Don't Wake Me Up || Septiplier

Chapter Eight

[possibly edited. who knows anymore. my writing is as neat as my life. which I don't have since I lost it... so I mean....]

Trigger Warning: Eating Disorder

Walking back into my house, I ignored the sent of alcohol tainting the air and walked straight into the kitchen.

I asked Mark to take me home an hour after I woke up. I didn't care that my mother would be passed out in the couch, and if she woke up shed ask why I'm home a couple hours after school started.

But strangely, she wasn't on the couch. Her car wasn't even in the driveway, even though it was always there. I furrowed my brows slightly but didn't think much into it.

I grabbed a glass of water and began to walk out of the kitchen, but something stopped me. Mark's words. Sometimes skinny isn't attractive. I squeezed my eyes shut and hastily turned back around.

I didn't want to eat. I barely ate. I'm shocked that I'm not dead at the rate of how much I don't eat. When I reached the fridge, my hand pulled it open. My brain was simultaneously telling me yes and no. Eat. Don't eat.

I felt my stomach growl loudly. Letting out a frustrated groan, I closed the fridge and rummaged through the cabinets, picking up a bag of unopened chips.

I headed back up to my room, closing the for behind me. I tossed my bag in the corner of my room and flopped on my bed, opening the bag of chips.

My stomach growled desperately and I hesitantly reached in a pulled out a chip. I placed it into my mouth and chewed.

It was weird. I hadn't ate a proper piece of food in months. Last thing I remember eating wasn't anything, it was a lick of a spoon that had peanut butter on it.

The more I chewed, the more my hunger caught up with me. I put another chip in my mouth. Then another. And another. Chip after chip.

After ten minutes, the bag was gone. And I had realised what I had done.

I binged. I ate so much. So much calories, ruining my body. Making myself fat. I wasn't going to end up skinny, I was going to gain weight.

I was going to end up ugly.

I threw myself off the bed and ran into my bathroom. Once I was by the toilet, I kneeled don beside it and brought my hand up to my mouth. With my finger, I reached to the back of my throat and gagged myself.

My stomach twisted and turned the more that I did it. Over and over until I finally felt myself throw up. I vomited into the toilet, my throat burning from it afterwards.

My stomach felt empty, I was shaking all over. And I started to cry.

----
Mark had called be over and over again since I left to go home. My parents were also yet to show back up. It had been a few hours now, nearly 2pm.

I stared at my phone, debating whether to answer. As I nearly clicked decline, it went off. I sighed in relief. I waited a few minutes, to see if he was going to call back.

When I thought he wasn't, I grabbed my phone and began to text him to tell him I was okay and to ask him to please stop calling me. He needn't worry about me, nobody does anyway. But as soon as I did, he called me and I accidentally clicked the answer button. 

"Sean? Are you okay? Oh my god, I've been so worried! Why didn't you answer?" I heard Mark say rapidly. I sighed. Why did he care so much? It had been a week. Nobody has cared this much about me ever. "Sean, please answer. I'm just worried."

"I'm fine. I'm home," I chocked out slightly. I had recently stopped crying from before, due to running out of tears. Yet I still couldn't seem to find my voice.

"Have you been crying? Sean, I'm coming over."

"What? No! I'm fine! Don't come over!" He can't come here. Too many risks. My parents could return at any moment. He could see all the broken items and holes in the walls. Anything and everything could happen.

"Tell me your address. Please, Sean. I want to make sure you're okay."

"Why do you care so much about me?! I don't get it! Nobody cares about me! Everybody hates me! Everyone at school hates me! My parents hate me! What do you not understand?! Everybody should hate me, yet you seem to not! Why?!" As soon as my outburst left my mouth, I realised what I had just said. "Ignore that. I'm sorry."

I heard him take a shaky breath. "Don't apologise. What do you mean, your parent hate you? They can't hate you, they're your parents."

I couldn't tell him. He can't find out. If he found out, who knows what could happen. I would be taken away. I would be forced to leave this hell, but that would make my life even more of a hell.

"Sean... did they give you those bruises?" I didn't reply. I felt myself begin to cry again, suddenly more tears coming out. "Sean. Don't cry. I'm coming to get you. Pack a bag. Now. I'm not kidding around."

"Mark, no. You can't just take me to live with you! You know that—"

"Sean. I am coming to get you whether you life it or not. You are not living in a house where your parents beat you mercilessly and I know it is happening. I'm coming to get you, you're staying with me. I don't care if I have to drag out of if your 'home,'" he said as if it were a curse. "You're coming with me."

At this rate, I was crying like crazy. He cares too much about me. He shouldn't care this much, I'm a train-wreck. But he seems to be the only person who would help clean up the mess.

I don't know what to do. I want to leave, I need to leave. But what if they return and they find me gone? They could call the police and once they would find me, they'd send me back home. Or one day, they could run into me and they could do anything.

"Sean, please. I promise you will be safe with me. Please, trust me."

I choked out an okay and stood up from my bed, grabbing a bag.