Matthias Graves | Simon Monroe (inbalance) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2017-02-18 19:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !backstory, matthias graves |
Who: Matthias Graves
What: There's an oddity to being a dead man in a live man's skin.
Where: A dorm room in Las Vegas, Nevada
When: Sunday, May 4th, 1997; evening
Warnings: Vomiting, eating disorders (sort of, not really, it's complicated), mentions of masturbation.
Like another boy might have waited for the day when he started needing to shave, Matthias had waited for the day when he would be a reincarnate. His mother was. His father was. On both sides of the family, back as far as anyone could remember, his family had been reincarnates. His mother was in the Agency, even, had worked there since Matthias was old enough to start school. That was what Matthias expected he'd do, eventually, after he'd become a reincarnate, and after he'd finished college. Public relations, maybe. His mother had always been a caretaker, said she couldn't imagine doing anything else. Matthias had thought about that, too. Being a caretaker, introducing young reincarnates to what it meant to be part of their world. Who better than someone who had always been involved in it, from the very beginning of his life? It didn't hold his interest quite as much as it should have.
He didn't want to join the Agency, anymore. He hadn't figured out a way to tell his mother that, yet. She'd probably accept it, wouldn't be angry at all... or at least not with him. She'd probably blame his dad, if she was going to blame anyone. They'd argued about it before, when they thought that Matthias, Desmond, and Therese couldn't hear, the things his father said about CORE in front of the three of them. It wasn't that Matthias wanted to join CORE, either. Matthias just wanted to work for a regular advertising agency, doing a regular job. For the first time since he'd been old enough to understand what a reincarnate was, he didn't want to be one. That realization had come on the heels of that day that he'd dreamed of, the day that he woke up with another voice in his head.
Simon. Simon Monroe, from some television show that wasn't even written yet, wasn't even a concept in someone's mind. All that anybody else knew about Simon was what Matthias had told them... and they'd asked. They'd all asked. His mother. His father. His brother and sister. They'd all wanted to know. He hadn't even had to tell them himself; his mother had found out at work, of course, from the caretaker that had been assigned to Matthias when he became a reincarnate. They'd known that he was one. They hadn't known anything about it. They still didn't. All that they knew was that his name was Simon, that he liked poetry and ugly sweaters, that he'd been addicted to drugs but he was better, now. They didn't know that he was better because he'd overdosed and died. They didn't know that he was better because he was a zombie, and zombies didn't feel anything at all.
"Hey, Matty."
That was his roommate. They'd lived together for almost an entire school year, now, and Jon still hadn't figured out that Matthias wasn't a fan of nicknames. He hadn't figured out that Matthias was a fan of the way he looked when he bent over while he wasn't wearing anything but his boxers, either, so Matthias thought that he'd broken about even, when it came to his roommate and how completely oblivious he was.
Matthias dragged his eyes away from the textbook he'd been reading, stuck on the same page for the past... hour, he realized, with a glance at the clock. Or close to it, at least. The radio was playing in the background, volume turned low. He could barely make out the words, but he knew them well enough by now that he didn't really need to. His mind filled in the blanks of 'maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me' without any more than the whisper of a tune. Wonderwall. Again. They hadn't gotten tired of it on this station, yet. It made Simon think of Kieran. Everything reminded Simon of Kieran. Jon's eyes, when he met them, reminded Simon of Kieran, too. Warm and brown, like the contacts he'd worn to cover the way they'd bleached out to nearly white, after he'd Risen. It took Matthias a few seconds to stop staring at Jon's eyes long enough to notice that his girlfriend was with him, too. Dani. She'd figured out that Matthias liked the way that Jon looked when he bent over in just his boxers, judging by the look that she was giving him.
Sweet, oblivious Jon. He didn't notice the tension in the air, either, just smiled at Matthias, where he was sprawled out, shirtless and belly down on his bed, propped up on his elbows while he read. Matthias had never hung out in the dorm room shirtless, before Simon. It made him uncomfortable, now, but not as uncomfortable as the way his shirts rubbed against the line of his spine, where his skin was strangely tender. Jon hadn't commented on that change, either. "We're going to go grab a bite. You wanna take a break from the books, buddy?" Then, like it was going to make any difference, "Lucy's going to be meeting us there."
Matthias would have gone, before. Sat next to Lucy and pretended to be interested in what she was saying, even though he was completely distracted by Jon's foot accidentally brushing against his under the table. That was before.
