Here is the next chapter. It is much more dark than I had intended it to be so this chapter would probably be rated "M". There are brief mentions of suicide in this chapter and also a mention of what a few of you have been waiting for.

The same Trigger warnings still apply.

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It had been a week since you had snapped at Derek and you still felt extremely guilty. In the past week, you had been trying to make it up to him, despite him reassuring you that it was fine and that he has already forgiven you. It was currently 7pm and you had just gotten home from a long day at work. You shivered subconsciously as you entered your front door and rubbed your hands together in an attempt to generate some heat. You made an instant bee-line to turn on the heat in your roomy apartment as you struggled to let your hair down. You were freezing.

With a sigh of contentment, you flopped down on your comfortable grey couch and leaned your head back, closing your eyes. You could feel a headache coming on and you pinched the bridge of your nose out of habit in an attempt to stop it. You opened your tired eyes again and took this time to notice the amount of hair caught on your hair tie. What the hell? You ran your hand through your blonde hair and were alarmed at the amount of stray hairs that appeared in your hand. You were way too young to be losing hair.

A loud rumble sounded throughout your apartment, almost similar to thunder. It made you realise that you hadn't actually eaten anything in the last two days. You were starving. It was the type of hunger where you actually felt pain. You stood up from the couch and made your way slowly to your kitchen. It was a room you usually avoided when you were at home and the counters were spotless and the multiple containers that sat on them were empty to prove this.

You opened the cupboards one by one, not being surprised when each and every one of them were empty. Oh well. You did however find some coffee in the final cupboard. You quickly made yourself a mug of the "caffeinated goodness,"as Garcia called it. Don't you even think of putting milk in that. Calories make you fat. You don't need them. You had this sudden feeling of anxiety and you stared down into the warm mug of black coffee in your hands. You don't need it. You don't need anything.

In almost a robotic way, you walked over to the sink in the corner and poured the warm beverage down the drain. You watched as it swirled and twirled around the white basin before disappearing out of sight. The anxious feeling you had felt subsided and you breathed a sigh of relief when the tight feeling in your chest vanished.

You put the mug in the sink, once again ignoring the continuous rumbling of your stomach. You're so fat. Worthless bitch. You put your cold hands on either side of your head, willing the voice to stop. You were done with it. A fat tear rolled it's way down your gaunt cheek and you made no effort to wipe it way. You tried to focus on the howling of the wind outside rather then the bitter monologue playing on repeat in your mind. The leaves on the streets tumbled, turned and danced as they were carried by the breeze, and the rain that was pouring down hit off of your kitchen window in a rhythmic manner.

Some time later, you had landed yourself once again on the weighing scales in your bathroom. The tiny red arrow moved along the numbers. It ticked as it moved slowly, climbing higher, and higher. You grabbed the sink to your right as a wave of dizziness washed over you. You felt incredibly light-headed at the sight of the numbers rising.

"110 lbs".

A smile began to grow on your face. Last year, you would have been worried at the fact that you were losing this much weight in such a short space of time. But now, you were elated. You felt over the moon at the prospect of being wafer thin – almost non-existent. More. Lose more. Not enough. Never enough. Never thin enough. The tear that rolled down your cheek earlier had been long dry, but it was gradually replaced by many more.

You cried like you had never cried before. Is this was how it was going to be for the rest of your life? The constant weighing of food. The constant weight checking, followed by bucket-loads of tears and the voice that never let you be. You were one-hundred-percent occupied with thoughts of hopelessness and thoughts of a world where food just didn't exist.

You cried as hard as you did the day that you had found your sister dead in the bathtub. You felt extremely guilty, but you envied her. You knew you'd never do it. Of course you wouldn't. But the thoughts were there. They existed.

As the night drew in, you decided to have a shower before putting on a pair of warm pyjamas. You stood in the shower and felt your ribs. You admired how your hip bones protruded at such sharp angles and could easily be seen through your pale skin. You couldn't help but grin. This is what you had always wanted. You'll never be thin enough. Never small enough. You fat pig.

Before you could even think you formed your hand into a fist and punched the shower wall beside you. No pain was felt. You were blissfully numb as you watched as the blood coming from your knuckles mix with the water in your shower as it went down the drain.

You stood in the shower for what felt like hours. Your hand was throbbing and so was your head. The headache from earlier had arrived back with such force due to the tiredness you were now feeling. Eventually, steam completely filled up your bathroom from the heat of the water coming from the shower head. You turned the dial to 'off' and stepped out and onto the tiled flooring. You hurriedly dried yourself and got dressed into a pair of fluffy pink pyjamas.

Just before you pulled back the covers on your double bed, you heard a loud knock on your front door. Fear gripped you. It was 11pm at night, who the hell would be at your front door?

You hastily snagged your gun from the safe at your bedside and tip-toed down the hall and past the kitchen. You approached your front door, unlocked the chain and looked through the peep-hole. You were completely shocked to see a tall brunette staring back at you. Reluctantly, you opened the bolt under the door handle and pulled open the front door.

"Emily?"