I do not own The Outsiders.

. . .

My Rights

It's not what you think,

this isn't just an easy fix.

This is my life,

my mind,

my body.

Don't you be telling me

I'm wrong,

when you don't even know the half

of it.

It's not just an easy fix,

it isn't a problem,

I'm not making a mistake.

It's is my choice,

it's my right,

and this is my decision.

Evie's Pov.

It's been going on for a few weeks now.

It took over faster than I'd like to admit. It started as the start-line, just a little push off to get me going, just until the gun goes off, but I didn't plan on how well it would work. I didn't know my body would start to adapt to it, I didn't know how strong the monster could be.

The time-lapse between the first time I did it to now seem very distant, more distant than it truly is. After that first time I felt more settle; I had more control. So I did it again the next day, and the next, and the next until it became more of a habit; my dirty little secret.

I grew needy to it and started doing it more often. I went from once a day to nearly five times a day. The fact that the more I did it the easier it was to do made it all the more provoking.

Looking into the mirror after, seeing my red rimmed eyes and messy hair the monster would congratulate me. At the beginning I would be disgusted with myself, with it, but then I began to want its appraise; I would strive for its approval

Purging became my escape, my survival. It's not just my start line any more, it's not the gunshot to start me off on weight lost, it's the fucking cheerleaders that keep me putting one foot in front of the other.

And putting one foot in front of the other I did, I'm still going. I still have to go until I reach my goal, which is only four pounds away. But as I look into the mirror now I realize that maybe four less pounds wouldn't really help, I still have a lot of jiggle on my legs when I shake them out.

To test out my theory I did so, holding one leg out and off the ground beside me and shaking it. I felt myself frowning at the result. After doing the same with my other leg I turned to my side to see the width of my stomach.

I've been doing this a lot now; I've probably spent more time in front of a mirror in the past few weeks than I have my entire life. I can't believe how oblivious I was before to my body condition. I mentally slap my grade six self or not starting to work out and care about my figure before I started getting curves. If I had of cared about it then and not let this happen I wouldn't have to be doing this right now.

After zoning in on every part of my body I finally stepped on the scale to measure myself. I bit my lip when it stopped on thirty-four after spinning around once. I haven't lost any weight in the past two days.

After shooting it and myself a few daggers I pulled my clothes back on and walked out to the kitchen. I watched my mother as she walked busily around the kitchen, grabbing the odd item from the counter before running out the door yelling reminders about Sam and good-byes.

I guess it might seem weird to some people, watching the same women that passed out with a bottle in her hands rush off to work and seem genuinely caring about her two kids, but it's just normal to me. When she's drunk I hate her and she hates me, and then when she's sober it's just the opposite. It's like she's two different people, and as long as you stick to the golden rule of not bringing up anything that happened the past night it's easy to pretend we're a nice, non-dysfunctional, family.
I poured two bowls of cereal, one for me and one for Sam, before going to wake him up for school. I'm always up a good thirty minutes before him; he can get ready for school in less than twenty minutes. As we sat down at the table to eat he began telling me a long story about his dream, mostly with his mouth full of food. I watched him and pretended to be interested even though I wasn't.

I used to listen to everything he said with a careful ear, but I really just stopped caring recently. Usually he wouldn't notice I'm not listening though, I am pretty good at faking it.

I watched as he scarfed down his first bowl and quickly moved onto his second before I even had a bite of mine. His skinny arms would dig the spoon into the bowl with more force than needed to pick up a few grans of cereal before shovelling it into his mouth.

I wondered how he could eat so much and not get fat, especially considering what he ate. Most of the time his 'snacks' contained more calories and fat than he could count. I wished my metabolism was as high as his. Even at his age I doubted it was, the kid could eat as much as Steve and he wasn't even half the size of him.

"Evie?"

I looked up at his eyes suddenly. "Yeah?" I asked but his eyes told me it all. "I was listening." I stated.

