Price Of Love
Characters; Garvin (Monroe) and Nico. Rest of GRAIN and Fintan are mentioned in varying degrees.
Word Count; 2,775.
TWs; Swearing, self-hatred, self worth issues, nausea, relatively mild internalized ableism, relatively mild dissociation, relatively mild panic/anxiety attacks, allusions to past self-harm, implied past abuse, distorted body image, vomiting/purging, implied past rape/non-con, and messy ending/writing. There might be more, I’m not too sure.
Notes; This would take place after both ‘Homesick’ and ‘Smile For The Camera!’ though exactly how long after either one is hard to say. Did I forget to mention that should a certain amount of weight be gained (aka, Garvin finally being a healthy weight) Monroe will end up being triggered to the front to… Deal with that? To a… Very extreme extent pre-decided by, uh, Fintan.. Even to the point where she’s one of the main fronters until it’s… Taken care of to the extent that Fintan would have wanted it taken care of. Anyway, uh, enjoy meeting Monroe! Frankly, this could be read as happening the day after ‘Smile For The Camera!’ but I'm not too sure on the timing still. So if you want to read it as happening the day after, go ahead, but if you’d rather not then that’s fine too.
Also, totally forgot to mention, chances are that the polycule would’ve already met at least Chips well before ‘Homesick’ or ‘Smile For The Camera!’ (whichever came first). So… Yeah. Anyways. Prepare to hate Fintan even more. He’s literally only referred to with endearing, like, pet names. Dearest and dearest darling and uh. Yeah. That stuff. Oh, you also finally get to see a hush program in action too. A pretty mild one, but still. Other than that— Hopefully the dialogue is okay.
*~*~*~*
The day had started out well, all things considered. What were the things being considered? Garvin wasn’t actually sure. But, at least usually, his partners had good reasons whenever they seemed like they were acting all… Nervous? Careful? Something. Around him. He wasn’t sure if something had happened or if he’d done something wrong, but it wasn’t too hard a guess that he’d probably had some sort of breakdown. That seemed like the usual reasoning for it, at least. So, yeah, all things considered, the day had been going just fine.
-
Other than a little nausea at breakfast, and when he’d first woken up. And when he’d washed his hands after breakfast. And when he’d taken some pain medication… Okay, so he’d been nauseous quite a bit, which was odd. He hadn’t thrown up yet, at least, that was good. He hoped he wasn’t getting sick, even if it’d give him an excuse to do nothing but watch Star Trek again. Despite having watched it… Probably too many times, at this point.
-
Garvin flexed his hands for a second, and tried to stifle a yawn. Admittedly, he wasn’t doing much at the moment. He was laying on the couch, trying to watch as Vega made a new bracelet. Unfortunately, he was failing, by a lot, more watching Vega herself than the process they were using to make the bracelet. Or the beads. Or… Anything, really. The others were doing… Something. He wasn’t sure what. If he was right about him having had another breakdown though, probably trying to schedule an appointment.
-
That was actually probably why Starry was in the living room with him too, honestly, just trying to make sure he wasn’t alone. Just in case. It probably hadn’t been a bad breakdown at least, given that Polaris hadn’t seemed too frantic. Given that Altair wasn’t hovering and Sirius wasn’t already dragging him to an appointment. He wished they’d just tell him what’d happened. He wished his memory wasn’t so shit as to not let him remember on his own.
-
He sat up, trying not to set his jaw as he did. Last thing he needed to do was make them think he was having another breakdown. Which turned out to be a good move as Lyra looked over at him and away from their in-progress bracelet, smiling and raising an eyebrow, voice too level to just be casual.
-
“Vinny? You feeling alright?”
-
He rubbed at his knees, swallowing the slight lump forming in his throat. He was fine. He just. Didn’t want to be laying down. Sitting down. On the couch. Didn’t want to be in the room. He bit his tongue for a moment, forced a strained grin, just enough, and pushed himself into standing as he answered. Lying wasn’t too hard, which probably wasn’t good, but it was fine. It wasn’t really a lie anyway, he’d been nauseous plenty of times today to justify it. He just hoped that whatever his tone was, it wouldn’t give him away. Maybe she’d assume it was because of the nausea, even. “Yeah, uh, jus’ headin’ ta the bathroom. Bit nauseous, y’know?”
-
Pavo looked more obviously worried about him at that. Which was fair, he never did too well while sick. Before they could say anything though, he pushed himself to start walking. The sooner he could get away, the better. He grimaced at that, at how desperate he was to get away from his partner. Hopefully he’d assume it was because of the nausea.
