My Bloody Velvet Underground

The thing was that Clark noticed the little things more frequently than he lead on. Didn’t want to make his concerns too sudden or loud that he might scare her off from feeling the freedom to be open with him after these struggles were so directly noted and perceived by her observant boyfriend. On the other hand he did want to sound the alarm, wanted to get as close to her as possible and address everything as soon as he witnessed it. Close off any distance between them and get to the bottom of what was bringing her to do this to herself, what was making her feel like keeping him at arm’s length when he wanted so desperately to be closer.

It became more obvious it wasn’t a one off thing because they lived together, and he sees her. Watches her out of pure adoration. Knows her body, memorizes her habits, her quirks and rituals that shape who she is. And when something stops feeling right he makes sure he holds her tighter, kisses her longer, tells her he loves her and that there was nothing she could confess to him that would ever make any of that affection and love go away.

Clark wished with everything in his heart that it was that easy and simple to take all of her pain away and make all her turmoil dissipate. A few kisses and talks. But it wasn’t going to be.

She started skipping breakfast at first, nonchalant while brushing off his offers for even a measly piece of toast and said they were about to be late for work.

The excuses from then on tended to vary from “I don’t have any time” to “I’m just not hungry yet, it’s still too early in the morning baby”then to “those are making my stomach upset lately. I’ll just drink a protein shake, come on. We have to go.”

He kept looking at her in almost frightened disbelief when her mood and her temper got increasingly worse whenever he offered her anything to make for her on the go. Waffles, pancakes, egg sandwiches, burritos — all of her favorite foods to eat just sat in the fridge, still bagged up and untouched. Sometimes they were hidden in the very back on the bottom shelf as to not alarm Clark that she had neglected to take them for lunch. Of course he notices. Frowns at it for a long while with a few sighs before ultimately closing the fridge, hugging an arm over himself before grabbing his phone to type out a text.

Is everything okay?

Have you eaten? I still see your lunch in the fridge. I can come by and bring some fresh food if you want something else. Hope your day is going good! I love you

Clark checks his phone every few minutes for her reply. It took over an hour, and she just sends a little heart and says she’s sorry and that she loves him too. Omitting any concrete answer to his offer or his question.

Somehow her appetite boiled down to coffee or lousy pieces of sugar free gum which was a piss poor excuse for a meal. That wasn’t even classified as a snack. But she insisted he put his concern to rest, putting her foot down, assuring him there was really nothing to be worrying about. Or worse, trying to laugh him off with a “who are you, grandma? Why do you care so much about what I had to eat?”

Clark sighed, kissed her forehead. Drove them to work with his mouth shut while her head turned to stare out the window, occasionally taking sips of her coffee and anxiously bouncing her leg up and down. He still tries to hold her hand or her back as they walk into the office, but she shrugs his touch away and walks slightly ahead. The subtle rejection bit him and burned with a sting that lingered over him all day.

Clark still tries to catch small glimpses of what was really going on in her inner world, figure out what she’d silently communicate even when she didn’t know or intend to. His ears perk and his brows pinch when he witnesses her looking at herself in the mirror, turning away, then crossing her arms. Mumbles something about how some of her shirts and a trusty old pair of jeans stopped fitting right then promptly trudges right back to their bedroom to lay down. Appearing more exhausted, gloomy and frail than he’d ever seen her.

When they first started dating, their meals were lavish. It was one of their many ways of connecting, of bonding over a meal and a chat about their day or any movies or books they’d dissect together or recommend to each other. Clark would put his skills to work in the kitchen and set her up with full plates that she was so giddy for that she’d end up licking it all up until it was clean. They’d laugh about being so full they couldn’t walk. She’d tell him how much of an incredible cook he is. He’d tell her how he experimented with some different techniques and ingredients and felt nervous about what she thought of the changes, and was delighted to hear that she enjoyed it.

Nowadays Clark ate alone at the dining table. If they did share dinner together she played around the chunks with a fork, getting lost in a story about her day hoping to distract from the fact that she’d barely taken more than a few bites. Clark’s wiped his plate clean and even goes for some cookies for dessert that she debates on having but soon turns them down and informs him she can’t stomach any sweets lately.

After an especially grueling day at work the ride home is silent. She saves her tears for bed when she curls in on his shoulder and dry heaves while telling him she feels like nothing ever seems to just go right for her. That her career would be too much an easy breezy fairytale if she didn’t get reprimanded for some simple mistakes her boss chastised her and belittled her for. Spending too much time in the bathroom, losing focus during meetings, coming back five minutes late from her breaks yawning nonstop.

Clark rubs her back and holds her tight, noticing just how much smaller she’s shrunk while his arms engulf her body. He kisses the top of her head and tells her she’s the most intelligent, most beautiful woman he’s ever known and it hurts to see her spiral into this much anguish. How the bags under her eyes got deeper, how her naps became even more frequent and much longer. Clark tells her to at the very least drink more water and has started filling up a glass for her bedside, hoping she stays hydrated after letting out all of those tears.

