Chapter One: Emma

I cant take this anymore. Her anxiety had been building since breakfast and had reached a nearly crippling point. I have to do something. She frantically searched the hall and assumed the restroom to be the safest place. The other students were in class by now, and she had chosen the least favorable of the female restrooms. She walked in and checked all of the stalls to make sure she was alone. Once she was certain that no one else was around, she walked over to a sink and put her things on the floor. She took a deep breath and stood there for a moment looking through the mirror at the open stall's toilet behind her. She had two options.

Option one was to purge. It was her strongest urge, but she didn't want to ruin all of the progress she had made since last year. Option two was to cut. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath before reaching into her purse for her wallet. She pulled a folded piece of paper from one of the inside pockets of the wallet. She unfolded it to reveal her favorite blade, one she had removed from an unused pencil sharpener a while back. She took one more deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, to cope without...coping. It was useless. She had to do one or the other. It was the only way she would get any bit of relief. She lifted the left sleeve of her favorite black shirt. She started wearing mostly black a while ago because it was slimming, but she continued after she began to recover because it was the best option for hiding blood stains. Sometimes she picked at her scabs to avoid creating new wounds. She pressed the blade firmly against her inner arm and slid it across. The tension released immediately. She breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes, letting the blood and tears fall. She was finally calm, until she heard the restroom door open.

"Emma?" Ellie asked, concern slowly creeping onto her face.

She panicked, dropping the blade into the sink. She quickly pulled her sleeve down to hide what she had just done. She tucked her injured arm close to her stomach. With her other hand, she grabbed the blade and turned on the water before Ellie got over to her.

"Are you okay?" Ellie asked, putting her arm on Emma's shoulder.

No. I'm not okay. Not even a little. I cannot stand what I see in the mirror, and I can actually feel my fat moving when I do. I miss feeling hungry because I knew it meant I was shrinking. Every time I eat, all I can think about is throwing up so that I feel better. I'm in recovery, but that doesn't mean I don't think about it constantly. So, I cut to make it go away for just a little while. At least for a moment, I'm free.

"Uh..." Emma mumbled. She was surprised that, of all people, Ellie almost caught her cutting. "Yeah. I'm fine." She continued, wiping the tears from her face. She added the best fake smile she could muster to try to authenticate her words.

"You've been crying," Ellie said with disbelief. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you need someone to talk to?"

"Really, I'm fine. I'm just having a bad day," she replied, with the hope that Ellie would give up.

"Well, if you ever need to talk, I'll be there. I know we're not exactly friends or anything-" the red-head pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and scribbled something down. "-but I totally understand what it's like to 'have a bad day'," she said as she handed Emma the paper, her face full of concern. She hesitated for a moment before turning and entering the stall Emma had been focused on earlier.

As soon as Emma heard the stall door's lock click she picked up her things and rushed out of the restroom. She was horrified. She couldn't believe she had almost been caught. So far she had been successful at hiding this from everyone, Manny included, and she wanted it to stay that way. Her eating disorder was never a total secret. She and Manny started 'dieting' together, but that stopped as soon as Manny realized how unhealthy and dangerous their actions were. She even found out that Emma had lied when she said "May this diet Rest In Peace" and got her help. Therapy offered 'positive outlets' for her 'urge to purge', like knitting or painting, but they eventually stopped working. The urge returned, at first in small waves, but it worsened until she could no longer bear it. She was sitting in her room one day, and nothing she tried took her mind off of things. So she went to her bathroom, leaned over the toilet, and just as she was about to destroy all of her hard work she saw it. A new pack of razors were sitting on her sink. She knew self-harm wasn't a safe alternative and that it was just trading one unhealthy method for another, but the concept was perfect. She could control her pain and anxiety. She could control herself. She opened the pack, pulled out a new razor, took it apart, and made her first marks. She was hooked.