-
He hadn’t lied about where he was going, at least. He knew better than to do that while they were worried about him because of, most likely, a breakdown. With that in mind though, the bathroom probably hadn’t been the best choice. Then again, practically everywhere wouldn’t be that good a choice. Every reason he could think of would’ve seemed even more worrying. Just about the one place that wouldn’t have been nearly as worrying probably would’ve been the kitchen. But even the thought of going in there made him nauseous. Which didn’t make sense.
-
Unless he was getting sick. So maybe the bathroom was the best choice then. If he was getting sick he’d rather already be somewhere that no one would have to clean up anything.
-
He closed the bathroom door behind him and decided that, apparently, he hadn’t actually lied at all. He was a bit nauseous and he was in the bathroom. He set a hand against the sink countertop and leaned his weight against it a bit, just to give his legs less to deal with. The pain he usually dealt with wasn’t as bad at the moment, even if his legs did still seem a bit shaky to him. It was better than usual. If he was getting sick though then that definitely wouldn’t last.
-
He huffed as the nausea passed, and just leaned over the sink to breathe. It was quiet, mostly. More than it’d been in the living room. Or maybe just more comfortably so. No one was keeping an eye on him in the bathroom, after all. In fact, it was one of the only places he could actually control who entered while he was in there. Up until they got seriously worried, or had good reason to believe, that he was hurting himself. According to the list on the fridge with different little rules on it, at least.
-
Nausea rolled over him again and he grimaced, leaning over the sink some more, just in case. He was definitely getting sick, wasn’t he? It was probably going to be a bad one too. He groaned, quietly, just loud enough for himself to hear. He didn’t need someone walking by and getting worried enough to knock. He’d have to tell them not to come in and that just… He didn’t want to do that. It felt wrong to do that to any of them.
-
His throat felt tighter than it should’ve, and even breathing through his nose while waiting for the nausea to pass seemed hard to do. He shifted so he had both hands on the counter, leaning directly over the sink and against the counter. He blinked a few times, trying to readjust. He felt shaky and his knees were starting to hurt, more than they had been already, at least. He forced himself to take a deeper breath than what he’d been managing, and looked up, trying to get his airways to open more.
-
Instead of that though, they only seemed to close more at the sight of the mirror. At the sight of skin covering up more bone than it was supposed to.
-
She had to choke down vomit pretty much instantly, as nausea crashed into her before she could even think to find the toilet. She looked, just— She looked terrible. Her shirt wasn’t hanging off either of her shoulders, she couldn’t see her cheekbones at all, and her collarbone wasn’t anywhere near as prominent as it should have been, as it was supposed to be. Her arms weren’t as thin as they were supposed to be, her wrists weren’t as thin as they were supposed to be.
-
Nothing was, and she’d be willing to bet money on that. She was too scared to check though. She didn’t want to be right. She doubted that she was wrong. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, the nausea in her gut, and pushed herself to where she wasn’t leaning over the sink. Her waist didn’t seem small enough either. She hoped it was just because of the shirt. She somehow doubted it was though.
-
It wasn’t hard to find the toilet in the bathroom that she was in, at least. So Monroe moved herself away from the sink and towards the toilet instead, using the bathroom wall as a slight bit of aid. And then using it to lower herself in front of the toilet, trying to ignore how small the gap in her legs was. Trying to convince herself that it was only because of the pants she was wearing.
-
Once she was on the ground, she shifted so she was on her knees, ignoring the pain in favor of making sure the lid was up. Trying to ignore how upset, how disappointed, how disgusted her dearest darling was going to be when he saw her. The thought alone was enough to cause vomit to crawl up her throat, and all she had to do then was open her mouth and heave while leaning over the toilet. The sound of it grated against her ears, but it was better than letting herself slip any further than she already had. She’d be thrown aside, kicked out, worthless and entirely unlovable, if she didn’t fix the issue.
-
Monroe stared into the toilet for a moment after she’d stopped throwing up. She took a careful breath, moving her eyes away from how it looked and focusing instead on the strands of pink curls she could see. It wasn’t the color she remembered it being, but it’d probably been an idea of her dearest. She wouldn’t have done it otherwise. It was longer than she remembered it, but that was fine. It just meant she had more hair that could be pulled, once she fixed the more pressing problem. She’d probably have to wash it though, just to get out any bile that found its way into it.
-
She’d probably have to shower for that though, and that meant she’d have to see just how far she’d fallen. How much there was to fix. How much she’d let herself go, let herself slip. She bit her lip, toying with the spider bite piercing she’d neglected to take off beforehand. At least she knew that her darling hadn’t given up on her yet then. That she still had time to get herself back to how she was supposed to look.
-
She took one more deeper breath before bringing one of her hands up to her mouth. Just once wouldn’t cut it, after all. Not when she didn’t know how much she’d eaten, how much she would’ve had to have eaten to get as terribly out of shape as she was. She felt nauseous just thinking about it, and she barely had her mouth open, her hand not even needed, before she was retching into the toilet again.
