[RD] Control

Notes:

- Entry นี้เป็นส่วนหนึ่งของคอมมู Rabbit Doubt
- เป็นส่วนหนึ่งของ backstories

Other related works:

- Backstories: Wil-fred / Sand dollar 

- In-game: On His Deathbed / Rewind

Control

3.

The hunger intensified – it kept his head above the water. There was no going back, surely. Once you correlated being thin with perfection, and chose perfection over happiness… there was hardly a proper way to go back. He stopped being scared for others, for himself, for them, for us – if people would like to pretend that such things exist. It would’ve been nice to know that you care, they said. The thing is I don’t know if I do, he replied. That was only a partial of the truth. He believed he felt it – caring, that is. He just lost track of expressing it, somewhere.

It is a universal truth that nobody loves a bad child. At least in a child’s—or a teenager’s—distorted perspective, it is universal. They always said that he has to be in control. Even when they didn’t say it out loud, there was a suggestive look that he should be. He wasn’t good the way he was, but he was considered as being good when he started to exercise more—when his effort could be seen physically.

Then, it came the day when his singing teacher mentioned how his vocal range had deteriorated. She noticed how thin he looked, and suggested that he should gain a bit of weight. Hell no. He knew, really, that his muscles had gotten weak. The diaphragm is a muscle system. The voice is… also a muscle.

“Your sister said you’ve been exercising quite a lot lately, ay?”

“Did she?” He asked, trying to play innocent.

 “Yeah, too much exercise can be—you know, never mind that. Just eat a bit more. Regain your energy, ay?”

“Er. Hmph. Actually, how do I put this…” He went on to say that his singing was distracting him from his studies…

He quit singing.

His sister asked him whether he was fine later that day. Of course, I’m fine, he said. He always said he was fine. He no longer cried nor smiled nor confused. He. Was. Fuckin’. In. Control.

Nobody was going to take that away, or so he thought.

He’d keep bits and pieces of himself in silence. He would be in control of his body, and therefore of his mind. He would always be fine, and good.

(Please don’t follow me when I’m gone.)

The end.