Don't play with your food! (Open to all!)

“So, St. Christina’s accepted you.”

Greg’s brother-in-law, Tristan, dropped the opened letter on his lap. The 29-year-old’s acoustic Fender Starcaster was quickly placed on its stand as he assessed his company. Tris probably came back from work- he still had his suit on. Annoyance was burning through round glasses and into Greg’s apathetic brown orbs.

“You read my mail?” He said, trying to keep himself from growling.

“It’s my house, Greg. Last I recall, you haven’t paid this month’s rent. I think it’s a fair trade.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Greg stretched in the exaggerated, obnoxious way that always seemed to drive Tristan Cadence crazy. His arms and legs were outstretched, and his stomach was exposed. Well, what was left of his stomach anyway- it was a stretched out, empty balloon that hadn’t seen food in a day or so. Greg lost count- his rule of thumb was to eat again once he forgot what he ate most recently. Sometimes, he’d restrict even after that.

The younger man went into the closet and retrieved a suitcase, beginning to actually fold his clothes and pack as opposed to just stuffing them in carelessly. The drawers were disorganized and overflowing as a result of this mentality.

“Am I really that interesting?” He asked with a suppressed, somber voice. He was uncomfortable with being stared at.

“You’re such a juvenile.” Tristan rolled his eyes and scoffed. “How Marie puts up with you, I can’t even begin to-“

“IIII’m a lumberjack and I’m okay, I sleep all night and I work all day. He’s a lumberjack and he’s okay, he sleeps all night and he works all day. I cut down trees, I eat my lunch, I go to the lavatory. On Wednesdays I go shopping, and have buttered scones for tea.” As Greg sang, it was different from his usual singing voice- he incorporated a lower octave with an English accent, like in the Monty Python skit the song was from.

There were many things Tristan Cadence, forty-seven and a devoted businessman, couldn’t stand. But Monty Python, sarcasm and insolence were way up there. He adjusted his glasses and ground his teeth as his voice spewed venom:

“You’re never going to get your daughter back that way, I can tell you that much.”

The door slammed, and Greg felt it again. The sharp emptiness at the bottom of his stomach that wasn’t caused by lack of food. They were different feelings- hunger made it rumble and twist, and anguish gave it a falling sensation. It was something that Greg couldn’t quite explain. As he packed silently, he tried not to care, but an incessant voice kept chipping away at him, swarming around his ear like a mosquito.

He’s right.


“Alright, I have to see you off here then.”

Marie had such a honey-sweet voice, so pleasant… even after all he had done to her. He attempted suicide on her watch three times, and until today, was mooching off of her and her husband. After Tristan had hit some very painful notes, that was all Greg was thinking about- ‘I’m such a fuck up.’ ‘I have to die.’ ‘I can’t die- think about Olivia.’ ‘She’d be better off without me anyway.’ ‘Shut the fuck up- that’s exactly what Monica wants you to think.’ ‘Well it’s fucking true.’ ‘WILL YOU-‘

“Greg,” Marie put her hand in his, and Greg noticed it- she was so short. He remembered a time when Marie seemed like she towered over him, like a mother. Now, he was a good two heads taller. Both of their eyes met- hers, sweet and loving. His, guilty and afraid.

“I will never abandon you.” Her words had caught him off guard. “I’m not like-“

“Y-Yeah, I know.” Greg said quickly, not wanting to discuss their mother. “… I just… don’t understand why you haven’t yet.”

Marie, without warning, wrapped her arms around Greg’s waist. He returned her embrace and felt infinitely better. He smelled her perfume, a faint scent of sweet pea.

“You’re my little brother, that’s why.” Marie smiled warmly. “You’re like my child.”

“Yeah,” Greg swallowed, remembering his own child. Olivia.

He picked up his suitcase again, then stopped to pull Marie into another hug. Even if he wasn’t speaking, Marie knew exactly what he was thinking. She held him close, and let him depart once he let go.


Greg found his gate easily enough, and once the plane landed, he boarded the ferry. In both rides he was quietly observing, trying to take in the clouds and the ocean and push out the unwanted thoughts. He went through reception and the screening process, and they informed him that it was lunchtime.

He ground his teeth and formed the corner of his mouth up in a fake grin. Meals were mandatory here, he was assuming. Just like they were in his other hospitalizations.

Greg found the dining room easily enough, and was calculating just how many calories each item of food had to have. Since he couldn’t remember what he’d eaten previously, he decided to take on a challenge- a grilled cheese sandwich. Once he put it on his plate, he grimaced. He had touched it. There was no turning back.

He found an empty table and sat down, staring at the enemy on the plate.

“I hate you.” He declared to the sandwich.

“I fucking hate you. There’s about 300 calories in you, and in addition to that, maybe 140 from fat alone. You’re a disgrace. C’mon, Greg. You know you want to…” Greg moved the two pieces of the sandwich up and down so that they greatly resembled a mouth. He added a weird, high-pitched, mocking voice for an added effect. “No. You have to eat me eventually. I’d rather eat Monica, and I’m gay. Ooh, I’m hurt. Good. Just one bite? Fuck you! Fine. If you won’t eat me, then I’ll eat you!”

Greg moved the two parts of the sandwich near his face so it looked as though he was being eaten alive. “Ah! No! Please! Have mercyyyy!”

Of course, as Greg was being eaten by the sandwich, he was completely unaware that there was someone watching him.