-
It burned her throat on its way up, just as it always did, and she tried instead to think about how proud her love would be when she managed to fix her figure. A little pain would always be worth his love, his hands in her hair, his hands fitting perfectly along bones that were jutting out. It’d always be worth it.
-
Monroe heaved again when it’d just about passed, trying to get more out. When she couldn’t manage to do so like that, she shifted and lifted one of her hands again. She took a breath, opened her mouth, slipped her hand in, and— She’d barely started pushing her hand further down her throat when a knock came from the door. It almost made her pause, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was already throwing up again. Still, a voice she didn’t recognize reached her ears through the door, the tone something she couldn’t quite read.
-
“Lovely? You- You need any help in there?”
-
She barely heard past the first word, retching harder as it sank her heart to her stomach. It was nowhere near true, at least not with how much she’d let herself go, how much weight she’d let herself gain. She couldn’t tell if it made her eyes sting or if that was just a result of her vomiting. Still, when it passed, she glanced over towards the door, taking the time to breathe, letting her bile-coated hand rest on the toilet seat.
-
Monroe knew she had to answer. She wasn’t sure what answer whoever it was wanted though. She didn’t know how they’d be able to help her either. Unless they had some way to fix her weight, get rid of the excess. Make her perfect again. She doubted whoever the person behind the door could do that though. She apparently took too long to answer though, since the same voice rang out again.
-
“Can… Can I come in, love?”
-
That had a much more obvious right answer, so she swallowed past the pain in her throat. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this, not when she wasn’t anywhere near her former beauty. Saying no wasn’t really an option though. Whoever they were, they wanted to come in. She wasn’t about to start telling people no, not when it could so easily spiral into fights with her dearest. And she didn’t even have her perfect figure to help keep him more forgiving. So it was easy to answer, her voice a good bit hoarse from her throwing up, waiting only long enough to make sure she wouldn’t trip over her words. “Of course you can, darling.”
-
There was, at least what felt like, a long pause, and for a moment Monroe was worried that she somehow had said the wrong thing. But then the door creaked open and in the doorway stood… Someone she didn’t recognize. Which wouldn’t have been all that odd, if she didn’t feel as present as she did. If she didn’t feel so sure that it was already daytime. They looked concerned too, which seemed off. Unless they were worried about the weight, but whoever they were, they would’ve seen it already. Right? It couldn’t have shown up overnight, after all.
-
A moment passed where neither of them spoke, and she tried not to hunch into herself, biting her tongue. The other person spoke first, stepping forward, towards her, voice coated in worry. “What, um- What happened? Are you okay?”
-
Monroe did hunch over then, feeling her throat close up. If they didn’t already know, see and understand it just by looking at her, at how far she’d let herself slip, then she couldn’t tell them. Her darling had been crystal clear about that. She knew better. Telling them would only make it harder to fix the issue. So she said the first idea that came to mind that’d make it easier to fix her figure instead, her voice smaller than she thought it should be. “I’m fine, uh, just getting sick, I think.”
-
It was barely a lie, really. She had to be sick to let herself fall as far as she had, after all. The person in the doorway still didn’t seem too convinced, for whatever reason. She bit her lip, and tried to think of something else to say if they didn’t believe her. Even if she wasn’t really lying, if they thought she was then she doubted it’d go over well.
-
If she hadn’t convinced them though, they didn’t tell her, just stepped through with soft words that made her wonder how easy it’d be to steal from them. How easy it’d be to get them to give her things. Nowhere near as easy as it’d be if she were still in shape.
-
“Is there anything I can do to help? Anything you need?”
-
She needed to vomit again. Until she either lost her voice or saw blood in it. She didn’t think that was something she could say though, not to whoever this was. She wasn’t sure what she could say, not when they were asking as if they really did want to help with something. She swallowed past the lump forming in her slightly sore throat with each passing second, and glanced around the room. Trying to think of something.
-
She needed to wash out the vomit in her hair, the vomit and spit on her hand. That was something they could help with, wasn’t it? She shifted, and looked at the person in the bathroom with her again, trying to ignore how unsure her voice sounded. “I, um… You could help me get anything out of my hair, if you want to?”
-
They still looked worried as they got closer, a cheery smile that seemed fake to Monroe on their face, “Okay then, let’s clean up your hair.”
-
She nodded, shifting off of her knees and taking them when they got close enough for her to see them better. She met their light green eyes, and felt her own crinkle as she smiled, softly as she could. Compliments were always a good start, even if she didn’t look anywhere near as good as she should. Especially if they were true. “You have pretty eyes.”
Winter 
Day Weather: 
