I Go To School. . .With The Vanoss Crew

Part Eight

Emma
At seven, my aunt calls Evan and I down for dinner. Evan, who still has me held tightly in his strong arms, looks down at me. "You can handle that, right?,"he asks. I poke my head out from behind his arm.
"Evan she's my aunt," I say. "I've been in her legal custody for fourteen years, I'm pretty sure I can handle dinner. I wiggle out of his grasp and open the door, waiting until he's standing behind me before moving downstairs. We walk into the kitchen to find three plates of spaghetti and meatballs on the table, along with a large bowl of salad. My aunt looks up at us from her place at the table.
"There you two are!," she exclaims. We sit down at our spots at the table, which are right next to each other. Of course. "Let me tell you Evan," Aunt Sheryl says, "it is so nice to be able to cook for more than two people. Emma hardly ever eats anything."
"Really?," Evan says. He turns his head slowly in my direction. "Is that so?" He stretches the sentence out dramatically. I just duck my head and pretend to shovel food into my mouth. Please Evan, I pray, don't say anything stupid. See the thing is, my aunt doesn't know about my suicide issue. Not yet anyway, and if anyone's going to tell her, it's going to be me. Not some buff kid from my school who just waltzed into my life yesterday.
After about ten minutes of pretending to eat, I stand. "Oh man Aunt Sheryl," I say. "That was delicious! I couldn't eat another bite!" Luckily, the giant salad bowl blocks her view of my plate, so she shrugs. I turn to leave, but a warm hand clamps over my wrist. I turn to see Evan glaring at me. "What?," I say, doing my best to sound confused.
"Uh-uh," he says, "you haven't touch one noodle on that plate." My aunt stands up and looks at my still full plate.
"He's right!," she exclaims.
"Now sit down," Evan says. I slowly sit down in my chair. Still not releasing my wrist, Evan picks up my fork and picks up a few noodles of spaghetti. "Now eat," he says.
"Evan is this really-"
"Eat," he says firmly, cutting me off. Sighing, I put my mouth around the fork and pull the food off. I had forgotten how good my aunt's cooking was. "Good girl,"Evan says, his firm face not softening. We continue like this until my plate's spotless and Evan's managed to cram a bit of salad down my throat. After that ordeal, Evan bids my aunt good night, then angrily drags me upstairs.
When we get to my room, Evan pushes me inside, then turns, shuts and locks the door. Then, he grabs me and drags me into my bathroom. Again, he closes and locks the door. "There," he says. "Now you've got nowhere to run." I'm about to ask him what he means by that, but I'm to overtaken with surprise as he grabs my hips and yanks me close to him, so close that our noses almost touch. "Are you serious with this crap?," he growls. "Suicide and starving yourself? Is there anything else I should know?" I don't say anything, just shake under his cold gaze. "Answer me!," he hisses through gritted teeth. I feel his grip tighten around my waist.
"Evan stop," I say firmly, gritting my teeth at the pain he's putting me in. Suddenly, the angry fire dies in his green eyes, and his grip on my waist loosens, although he doesn't completely let go.
"Emma," he says softly, "I hate seeing you hurt yourself like this. Please, tell me whatever else it is you're doing." I turn away from him and place my hands on the sink, my head lowered. A tear slides down my cheek. "Emma," he says quietly, "please." I turn back to him and pull up the sleeve on my sweatshirt, which I had put on when I'd gotten home. He cups his hand over his mouth as I show him my wrist. "You cut. . ." I nod, feeling more tears slipping out of my eyes. "Oh Emma," I make tiny, high-pitched noises as Evan wraps his arms around me, trying to hold back my tears. "Anywhere else?" I nod into his T-shirt. "Where?"
"My legs," I manage to choke out. My voice is high-pitched and airy. I swallow. "All over my legs and shoulders."
"Oh Emma," now Evan sounds like he's going to cry. "Why? Why do you do this to yourself?"
"I can't take it anymore!," I say loudly, my voice breaking and tears pouring out of my eyes. "I can't handle all of this! All these freaking mental issues I have!"
"You don't have mental issues," he says quietly.
"Oh yeah?," I say, still upset. I rip away from him and show him the cuts on my wrists again. "Then what to do you call this?! Mentally healthy people don't do this Evan!"
"Emma calm down!," Evan says.
"No! No Evan I will not calm down!"
"Emma stop you're having an anxiety attack!" He says that, and suddenly I just stop. My eyes go wide, my mouth gapes open. I fall to my knees. Evan grabs me and quickly drags me out of the bathroom. Sitting on my bedroom floor, Evan holds me close to him, rubbing my back and whispering soft words in my ear. Thankfully, the attack is over in about five minutes, and we just sit there in silence.
Suddenly Evan says, "how long?" I give him a confused look.
"How long what?," I ask.
"How long have you done all those things to yourself?" I groan. "Hey I'm just curious." I sigh quietly, then look up at him.
"I've been starving myself since I was nine and cutting since I was eleven." He looks at me, and I swear I see a tear fall down his cheek. "I'm going to guess you want reasons next," I say. He nods. "I started starving myself when a kid told me I was fat. Then started cutting myself after things with Drey got a to be a bit to much."
"Does your aunt know about any of this?"
"No and she doesn't need to. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Evan I'm serious. Not a w-" I'm cut off as Evan presses his lips to mine.