"You don't gotta listen if you don't wanna, but don't lie to me. Shit I don't even know I bother telling you nothing, you never listen anyhow." He said, pushing the chair back as he stood and dumped his dished in the sink.

I watched his fleeting body with wide eyes. "Watch your mouth!" I finally said, but it was too late, he was already out the door.

I sat back down at the table and looked at my untouched breakfast. Without wasting a second I dumped it on the grass in the backyard before setting the bowl in the sink beside Sam's. I really didn't feel like having to bring it back up today.

. . .

Steve's Pov

Greg looked at me from behind dark sunglasses with cat-like eyes. "Heard you gonna get some this weekend Randle," he smirked before throwing a full house on the grass and claiming his winnings. I growled as I began to shuffle the cards.

"Where'd you hear that?" I asked nonchalantly. I had no problem with rumour any rumours saying I was 'got some', but this one was different, for one because it said I was 'gonna get some', as in the future, and also that this weekend happened to be the weekend me and Evie were going to get out of town. I'm definitely not a cherry, but I knew for a fact Evie was. I mean I know she's gone pretty far, but not that far. When I first planned this weekend out it was for that reason, I mean she's more likely to say yes in some corny romantic type setting than on the Curtis' couch, but I'm not too sure about it anymore.

She's been acting weird the past while, ever since the fucking socs decided to hop her. I mean I'm pretty sure that spook anyone out, but I had a feeling she's not really telling me everything. She always gets all stiff whenever I get real close to her, it's not so bad now but for the first week I was pretty sure I was hurting her every time I touched her. I'd rather wait a bit and have than go far and lose her.

"A lil' birdie," Greg laughed while sorting through his cards. I looked over at Soda who looked back at me guiltily. "I didn't say that," he mumbled, "I just said he an' Evie were leaving for the weekend."

Greg laughed loudly and I felt myself getting madder at him. I never was a big fan of the hood, he was all talk, but he was pissing me off more and more lately. "What else do you think Stevie here got in mind? I mean it's about time he got some, they've been together now for how many months now?"

I gritted my teeth and gave him a shove for saying 'Stevie', which caused him to fall down a few levels from where we sat on the top of the bleachers skipping third period. Mike spoke for the first time keeping his eyes on Greg's lanky body as he pushed himself up and made his way back up, trying his hardest and failing at not limping.

"Greg's right man, what else are you gonna do all weekend? Read fucking Shakespeare," he said, picking up a book beside him I guessed to be for English and shaking it for effect. I watched as a page fell out and slowly spun and glided to the ground. Mike watched it too, before shrugging and dropping the book back onto the seat.

Before I could say anything Greg hit my head with his hand before plopping down on the metal bench. "There ought to be some sorta law about not getting laid in so long, I know I couldn't have lasted so long,"

The only thing that kept me from pushing him back down the bleachers was the spot of blood forming on his jeans. "But whatever," he continued on cockily, "if she's got you whipped, what can you do?"

Mike made a snapping noise while mimicking whipping the air. I grounded my teeth. "I ain't whipped."

"Whatever you say," Greg laughed while hobbling down the bleachers just as the bell rang, followed by Mike. I could hear them talking trash until they walked all the way across the field. Soda looked at me. "Don't listen to them man, it's just cheap talk."

"Yeah, I know," I said, but honestly I could still hear the entire conversation playing through my head.

. . .

Hopefully you liked it; I tried to make it longer for you guys. I know it's still not really long, but it's an approval from the last chapters.

Please drop off a review! It could be a birthday present, I'm officially fourteen (: WOOT WOO!

Thanks to:
-Independence Undervalued
-sammy4eva
-GREEKBLOOD
-outsider (length was for you!)
-Believe In Something Bigger
-wishuy
-Sierra

Wow, I didn't even realize how many awesome reviews I got until I wrote all your names! I would've updated sooner if I noticed D: I'm sorry

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