(jake/)dirk emotional overeating stuffing tummyache

GT: Forgive me if im coming off as rude but...
GT: Youre serious?
TT: Jake. When have I ever lied to you before?
TT: Let alone about matters such as this.
GT: You never have.
GT: But this is just astoundingly sudden.
GT: I honestly never..
TT: So?
GT: So what?
TT: Is that a positive or negative reaction?
TT: It isn't like I have much experience in these sorts of affairs.
GT: ...
TT: Jake?
GT: I think i may need a short period to think.
TT: ...
GT:
GT: Fuck.
-- golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 16:01 --

---

'Fuck.'

Staring at the darkened chat window, Dirk was only vaguely aware of his heart hammering in his chest. Instead, all he could think about was what had just happened. He had spent so long planning out the conversation, hours worth of silent contemplation, devising the best way to break the news to the other teen. Ways to ease into the topic had been poured onto digital text files, as had any possible responses and in turn what to say to continue the chat, to be edited, rethought, deleted, changed, restored and reworded. Dozens of chats with Jane and Roxy, during none of which he had betrayed his true intentions, had been retroactively analyzed for any hints as to ensuring he had the best chances of succeeding in his attempts to woo the other teen. So much time, so much effort into being absolutely sure he knew what to do, and in the end he had still failed spectacularly.

Shakily, he pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the subtle creak of the worn computer chair. Jake hadn't said no, so maybe there was still hope. Maybe. Maybe wasn't good enough; it never was. Any time Dirk relied on a maybe, it had always ended poorly. Avoiding maybes was his modus operati, like Roxy avoiding sobriety. He was a planner, a thinker. He always knew what to say, when to say it, and how to ensure others said the right things. Nothing he did was without meticulous planning, all to remove the dreaded maybes from the equation. And now here he was: maybe he hadn't totally botched his attempt to confess his feelings. Maybe Jake would talk to him again; maybe feelings would be reprociated. Maybe. Maybe he had just succeeded in being dumped.

He stumbled towards the bathroom, catching his fall on the edge of the sink. Cold air and tension filled his body, and for a few moments he almost felt like he was going to throw up. Above the dark shades, two vibrant orange eyes stared back at him through the mirror, clouded by emotion. Only ten minutes prior he had looked impeccable, and now he was on the verge of a physical breakdown. A small part of his mind was screaming at him, telling him to get up, to go back to the computer, maybe finish up that robot he had been working on, do anything but sit in the corner and despair. For the most part, Dirk was apathetic to his inner voice, instead opting to pull himself up and teeter back into his room, collapsing onto his bed and burying his head in the fabric. At once he was both empty and bursting, tired and energetic, and beneath the rapid pounding of his heart he was distinctly aware of the slight hunger he had been intending to satisfy once he finished with Ja-

No. No, he wasn't going to think about it. He had already done enough thinking. Hell, he had done nothing but think. Look where it got him. Instead, Dirk clambered off the bed, teeth grit despite the tears threatening to well under his glasses, and left his room, heading towards the kitchen in a haze of frustration and despair.

---

"So how'd it go?"

Despite lacking both eyes and the ability to move, the thick pair of sunglasses on the countertop seemed to turn towards Dirk as he entered. Normally, he'd be up with a conversation with the digital clone he had devised, but instead of responding he simply walked past the shades and popped open the freezer.

A slight click emanated from behind him, and the electronic voice of his double once again filled the room. "Let me guess: it didn't. Don't tell me you're going to drown your sadness in ice cream like a dramatic housewife."

"Fuck off." Dirk couldn't even be bothered to a grab a bowl; doing so would mean moving aside the autoresponder, and he simply wasn't in the mood to interact with anybody. Nearly-empty tub of strawberry ice cream in one hand, he retrieved a clean spoon from the dishwasher rack before meandering into the living room, falling onto the couch, and burying his face in his hands.

"Shit. I wasn't being serious, you know." For a machine, he was awfully good at sounding concerned. "As sappy as it sounds to say this, would talking about it help? I mean, I've got nothing better to do."

Without a response, Dirk spooned out a fair-sized blob of the pink treat, shoveling it into his mouth and sniffling quietly. It was true, he was acting like a dramatic housewife, but what else was he supposed to do? Sit and think? Think about the way he had fucked up his friendship with Jake? Thinking was what had started this mess, and now he wanted to do nothing but not think. As he pondered over his options, the surge of despair returned with full force, and the teen all but forced another spoonful of ice cream down his throat in an attempt to block out his own mind. For what it was worth, he did feel slightly better having food in him, but the slight jittering of his hand as it raised and lowered the silverware betrayed his outer facade of indifference.

When the metal of the spoon struck plastic, Dirk felt himself come back to his senses. In his emotional stupor, he had idly eaten whatever had been in the container. As he swallowed and exhaled, eyes still watering slightly and nose red-tinted, he felt a small yet audibly squelching tremor run through his stomach, and he couldn't help but shiver slightly. The slight weight in his stomach did well to relieve some of his tension, but the hollow sensation in his chest only tightened when he stood from his position on the couch and stretched, white shirt riding ever-so-slightly up the petite yet taut curve of his full stomach.