"No thanks, I'm okay." Matthias tilted onto his side, hand going to the back of his neck to rub at the spot there that had been bothering him for the past few days. It was red, when he'd managed to twist around to look at it in the mirror. Probably from rubbing it. "We've got peanut butter, right? I'll have a sandwich. I have to finish this chapter."
"You sure?" Jon looked like he was going to argue, but Dani was already tugging him toward the door. "Okay, bro, I'll bring you back some cookies or something."
Jon was a good roommate. Matthias almost felt bad about how many times he'd thought about him while he was jerking off in the shower, or as quietly as he could in his bed after Jon had fallen asleep. That was before Simon, too.
Matthias waited until the door was closed before he got up and found their loaf of store brand white bread, and the near empty jar of peanut butter—creamy, because Jon was a good roommate who always remembered that, no matter how much he liked chunky, the texture made Matthias gag. If they were just sleeping together, Jon would have been the perfect boyfriend. That would have meant Matthias telling Jon that he was queer, though, and he'd rather keep living with someone that he could stand and deal with the sexual frustration.
It was mechanical, spreading peanut butter on the bread with one of the white plastic knives that they'd been sneaking out of the dining hall all year. Just one slice, rolled over; there was no point in wasting more than that. He grabbed the small plastic trash can, lined with a plastic bag from the grocery store, tucked it between his feet when he settled down onto the side of his bed with his sandwich, book still open beside him. Before, he'd have eaten it absently, focused on the chapter he was supposed to be studying for class. Now, in the after, he stared at the sandwich, throat working as he swallowed the creeping, burning feeling already rising in the back of his throat. He was starving, his stomach clenching tight with hunger, but he knew what would happen, when he bit into that sandwich, when he chewed. When he swallowed.
One bite. He could do one bite. They could do one bite.
On the radio, Jewel was insisting that someone was meant for her. Matthias sank his teeth into bread that was slightly stale (one of Jon's only failings as a roommate was that he never closed the bag back tightly enough), ripped off a chunk of sandwich. Nothing had ever tasted better before in his life. He chewed it slowly, mechanically, enjoying it for as long as he could, until bread and peanut butter were blended as smoothly as teeth could get them. Then, only then, he swallowed.
For a moment, he thought it was going to be fine. He'd gotten one bite down, past his gag reflex, on its way to his stomach. Sometimes... sometimes, it worked out.
Most of the time, it didn't.
Matthias tossed the sandwich aside, onto the bed, leaned over and grabbed for the trash can so he could bring it up closer while he retched and gagged, bread and peanut butter and bile hitting the bottom of the plastic bag with a splat, a splash. The sound made him retch, more. The smell made him gag, more. It wasn't black. It wasn't black, what he coughed up into the trash can, but something told him it ought to be. He couldn't eat. Dead men couldn't eat. Something in his brain knew it, knew that he was dead. Knew that food was poison, and it had to get it out.
Simon wasn't doing it on purpose. Matthias knew that. It didn't make him any less hungry, because Simon was dead, but Matthias was not.
When he was sure he was done, when he heaved without bringing up anything at all a few times, Matthias tossed the sandwich into the trash can, too. It wouldn't work, now, if he tried to eat the rest of it. He'd just remember what it tasted like coming up, and he wouldn't even be able to swallow. He'd have to try again, later. The next time that Jon, and Dani, and whatever girl they tried to set him up with, went off to the dining hall without him, when he made another excuse about making another sandwich. He couldn't try eating there. It wasn't like he could take his trash can with him. It wasn't like he could do this in front of anybody else.
He tied the bag off, pulled it from the trash can and replaced it with another. The trash drop off was just down the hall. No one was out there to see him walk to it, feet and chest bare, with a mostly empty bag. No one saw him rinse his mouth out at the water fountain, spit it back out before he took a slow, careful sip. A door opened when he was on his way back. Matthias forced a smile.
By the time Jon got back, he'd be settled back in with his book. He'd tell him that he had the sandwich. He'd take the cookies that Jon would remember to bring him, because Jon was the best boyfriend that he'd never have, and he'd thank him and tell them that he'd have them later, as a reward when he was done. He'd pretend that he didn't know he was going to die, that he was going to starve himself until his body shut down. He'd pretend that there wasn't a monster in his head, a drive that thought he was already dead. Until then, he'd curl up on top of the sheets and hate the young, stupid him that had thought that being a reincarnate was going to be the best thing that ever happened to him.
One month as a reincarnate. He was starting to doubt that he'd make it to two.