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His body felt sluggish. His mind was slow. He was sitting on the rim of the bathtub, brushing his teeth to get rid of the awful film of nicotine the cigarette left in his mouth.
Passing out would be a new experience and he felt almost giddy at the prospect of it.
After spitting out the water-toothpaste mixture, washing his hands and face, he started to strip carefully of his clothes. First his sweater, then his binder. Pyjama pants, underwear, and socks. Standing naked in the dim light of his bathroom he drew the scale out from under the sink.
Putting his glasses onto the sill beneath the mirror, he took in his stark collarbones and his visible ribs above his chest. He was shivering.
Jonathan Sims was 5’3” and 46.3 kg. He was absolutely fine.
He put the scale back beneath the sink. He’s late for his flight.
Jon had always been a picky eater. What started out as a simple dislike of fruits and veggies evolved into a full-blown fear of whatever he didn’t know. In his whole life, he had never eaten a pear. They looked too much like apples, and the texture of apples made him vomit. Granted, he had no qualms with apple juice, or any other products made from food he avoided. There was just something about certain consistencies and smells that bothered and agitated him.
While his parents tried to accommodate his needs, his grandmother eventually got fed up with it. As soon as he got old enough to prepare his own food, she taught him how to cook (“a good girl must know how to cook; one day, your husband will rely on a capable wife after a hard day of work”). This did not make him eat salad. Instead, he ate toast with butter for every meal until the school nurse pointed out his malnourishment.
Afterwards, he received a meal plan to get his weight normal. Neither he, nor his grandmother stuck to it.
When puberty hit, his eating got worse, in the other direction. His developing body made him feel so miserable that he filled his inner emptiness with whatever food was available.
By the time he entered university, he was overweight, and badly depressed. That is, until he met Georgie, one evening while sitting on the steps of his dorm, having a small breakdown.
And she introduced him to the LGBTQ Society on their campus. And Jon finally met others who felt unhappy with their body and was able to come to terms with himself as a transmasculine person. And found acceptance with most of his flaws in others, experiencing fellowship for the first time.
Unfortunately, now he knew that the unease about his body and its curves was probably only dysphoria, and he stopped eating while focussing on his schoolwork, sweeping all thoughts about maybe speaking to someone about this under the blue-pink-white rug. Who needed to eat or sleep when you had a five-page paper to submit at the end of the week and zero calorie energy drinks? There was no time in his day for introspection when his brain tormented him constantly.
As such, he began to quickly shed the weight he had gained in his teens, which lead to him becoming fascinated by his newly visible bones and ligaments. The way his ribcage expanded as he breathed, or the tendons in his hands whenever he stretched them.
Smoking was also a new addition that came with the stress of college and just the people whom he hung out with. Outside, chatting with other Queer Soc members, they offered him a cigarette and, knowing that they’re supposed to supress appetite and aid with weight loss, he accepted. And they helped, or maybe that was just the placebo effect, but Jon decided he couldn’t quit and possibly gain the weight back.
Confidence, a trait unprecedented in his life, bubbled up. The bonier he got, the straighter he could stand, no chest left to make him need to hunch over. Jon held his head high and when he finally started testosterone after the 2-year wait that the NHS brought with it, he was happier with his body than he could ever remember being. When he took off his clothes, it didn’t bring agitation or dread any more, but pride. Sometimes, he wondered. He knew it wasn’t healthy. Even so, he continued.
And here’s when friendship turned to relationship between Jon and Georgie. Until she brought up her concern about his rapid weight loss.
They were sitting in the library one afternoon, Jon had an exam the next day, and Georgie kept him company while studying for her own classes, and she looked at the man opposite of her, slumped over the desk furiously marking papers with a highlighter, muttering to himself. She saw his shaking hands and the manic eyes surrounded by deep shadows.
“Hey Jon?” She asked.
He gave a small rumble in response, not looking up.
