FicWad

He was always there with them, sitting around at the meals, silently sitting during their sleep, always in his corner. He'd naturally been a silent person, not one to appear much, and it was cool with him for most part. But there was another that hurt, because even if he didn't want some things to be noticed and have some gigantic international fame that went beyond his control, some things just… hurt when they went unnoticed. Not by the press, but by the ones he held closer to his heart, his friends – the only family he had around here, since the rest were back in Indiana.

And before he could notice it, he'd stopped eating. Maybe a piece of pizza or some fries here and there, but nothing like a full meal, not every day. His stomach burned at first, and it hurt. Then, his throat started to hurt and sting, before it went numb. His feelings started going numb as well, he just stayed even quieter than usual in a corner with his guitar, during the day, and cried silently while the others slept.

Of course, no one noticed. They didn't notice him throwing up when he did manage to eat enough, because his stomach already didn't accept food that well. After all, he could be throwing up from drugs or alcohol, it was just normal to them. They also didn't notice the drastic weight loss he had, nor did those muffled sobs wake them when he was in pain.

And this day he was in pain, more than usual. His stomach started burning really bad and his whole body hurt, he was too tired to get out of bed. He wrapped his arms around his middle, curling up as tight as he could and whimpering softly, just wishing the pain gone but still not eating – he didn't have food at home, his stomach wouldn't take almost anything, so there wasn't really a solution to that. Somehow, he had to get his body back to being able to consume food, as soon as he got up.

Then, a dark cloud seemed to come over his mind as another word showed up in that matter. If. If he got up, if he managed to eat again, if he wasn't too weak to play that gig they had on the same night. If he survived all this, if they ever noticed and tried to help… But he knew they, his friends or not, would probably just forget about him and then get angry because he wasn't at the gig, and nowhere to be found. They'd probably come home and find him in bed, unmoving and cold, or from starving or with a needle stuck into his arm as he added the substance to his weak body to end it all.

And then they wouldn't care. They'd find some other rhythm guitarist and forget completely about him once his body was buried. Or maybe they wouldn't even bother to bury him, just find an easier and less expensive way to get rid of the body.

"Fuck, Izzy… stop thinking… like that…" He muttered to himself, tightening his arms and whimpering, shaking his head. "They wouldn't… they wouldn't be that uncaring... maybe if I die here they'll actually notice me…" Inside his head, it was a battle against that statement, both in a good and bad way. A growing headache added to his troubles, which wasn't quite a good thing. After a few hours, or maybe they were mere minutes, he had no account of time, his body started shaking and his mouth watered too much. Closing his eyes, he was trying to fool those thoughts away, when unconsciousness took over.

"Izzy!" A familiar cry of his name and a sharp pain in his stomach was all he remembered when he woke up.