On one weekend they have their first intimate moment they’ve gotten together in weeks. Clark is on top, holding up most of his weight as to not crush her. Kisses down her neck, her jaw, grinding his eager cock into her thigh while she breathes and lazily holds onto him by his back, trailing her fingers down his spine. Letting him do the moving for them. She asked that he not turn on any lights when she stripped down her pajama pants and her panties, keeping that baggy shirt on that she never seems to take off while Clark shamelessly made himself fully bare in order to feel the warmth in the closeness of being skin to skin with her after what felt like so long. He was inside her for only a few minutes before she suddenly loses all consciousness in a hazy, malnourished exhaustion with her head falling to the side and her arms unfastening from his back and isn’t even capable of responding when he reacts, grabs her face, calls out her name.

Pulling himself out of her, he doesn’t stifle any of his panic or incoming tears as he grabs her face and strokes her hair. Raising his voice to wake her up somehow.

“Please, please baby, answer me. Wake up. Wake up. Am I gonna have to—“

Clark shuffles for his phone, still naked and petrified. She stirs and opens her eyes just before he finished dialing 911.

“What is going on with you? What just happened? Baby, you don’t just faint like that if nothing is wrong. I need to get some real help for you here.”

She blinks and still doesn’t seem to fully register his words or any of her surroundings. Clark runs to the kitchen and fills up a full glass of orange juice. Something to put in her growling stomach.

Thankfully, he watches her chug it down, eyes still half lidded. Clark is so nervous that she appeared too weak to even hold her own glass so he makes her sit up so he can hold it to her mouth for her. He quickly grabs a piece of bread and breaks it up into little pieces, placing them one at a time in her palm, watching her take the little bites and swallow them down. Knows immediately that going to work the next day was out of the question.

So he holds her hand, caresses the back of it with his thumb. Has another arm around her back and rocks her back and forth. And he carefully tells her again.

”Something’s wrong. And it’s… it’s only gotten worse. I know it has. I want you to talk to me, honey. Please. You’ve been hiding this too long. I wanna see the real you again.”

She’s quiet for a long time after that. Still stays wrapped up in the embrace, sipping the tea he also got up and made, nibbling on the orange that he peeled. Clark didn’t know what could have done it, what could have broke the dam she’d so carefully built up. But all the tears and the emotion finally get flushed out and break free.

A weak, raw sob wracks out of her throat. She muffles the rest of her noises in his chest while she gets his bare torso wet from her leaking eyes, whimpering and clawing at his shoulders while he holds her tight and pats her back. Closes his eyes and listens to her stuttering and slurring.

“I didn’t think you would even care. It’s just stupid. I swear I didn’t mean to get this bad. I’ve been such a bitch, pushing you further and further away…”

Clark shoots down her attempts at getting even more self destructive.

“No. No, don’t do that. That’s not fair to you. I can see what you’ve been dealing with. It would be hard for me to smile and act care free too if I was hurting the same way you have. You aren’t to blame. Okay? You aren’t.”

“But I’ve been a fucking asshole! I throw tantrums when you ask me how I am. I can’t look at myself. I can’t look you in the eye anymore. It’s been too much. Thought you’d just up and leave me already for how I’ve been acting lately.”

Clark listens while she lets it out. Vomits everything up that she’s held in and shoved down her own throat and swallowed up because every toxic thought had held that much power over her. It didn’t let her feel good or feel innocent for sneaking a fucking cupcake at a work party, or feel guilty for throwing food away that had stayed untouched for so long it grew mold. Or leaving Clark to eat all by himself and watch some random YouTube video on his phone as he ate, not even attempting to get up and knock on their shared bedroom door in fear that he’d be bugging her if he asked for her to keep him company.

Stepping on the scale they had shoved in the cabinets of their bathroom made her head spin and her hands tremble. Even if the outcome of all the skipped meals brought the result she’d hoped for it still made her sick to her stomach to look at any number. Checking the mirror over and over to see if her collarbones stuck out in a way that looked more appealing according to her warped standards. Held her breath and sucked everything in. Pressing in on her lower belly like that could somehow make it all just disappear.

Passed off any symptoms as being tired, stressed, overworked. Wondering if it stroked the voice in her head’s ego when Clark first started showing concern. In a twisted way she thought the attention meant it had to be working. She could stop all this when she wanted to, she just didn’t want to quit yet.

Clark has tears running down his cheeks too but he swipes them away before they roll down too far. Sniffles and keeps the soft, slow pace as he rocked her body back and forth. “I wouldn’t ever, ever leave you. Especially not when you’re in this much pain, when you need help…”

“I don’t want help, I just want a break from it all because I’m so tired. I can get better on my own. I know I can. I’m just taking it too far lately. Getting dizzy. Power bar could solve it. Maybe some of those famous morning buttery pancakes of yours too while you’re at it in the kitchen with that little apron I love seeing you in.”

