remarkable compared to others. he was inferior, and in some sick sense, he was okay with that. he became accustomed to the feeling of inferiority despite how he acted. the pasted face of condescension and arrogance accompanied by the blunt and oftentimes antagonistic attitudes masked his internal grief.
everyone has problems, so why should he dump his issues on others? he can control his own battles independently. by this point, it had been a few weeks since his issues came to fruition. he knew what he was doing even though it was wrong. but it was what he needed.
the secret is to just be empty.
***
[1176 words]
~ iikaiyo
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
empty ~ kurotsuki
Fanfic"the secret is to just be empty." his reflection looms over him as if it were a giant wave waiting to devour him. he feels the noose of his subconscious grow tighter, suffocating him with the voices of dysmorphia. as it tightens, his control begins...
