To be in Control | Quackity

Chapter three

A/N: hello! I just felt the need to tell you where exactly this fic-idea came from before continuing the story. So, here goes nothing. Inspiration struck when I watched one of Alex's "reacting to TikToks" videos. He started the video off, claiming that he definitely wasn't anorexic, and then eats water from a spoon like it was soup! And this really messed up idea just formed in my head. So yeah. Enjoy chapter three! 

November passed by quickly after that, and Alex's mood swings disappeared as he started eating more to appease his parents. But even though things looked like they were getting back to normal, he still couldn't help feeling antsy about the food he was consuming. It wasn't all about the diet anymore. It was also about his control and his fear of losing it. Eating how his parents wanted meant giving up on that control over his own life, and submitting to becoming someone he didn't want to be. While he had first thought that he could do anything to see his family happy, Alex soon found that voluntarily giving up control was a lot harder than he first expected. It wasn't long before he became withdrawn again. It was hard to eat like that. Each bite of chocolate tasted much too sweet for his stomach to handle, each bite of food like cardboard and each sip of soup like drinking oil. He dreaded mealtimes and hated smiling reassuringly for his parents before he gave up on that precious control over the limit that entered his mouth.

He gave up his methodological way of eating because the precision had freaked his brother out, and dutifully ate the seconds that his mother scooped on his plate. But it just didn't feel right to be eating like that. All of his control belonged to his parents, and Alex nearly despised them for that, even though it was he who gave up control in the first place. But he had to prove to them that he didn't have an eating problem. It was his pride on the line, and he could afford to give up his momentary control for his pride. Once he had proven to them that their fears were unfounded, then he could take up that control over his life again.

In the meanwhile, he would just have to continue feeling miserable.

As November passed into December, Alex became unable to run in the mornings anymore due to the cold temperature. He had tried to run the first few days but found that it was just too hard to move when his limbs were frozen all over.

So Alex was limited to stretching in the mornings, not even able to run up and down the stairs for fear of waking someone. And with every morning of his lessened activity, he could feel himself getting heavier. It was one thing when his mother fed him more, but it was quite another thing if he had to eat that much and not be able to run it off. He hated mirrors now because he hated having to see the pudgy reflection that would stare back at him with such panicked hazel eyes and those round cheeks and chubby arms. Alex's appearance was even more unkempt now that he was trying so hard not to look into a mirror.

It was the first Saturday of December when Alexis finally couldn't take it anymore. Hadn't his parents persisted on feeding him for long enough? Alex could feel the bile rising in his throat with each bite of food, and his stomach fighting pitifully as his mother piled ham onto his plate, smiling and talking with his father as she made sure that Alex was eating a healthy dose of all the food groups.

The dark-haired boy just couldn't bear it any longer. This was the first time that she had forced meat on his plate for a long while, especially something with so many calories because she had wanted Alex's eating habits to slowly go back to normal. And after having such a fresh vegetarian diet for so long, the sweet smell of the delicately cooked ham made him cover his nose and mouth with his hands, his eyes tearing over. His already upset stomach clenched suddenly and Alex stood up and raced away, hands still covering his nose and mouth, ignoring his family's cries of concern.

He barely made it to the restroom before letting loose the contents of his stomach into the sink, hands white-knuckled from gripping the cold porcelain sides so firmly. He heaved until there was nothing but his dry cough and spit. The smell was practically enough to send him hurling once more, and he turned on the faucet quickly, filling the palms of his hand with water and using that to rinse his mouth of the disgusting taste that accompanied his sickness. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shut his eyes firmly, realising that he just couldn't take this any longer. His throat felt raw and sore... but his stomach was strangely calm now, no unpleasant nausea waiting to assail him.