The last ditch effort for some semblance of humor doesn’t fool Clark. He cups her face and leans in.

“You… you passed out while I was still inside you. You don’t eat any breakfast, you don’t eat the lunches I pack you, and I see the guilt written all over your face when you finally eat dinner. You can’t keep going like this. It’s going to kill you. You’ve already disappeared. I couldn’t live with myself if I watched you struggle and never so much as acknowledged it or tried to take care of you. Help you…. help you take better care of yourself.”

She bites down on her bottom lip hard, thinking that’s gonna do it to hold the remainder of her sobs in. All’s it does is make her choke on them. She reaches for him again and he accepts her embrace, cooing in her ear that she’s not alone and he’s always going to be there whenever she trips and falls and goes through her ups and downs.

He feeds her slowly while they turn on some trash reality TV to lighten all the brooding tension that fogged the space between them. He’s slow, doesn’t want to overwhelm her and force any more than she’s able to take. She confessed that she felt so empty it made her nauseous, so he had Tums on her bedside just in case all of the food became too much for her shrunken stomach to digest.

After she’s halfway done she taps out and holds her belly, with Clark praising her efforts and telling her she did such a good job. Later after a few episodes he grins and gets up to make them a shared cup of hot chocolate with a mountain of overflowing whipped cream swirled to the top. She laughs when Clark takes the first big gulp, getting a spot of white cream on his nose and kissing her right after. Transferring the mess onto her face in the process. She keeps giggling as she licks some off his tongue and his lips, and Clark sighs into her mouth and deepens the kiss. Hoping that every touch, every move communicated just how much he’s missed her, missed this intimacy. And not only the physical aspect of it. More specifically he missed the raw, undeniable vulnerability when finally getting to pull back the curtain and welcome whatever had been guarded behind it.

It wasn’t fixed overnight. It wasn’t one hard conversation that would alter all of her thinking back to prioritizing her health over the fierce need for control that had started to fester over time. Clark knows healing was gonna take time. Day by day was what he would always tell her, they just take it day by day, meal by meal.

Even if her breakfast was small, or if she doesn’t want solid food because it felt too heavy. To alleviate that he’d blend up a smoothie for the both of them out of some frozen strawberries, blueberries, banana, apple juice. Even if she just snacks on things nonstop throughout the day and then stuffs herself full for dinner all to fall asleep on their couch before he’s even finished doing the dishes. It was more than enough for Clark to see that she was trying.

And even when a tone deaf co-worker of theirs passes them by in the break room right as Clark was blowing on a hot bite of food for her before raising it up to her mouth. The co-worker feigns a gasp and has the nerve to say wow, who would’ve guessed that she actually eats. Clark shuts the comment down with a stern, infuriated shake of his head and comes straight to her defense after hearing the needless, presumptuous nature of a comment coming from a stranger that didn’t know how much courage it was taking his girlfriend to keep going like this.

It throws her off balance, sure, but she makes a choice to ignore the chatter and brush off the passive aggressive phrase thrown her way. That time she kept on eating almost out of spite, scraping the bowl clean after grabbing the spoon right out of Clark’s hands.

It was strenuous, rocky progress but it was progress nonetheless. He also throws their scale in the trash and takes the bag out on garbage day to ensure she doesn’t get tempted to step on it and let it define her entire day or disturb her peace of mind after reading whatever number that glows on the screen.

She still cries when it’s too much. In the slow, agonizing day by day process of recovery her body was changing more here and there and it was a lot for her to get up in the morning, stare in the mirror, put her clothes back on and go to work. But she tried, with little number of sick days taken off of work, and naps that took up her entire night sometimes. But Clark values her trying, and know she deserves her rest after the long battle she’s been fighting.

He still prepares her morning cup of coffee, gives her a muffin on the side to go with it. Tries not to make her feel like he’s staring when she chews, even if his eyes can’t help but glance over every few minutes and study her minuscule facial expressions with every swallow. Sometimes will still happily feed her by his own hand once she does fess up and admit she’s getting hungry. When she’s achy and tired during their morning car rides before the long day ahead of them, he reaches over and strokes her thigh with his palm. Holds onto her knee, repeatedly gushes about how proud he is to be by her side and watch her confidence and her sense of self slowly but surely bloom again back to what she used to effortlessly show to the world.

. . .

I wanted to approach this with caution and care :( mostly clark’s POV so a lot was him noticing, I love angst and sensitive topics like these to exercise my brain and broaden my writing, thank you thank you anon for this request:) I was so happy that someone took me up on some angstier writing - also I wanna disclose that if you’re struggling too to please please reach out to somebody that you trust and take slow baby steps everyday because you’re more than worth it and you deserve to love any and every bit of who you are and the body you’re living in!

I hope I did this idea even a speck of justice that it deserves cause I’ve wanted to write EDs for a long time, I’ve written only a similar type of thing dealing with body insecurity one other time with another character a year ago or so. I felt rusty but I was excited to get a request like this :)