control
Fine. It was fine. It started off fine, Sirius was in control. He could handle it, he’s been through worse. He grew up around homophobic bigoted idiots who didn’t know nor care when to stop. So why he was glaring at his sandwich like it was his mortal enemy he didn’t know.
He did know that his stomach grumbled in protest as he pushed the plate away. He could last a few more hours without food. Probably until tomorrow afternoon, maybe later.
He had eaten last around 12:00. It was his lunch break, but he had skipped breakfast that morning. He’s been skipping it a lot recently and doesn’t actually remember the last time he ate that was deemed “acceptable.”
Not that it mattered. Not that he mattered anyways. It was only nearing four now. That obviously wasn’t an acceptable time to eat, no. It’d only be six hours since his last meal, that wasn’t okay.
He didn’t want to be fat or considered overweight, and have the stares from everyone else. The whispers he’d come accustomed to hearing when he passed, but he didn’t want them to be there for the wrong reasons.
Remus nudged him with his elbow, eyebrow raised when he nodded towards the discarded plate.
“M’not hungry,” Sirius mumbled. Remus sighed, placing his own food down.
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I ate at lunch.” He turned away from where he was looking at Remus, and back to glaring at his sandwich. The smell of all the food and chewing noises in the great hall were sickening. He could feel the bile rising in his throat but forced it down.
He was fine. He wasn’t sick. Nothing’s wrong with him.
“You hardly ate anything at lunch.” Sirius faltered. That was true, in a sense at least. It was enough. So he said that.“I ate enough, I’m fine.” Remus bumped his shoulder again.“Well, maybe you can eat a little more than enough. At least try?” Sirius grumbled, his breath hitching a little as another wave of nausea hit him. His hands flew up to his neck, rubbing a little at a spot there.
“I’m not hungry,” he said again. The words sounded weird on his tongue. He mentally cursed as his stomach growled in protest to his statement.
Remus raised an eyebrow, picking up his sandwich to take another bite. “Are you sure about that?”
“Shut up.”
He could last a few more hours. If he wanted he could eat now, he had control, didn’t he? He ignored the look he got from Remus when he skipped dinner again the next day, and the way James tried to get him to eat after quidditch practice.
He ignored the concerned glances he got from Lily, the way Remus would ask him if he was alright when he stumbled while walking. He didn’t miss the way Peter would put his hand on his arm to steady him when his vision would blackout after standing up too fast. Normally when he stood up at all.
No, he ignored it because he wasn’t perfect, he didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. He was in control. He could last another day, week, he could last months. Because he was fine. He doesn’t know why people cared so much honestly.
And if he spent the next half hour in the bathroom, staring in the mirror and obsessing over the way he wasn’t skinny enough, and that he weighed too much, then that was his business. If he took great pride in weighing less than he did now than this morning, no one else needed to know.
If he had to talk himself out of forcing himself to throw up because he wanted to lose a few pounds, why would anyone else care? It’s not like he did. He was in control.