Avery & Matt shorts - 5. Just a Cereal

Prompt #446: List of words – notebook, pen, coffee, a crystal, and a broken light bulb

Just a Cereal

Avery stared at the notebook, the pen clutched between his fingers. This was so hard. Why the hell was his therapist asking him to do this?

"Avery, repressing your memories and anger completely isn't healthy. It allows them to fester inside of you, to control you. Using this notebook to write down or draw out your feelings when they overwhelm you will allow you to start to purge them. They'll never be gone, they are a part of you. But they are a part of your past, not your future. Taking control of them will help make you stronger."

Remembering her words helped him fight through the urge to just curl back up in the bed each time a memory threatened to devour him. He knew, deep down, he'd feel better afterwards—he always did, eventually—but fighting through writing or talking about any of his past was torture.

Of course, it wasn't as bad as living through it the first time, but still...

Sinking into the corner of the couch and drawing up his knees, his usual defensive posture, he sighed heavily as he closed his eyes and allowed this morning's jolt of pain to flood back in. And he wrote, like he often did, as if he were writing to his counselor—like she would actually read it, but she never would unless he told her to.

Okay, so this morning's 'moment' was silly. It wasn't a dream again about dad beating me with his belt or Degasio choking me. It was stupid really. You'll probably laugh.

Oatmeal.

Yeah, again, it seems silly. But like we've talked about before the only things my dad ever let me eat was oatmeal and beans. Yum. So yeah, oatmeal is not my favorite food in the world. I hate it. I'm actually...terrified of it. Because of what it reminds me of. Matt understands, so we've never talked about it, never brought it in the apartment..

But last week at the grocery store, we were in the cereal aisle, and I caught him staring at the oatmeal section. I couldn't stand to look at the round barrel containers with that damn Quaker on it. But Matt was staring at all of them like it was a long lost friend. Apparently, oatmeal had been one of his favorite quick breakfasts before... well... before me. He hasn't bought it for two years because he didn't want to upset me with it even being in the house.

But hell, it's been two years. A fucking cereal shouldn't bother me so much, should it? So I told him to get some. Of course, he looked at me like I'd sprouted a third eye before he shook his head.

"I can't do that to you," he'd said.

Like he was the one who tortured me for years by serving it to me day in and day out. It's not fair that he makes all these sacrifices for me like that.

"I can handle it being in the house," I told him as confidently as I could. I was sure I could do it—for Matt.

"Are you sure?" Damn it, if he didn't look a little hopeful. I didn't understand why he'd like the pasty cereal, but anyway...

"Yeah, it's fine." I quickly turned to grab my favorite sugary kids cereal, anything to avoid looking at the stupid cardboard tube and that smiling idiot with the damn hat.

Matt gently grabbed my arm. "Hey, look at me."

And I did. I stared up into his beautiful blue eyes—a crystal clear cerulean. God, I could get lost in those pools of blue.

"Are you sure? I can keep the box hidden and—"

I silenced him with a kiss. God, I love that man. He'd sacrifice anything for me. I know that. I could do the same for him.

I watched him pick up a box. A box. Hmm, not the round, bulk size container I was used to. Were the boxes different? I stole another glance at the box and noticed it advertised a variety of flavors. Flavors. Oatmeal had flavor?

The pictures of the cereal still turned my stomach, even though these boasted bits of apple, strawberry, and cinnamon in it. I threw a couple bags of coffee on top of the box. No more smiling Quaker.

So anyway, back to this morning.

Apparently, Matt had some of his oatmeal this morning for breakfast since he was in a hurry to get to work at the vet's office. He's kept his promise and kept the box hidden in the back of the pantry so I haven't had to see it every time I open the door. I think he's only had it one other time this week, as I smelled a faint apple-cinnamon smell when I woke up earlier this week, but I never saw any evidence of it. He must have even put the dishes in the dishwasher.

But today, he must have been in a hurry. Because the bowl was still in the sink. He'd apparently rinsed it out, but I could still tell what had been in it. The enticing smell of strawberries and cream still wafted through the air, a couple oats still stuck to the edge of the bowl. It actually smelled...good.

So doc, you'll be surprised by what I did next. I made oatmeal. For the first time in over two years. I swear my hands were shaking as I pulled the box out, but because it was a box and not the round cardboard container, it seemed different, easier—like it wasn't really oatmeal.

After dumping the package in the bowl though, that was different. It still fucking looks the same. I swear my stomach felt like I'd swallowed a broken light bulb, and the glass was churning in my stomach. But I made it anyway. Mostly with my eyes closed. I focused on the smell—apples and cinnamon.

Two bites. I managed two bites.

Matt would be shocked.

The taste was actually...good. But...fuck...the texture...it still...

God, I thought... I thought I was back there... on my knees... in front of him.

Avery crumpled over the notebook, clutching the pen so tight his knuckles were white. Damn, he couldn't breathe. Tears burned his cheeks.

Over fucking oatmeal.

Eventually, he lifted his head, staring at the smeared ink on the page. His shaking subsided as he let himself realize his father couldn't hurt him anymore. His father couldn't starve him with just oatmeal and beans anymore.

It took a few deep breaths before he could focus again, but he felt strangely relieved. Almost cathartic.

He felt a chuckle bubbling out from his chest as he thought about how he'd basically been afraid of the stupid cereal for so long. The chills it brought just thinking about it before seemed to fade.

Matt would tell him how proud he was of him—for facing his fear. A fear of a cereal. How crazy could he be? But hell if he didn't feel better now that he'd done it. How nuts was that?

Maybe he'd leave the bowl there, on the counter. The smell didn't bother him, so maybe he could stand to look at it. Maybe at lunch, he'd peek again. Let Matt see what he'd done.

Avery lifted the pen with a wry smile.

I still hate oatmeal.

But it's just oatmeal.

Just a cereal.