“Was thinking about popping down the caff and grabbing a sandwich or something, wanna come with?” She already anticipated his answer, taking his previous habit of snubbing offers of food as indicator for the result into account.
“Mhm… no, I think I can get through a few more pages before I need to get up…”, Jon softly tried to weasel out of the offer. He couldn’t get up yet. Eating would only take up valuable time, and his fuzzy brain made concentration hard enough. Ah, well, that’s what food’s for, isn’t it? His body foiled him once again. Concession time.
“I- I suppose if you’d bring me something back?”
That was a start! But Georgie couldn’t test her luck. Jon was unlikely to accept a full meal (even though he definitely needed it), and she let him simmer for a bit. See what snack he came up with himself. She didn’t mind waiting. It would ultimately be beneficial for both.
“Are you- Is something the matter, George?” Jon was obviously confused, oblivious to Georgie’s tactic – she hadn’t expected much else. He also fell into his sleepy habit of giving her another nickname, to her already existing one. He was looking at her, oh so pitiable, and she gave in.
“I was just waiting for you to expand on what you want?” She explained.
“Ah, right. Right, uhm…”, G-d, now he had to think of something. Low in calories, but still palatable. Jon quickly goes through his list of memorised numbers. “Suppose, I suppose I could go for a lemon scone?”
“That a question or an answer, Jonny boy?”
He visibly shuddered at the nickname, then nodded quickly.
“It was an answer. Now, can I get back to studying?”
Tetchy. Wow. Georgie was used to Jon not being able to control his tone, often acerbic when he didn’t mean it to come out like that, but she was pretty sure there was something else behind his irritability right now. As she walked down to the canteen, she began to wonder. Of course, Jon had lost a lot of weight since they met, but she had chalked it up to just the new environment; Stress, first time full choice over food, and yeah, they’re all broke. She knew he had… problems. His obsessive neuroticism has always been standing in his own way, and she has more than once recommended seeing the on-campus counsellors, but he had always waved her off. Maybe she should try again.
They had split up, in the end. It was neither and both of their faults at the same time.
Jon’s weight became stable when he joined the institute. This wasn’t out of an attempt at recovery, it just came to a natural unhealthy stasis. He remembers, even now, his first days with Tim in research. He was friendly to him, but he was that to (nearly) everyone. What set his behaviour towards him apart was tinged with a hint of recognised concern. It wasn’t completely obvious, but Tim knew what Jon was doing. He remembers his own teenage years, after all.
And in a way, he tries to adopt Jon. He already lost one brother, and while they’re not related, they have enough similarities to stand out against the regular white, cishet and neurotypical academic museum pieces around them. They’ve got to stick together, and for that, they needed energy.
He started offering Jon granola bars he usually kept for himself, but saying that he accidentally bought a kind he didn’t like. Jon accepted them, Tim however rarely saw him eating them. He kept trying, though.
He held himself and Jon accountable, and even explained his situation. Jon had been quite surprised. Still, he reluctantly agreed to eat lunch with Tim, under the guise of Tim needing help. They either met in the cafeteria or went to one of the many cafés and restaurants in Chelsea. It took some time, but eventually Jon opened up to him, getting louder and more excitable, no longer stopping himself from twitching and fidgeting. Tim mirrored him, and soon, when people started staring at them in public, they didn’t tone it down, just started laughing. Jon never ordered more than a starter, but he seemed less exhausted.
After she transferred over from artefact storage, Sasha sometimes accompanied them. She harmonised more with Jon’s antics, when she arranged the shakers evenly, he puffed up the napkins. They had fun, seemingly fast friends, never to be separated and helping each other through their worries and problems.
Tim was finally not alone, relying on others for the first time in years. Sasha quickly gained her skills and reputation, along with an openness unprecedented. Jon, he was full of vigour, his eyes more rested, his movement less sluggish, consumed in his work and getting better in it, and his social life.
Then Jon got his promotion, and, like the archival system, everything fell into disorganisation.