Saving Evan

Chapter 6

Evan's P.O.V.
After a week of not going to school, I finally got over my fever. I was soon back in my normal schedule. I still made myself throw up after meals, hiding it as well as I possibly could.

Even though I wanted to know Robin better, I became more closed to the people around me. It was going very well until the day Robin figured it out. I was leaving the cafeteria after I had eaten to lose it.

"I won't let you do this anymore, Evan!" Robin had followed me. I had just exited the restroom.

I pushed past her. "What am I doing?" I asked. She grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face her.

"You are just slowly killing yourself!" She was angry, but concern showed in those big eyes.

"I can't stop." I whispered as the bell rang. "Figure that out, Miss Detective!" I wrenched myself from her grasp and went to class.

Someone knew about my bulimia. Robin would probably tell the nurse, who would tell my dad. If he found out, he would kill me.

I was his only son. I had made myself do this because I wanted to please him with a strong body. Not a pile of flab. My dad had ran in high school, and had stayed thin and fit. He still was, which was surprising. I wanted to be noticed by him. Is that why I made myself do this?

When I got home, I got a text from Robin. I didn't even bother to read it, but slammed my phone on my desk. She tested me again and I threw my cell phone against the wall. The screen cracked, glass everywhere. I dropped on my bed and rubbed my face. What was I going to do? Someone knew, then other people will probably find out. I jolted into a sitting position. A thought coursed through my head. How did Robin find out?

I went over to my desk and logged into my computer. Going onto the Internet, I looked up 'bulimia'. A list of symptoms popped up, and as I read, I realized how Robin had figured it out. It said that anyone who had bulimia goes to the restroom after every meal, and has a raspy voice. They also have sore throats and the stomach flu often. I turned off my computer and slammed my head down on the desk. All of these symptoms pointed to me.

My phone rang, which surprised me, but I left it. The voicemail came on, and Robin's voice echoed in my room. Hi, Evan. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Listen, I'm sorry about earlier. I just don't want to see you get hurt. At that point, I grabbed the phone and answered it.

"I don't care how you feel about it!" I yelled.

Robin sounded surprised when she answered. "Well, I-"

"I don't care!"

"Just listen a minute, please, Evan!"

I sighed. What did I have to lose? She already knew about my bulimia, listening to her wouldn't hurt. "Okay." I heard her sigh with relief on the other end.

"I do care about you, Evan. Seeing you get hurt from the bulimia would hurt me, too. Want to know why I even bothered to investigate it? Because of Jesus. He loves you, and I think He has a plan for you. He had us meet each other for a reason. If you believe, you can set all your worries on Him. Think about what I've said, Evan. Bye." She hung up, and I placed my broken phone on my desk. Was this Jesus really as amazing as Robin said?

I went over to the wall and swept the broken pieces of glass into my hand, which was a dumb idea. I cut myself twice from the tiny particles of glass on accident.

I dumped the glass in the trashcan and went to the bathroom to wash off my hand. When I got back to my room, I attempted to repair the front of my phone. The cover was alright, and after a little adjusting, my phones' screen looked a little better.

The thoughts that Someone loved me the way I was sounded new to me. I was silly enough to Google Christ, and found out He had been healing people, performing miracles, and then was killed for what He did and taught. I was flabbergasted at that. Jesus was perfect; they had crucified Him! How could He love me and save me if He was dead?