To his relief, the computerized shades were dimmed when he re-entered the small kitchen; the autoresponder must have decided to occupy it's time elsewhere. Despondent to fill the empty void in his chest, Dirk opened the refrigerator, bloodshot eyes coming to rest on the half-torn pizza box resting on the lower shelf. He had ordered it the day before, a spur-of-the-moment decision, and had eaten a small portion already. Now, however, he wasted no time in retrieving the rest of the medium-sized meal and haphazardly shoving it into the microwave, before all but punching the 'reheat' button and turning to head back to the bathroom. It wasn't like had anything better to do other than try and wash his face while the microwave ran, and maybe the delicious pepperoni and cheese would let him finally relax.

---

Well, it almost did.

Twenty-five minutes later, Dirk found himself back in his room, reclining on his computer chair. It was probably the most comfortable chair in the apartment, after all, although he wasn't particularly interested in checking. The now-empty pizza box lay discarded on the floor next to his chair, forgotten by it's owner, and the last slice of it's contents were in the process of being consumed. For all intents and purposes, eating had fulfilled it's goal of taking Dirk's mind off of Jake. Unfortunately, it had firmly reassigned his focus to an equally unpleasant topic: his stomach.

In the time it had taken for the teen to reheat his dinner and wash his face, the sniffling and tears had subsided to be replaced by a dull lethargy. Combined with his emotional conflict, the tantalizing allure of the pizza, and the fact that he hasn't actually eaten much that day, it was enough to push him into biting off more than he could chew, and then some. Predictably, consuming both the majority of a medium pizza and roughly a pint of strawberry ice cream while already somewhat nauseous had taken it's toll on the boy's digestive tract, and as he swallowed the last bite of pizza he was fairly certain he was on the verge of exploding.

His tummy, flat and toned not two hours prior, now bulged out frighteningly, forcing his thighs apart even as he leaned backwards in his chair. Although he could feel his shirt riding up slightly, the ball-like curve becoming too much for his clothing to handle, he was more preoccupied with the severe case of indigestion Dirk had inadvertently given himself. Like a mass of concrete, his belly was hot and heavy, cold ice cream mingling with warm pizza in an unholy union of gastric horror which resonated with sound and heat as his body tried to handle the bulging wad of junk food forced into it.

Dirk shuddered, the slight shaking of his belly elicting yet another wave of noise; the lower portion of his gut gave a deep, gassy rumble and a several-second-long groaning slosh, whereas the top half bubbled and shifted unsteadily. Occasionally, a small hiccup or belch would force it's way up his throat, audible through his clenched jaw, as the acidic contents of his stomach worked itself into overdrive. As he tried to keep himself from hurling up his oversized dinner, one hand pressing onto the globular sphere that was his tummy, the teen idly wondered if there had been something wrong with that pizza. Was the bread becoming stale? It would certainly explain the way he could feel it moving through his stomach, a spongy mass pressurized between the sloshing, molten ice cream and the sticky, thick cheese wreaking havoc in his upper belly area. Maybe it was the cheese, he mused, as another abrupt, twisting churn resounded from near his belly button, forcing an involuntary moan that was almost inaudible over the sheer volume of his tummy's squeezing, shifting sloshes.

A soft beep from his computer broke him out of his misery. To his chagrin, the computer was behind him; he briefly considered spinning around in the chair, but shaking up the volatile cocktail of food inside him was the last thing he was willing to do. Instead, Dirk planted both hands on the armrests of his chair and pushed, slowly forcing himself to his feet. As he leaned forward, his ball-belly sloshed and sputtered, wobbling slightly, before giving a loud, resonating squeal as it's owner stood up fully. The overstuffed boy could feel the slight draft of the room's air conditioning gently tickling his underbelly, alerting him to the fact that his cap-decorated shirt was failing spectacularly in covering him, and the marginal blush that adorned his face upon realizing just how huge he had become was quickly drowned out by a airy burp-sigh and a sharp, gurgling cramp along his side.

Waddling in front of his computer, movements gentle and slow to keep from upsetting his gut any further, Dirk jiggled the mouse; on cue, the simple black screensaver disengaged and revealed the blinking yet still greyed out chat window. A message from Jake, apparently sent while Dirk had been eating himself sick. For one brief moment, Dirk's room spun, dizziness clouding his senses, and he was forced to grip the back of the computer chair to keep himself from falling down and probably popping his midriff like a grape. He didn't know what to do; respond to Jake? Ignore it until he wasn't so...sick? The other teen was offline, probably tending to his pumpkins, and even if Dirk did respond, it would be a time before he got an answer.

Fuck it, then. Without a second thought, the bloated boy slowly crossed the room, easing himself on his bed. The sheer energy being used to digest his meal, combined with the pain from his stomach and the apathy of his burnt-out feelings, resulted in an overwhelming sense of tiredness, and as soon as his head hit the pillow he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Now lying down, he could feel the entire contents of his belly spinning and gurgling, uprighting itself against the changed angle of gravity, and the teen gave a defeated belch into the pillow. For now, all Dirk could do was rest, and hope his gut was still intact come morning.

--

GT: Im sorry for abandoning you so abruptly, chum.
GT: Its just that a confession of such magnitude was in all honesties entirely unexpected.
GT: That isnt to say it was entirely unwelcome.
GT: Your autoresponder told me you were taking it rather hard on yourself and im sorry i wasnt able to reassure you until now.
GT: Of course its entirely possible youre not reading this.
GT: Regardless.
GT: Dirk.
GT: When youre feeling better please contact me as soon as feasably possible.
GT: I may have a confession of my own to make.