It was time for lunch... finally. Jared frowned as his stomache grumbled for the upteenth time. It wasn't his fault that he didn't eat his bowl of cereal. He had found a darn hair in it. A HAIR. Now that he thought about it though, it looked suspiciously like a strand his own very clean and meticulously kept locks... but hey, no use crying over spilled milk. He took out one of his many wet wipes, cleaning his hands and sketchbook for the 5th time in the past ten minutes before putting the small pack back into his pocket. A lot of germs can land on you hand in a very short period of time. You had to be especially careful before eating, since the food was going to enter your body, bypassing the first line of defense or whatever it's called. It's been a while since he'd graduated highschool. Besides, he was an art major so what did one expect?

There was another reason he was excited though... he had heard that another male patient had arrived today. Sure it was great to talk... well, listen to Penelope, but still, some male on male bonding would be nice. He hoped the man would be relatively normal and interesting. Well, the interesting part shouldn't be a problem. The normality... he wasn't too sure about that yet.

Pushing open the door, the first thing Jared saw was a man about his age, maybe younger, telling his sandwich that he hated it. He stared at the man, quietly closing the door and getting out another wipe to clean his hands as the man continued to complain about the amount of calories and such within the piece of food. That wasn't too bad though. But of course, it had to get weirder as the man then proceeded to... Jared wasn't too sure, but it looked like the sandwich was about to eat him or something.

Shaking his head, Jared decided to make himself known at that moment. "Um... hi?" He walked over, sitting down at the table and waiting for a reaction as he took out a wipe and wiped at the seat and table before sitting down and setting his stuff down on the now sanitized surface. This was going to be good.

When Greg heard a voice behind him, he blushed and slowly put the once animate sandwich back on the plate where it belonged. There was no way that glob of grease and cheese would ever enter his mouth.

Greg turned around to see his current company. He looked to be a few years older than he was, but looks could be deceiving... especially when you were in your late twenties to early thirties. The other man had a tad bit of stubble and looked pretty normal. Normal enough for a long-term psychiatric facility at least.

"Hey," He greeted, trying not to sound uncaring or depressed. That's just how his voice always was.

He watched the guy sit down, which he beat himself up for because he didn't offer to make it clear that he wanted him there, but observed the other man's actions quietly. He was wiping the chair and the table to sanitize it before he sat and put his stuff down. Just by witnessing that, Greg knew at least one of his issues- OCD. He wondered if there was anything else or if germ-a-phobia was his only brand of crazy.

Greg almost physically kicked himself again for not introducing himself and asking the guy's name sooner. He awkwardly fidgeted in his chair, then held out his hand for him to shake. As he did this, his tattoos were exposed. He held out his left hand, so his left sleeve tattoos of a red koi, Chinese dragon and lotus engulfed in waves were made perfectly visible.

"I'm Greg. Greg Evers. I just came here. What's your name?"

He then realized that his company probably wouldn't shake his hand from the way that he obsessively cleaned the surfaces he was about to touch. So he added:

"On second thought, an air-five will do if you don't shake people's hands. I don't mind. We all have our things. Mine happen to be depression and anorexia."

He didn't mention the binge drinking because he didn't think it counted. It was only a few times anyway.

"What do you have there?" Greg cocked his head toward the guy's sketchpad. "Mind if I look? Or are you one of those artists who don't let people see their drawings? It's fine if you are- when I was first learning guitar, I didn't let anyone listen to me play. Guitar was the only escape from my father I had so I picked it up pretty fast. I had to be dragged to go to my first band try-out and I got it, and then I was kind of forced to let people listen to me when I was playing shows. Guitar's pretty much my life and it sucks that this place doesn't allow musical instruments. What do you like to do?"

Greg tried to make his usually apathetic voice a touch friendlier. Maybe he'd make a friend and he wouldn't feel so alone, and maybe that elementary school-status insecurity would evaporate once he did.

Jared looked up at the introduction, smiling at first though it faltered slightly when he saw the hand extended for a shake. He'd just sanitized his skin too... Though he certainly did notice the elaborate tattoos on his arm. Filing that bit of interest for later, he couldn't help but sigh in relief when the man decided to simply air five, which Jared happily obliged with.

"Hey... I'm Jared and a Germaphobe." He said after a brief pause, laughing slightly at the distinct AA like introduction. He decided to be honest, after all, that was the best way to start a friendship... that's what his mom always told him anyways. He smiled when Gregory noticed his sketchpad and started to talk about his own brand of art, guitar playing. Jared grinned, a fellow artist, that was promising. "A guitar player huh? Had a friend who played... he sucked though. But I'm sure you're great at it." He added the last part quickly, remembering the "depression" statement.

He pushed the sketchbook towards the other man, though not before placing a wet wipe on it. "Go ahead and take a look." he said with a friendly smile. Inside, were many tattoo designs and a few sketches of the facility itself. "And I used ta be a tattoo artist before..." he trailed off, letting Gregory make a guess.

"But yeah, enough with that, I couldn't help but notice da Tattoos on your arm. Quite impressive, where'd you get 'em?" he asked, eyes lighting up at the topic of discussion. It was quite apparent that this was something he was truly quite passionate about. He observed the man closer as he said this, and then at the cheese sandwich. "You're not gonna eat that are ya?" He asked, though it was more of a statement then a question. He wasn't sure why he chose to comment on this... He supposed he just wanted to tie in the anorexia thing somehow. This place was messing with his mind now.