I just made myself a really nice dinner. Chilli and rice, tortilla chips with guacamole and salsa. One of my favourite meals. I ate some of it, not much, but some. I'm really trying to be good and keep it down. I don't want to be ill, I don't want people worrying about me and having heartfelt conversations with me. I don't want that hanging over me for the rest of my life. If I let this go too far and have to go to the hospital or something they'll force me to do things I don't want to do. It will all be very emotional and caring, and absolutely humiliating. And then, for the rest of my life, I will have that every time I miss a meal or say I'm not hungry. The lectures. The looks. I can't deal with that.
But I want to be sick so much. I can feel it, hot and heavy in my stomach. It would be so easy. I'm all on my own, feet away from my bathroom. All I have to do is kneel down in front of the toilet, put my toothbrush down to the back of my throat and then it's gone. I'll feel so much better – so clean, so proud, so relieved. Ten minutes and I can have all that.
I'm sitting here in my apartment, and I'm trying to figure out what to do. But I just can't decide.
What would you do?
What do you think I should do?
Gideon opened up a browser window and logged into his email. He dreaded what he would find, but mechanically clicked on his inbox anyway. He was right to be nervous. Another email. Since he had not replied to the first, of course there would be another. He hadn't even been that surprised when the first one arrived, although he had no idea how they had found him. That first email had made him cry, through grief and guilt. How could he reply though? He had closed that part of his life. He had spent his life helping people; he had a right to be selfish now. It was better to let them think they had the wrong person. He suspected they weren't sure it was him anyway, that's why they hadn't included any names - they didn't want information like this falling into the wrong hands. But Gideon could tell who it was, just through the voice in their emails.
Maybe they would give up eventually. And anyway, they had the rest of the team, they would look after them. They'd said it themselves, the team was already suspicious. They would get the help they needed off the others. This wasn't his responsibility anymore. They weren't his team anymore. They didn't need Gideon. Even though it was him they had chosen to reach out to.
Gideon quickly left the computer. He felt like a walk. He picked up a outdoors jacket, called his dog and went out of the cabin door. His eyes were bright and moist.