Run Away Before It's Too Late

It's been over a week since I beat the shit out of Dillion and got sick in that order. I'm better now. somehow, I manged to keep my eating disorders, self harm, and the like a secret from the others. I decide to make them Reese's cookies. I go downstairs and get the ingredients out to make the cookies. As I make them, Mia whispers in my mind. She tells me to binge on the cookie dough. I try to resist but I can't. I eat about two-fifths of the batter before I stop. I cry as I feel it in my stomach. I'm glad I'm the only one home. I left enough dough to make twelve fairly large cookies. I sit down at the table and eat a bag of red Doritos. I cry more. I take the cookies out and flee to the bathroom.
I slam the door and lock it. I wash my hands and brush my teeth numbly. I never brush my teeth after I purge; it seals the acid to your teeth. once my hands are clean, I grab a hand towel and put it before the toilet. I kneel down on the hand towel. My hair is already in a ponytail. I shove my fingers down my throat and wiggle them. Chunks of brownish and orange cookie dough and chips come up my throat and into the toilet. I cry as I purge my binge up. 1, 2, 6 chunks. I do it until only acid is being purged. I feel my throat burn.
I sit there for a minute or two and let my sobs overcome me. When I manage to gain some of my composure back, I look up. I poke my enormous tree trunks that I call thighs. I feel disgusted as they jiggle. My stomach makes me look like I'm pregnant. My arm are all fat and flabby. All in all, I'm fucking repulsive as fuck.
I grab my razor from my bra and slide it along my thighs. I shiver in relief as the blood slowly wells up and pours from the slits. 5, 10, 30, 50, I lose count fhow many cuts I make on my thighs. I know that each one has at least over one hundred cuts. I begin to on my hips and hipbones. I cut there until there is no more usable flesh. I dig my razor into I lock the dmy pelvic area and slice. My skin rejoices with red.
I watch the blood pool on the floor. "You're too fat. Too ugly. Worthless. Whore. Skank. Dirty. Disgusting. Slut. Pathetic piece of shit. Waste of human flesh." My mind whispers to me. More tears well up. I'm nothing. I don't deserve to live. I need to die. I jump into the shower and turn on the cold water full blast. I do what I need to do and get out.
I use a large, black, fluffy towel and wrap it around my body. Shit. I forgot clothes. I unlock the door and open it. I peek my head out. No one's here. I bolt to my room. I lock the door behind me and slide down it whilst bawling my fucking eyes out. I can't take this. Thank Fuck I bought that scale when Oli wasn't looking. I slide it out from underneath my bed and turn it on. I step on it and wait for it to weigh me. It beeps and I look down. Tears slip down my face. 87.6 pounds. I gained .1 pounds. Fuck. I hear the front door slam open. Shit! I hide any and all evidence I get dressed in a long sleeved shirt that says Fuck Off and grey sweatpants. I leave my hair down. Thank Fuck I cleaned my blood off the bathroom floor and got rid of the rags.
I hear a knock on my door and I tell them to come in. Oli pokes his head in.He looks at me and smiles. "I was just wondering if you're okay?" I nod. He smiles brighter now. "Good. Now, did you make those delicious cookies?" He asks as he picks me up. I giggle and nod. "Did you eat any?"
"Yeah, I did. Why do think there was only twelve cookies?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. Liar. Oli nods.
"Yeah, I was kind of wondering why there weren't that many of them." Oli says as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. I giggle.
"well now you know. I think I'm going to go to sleep. I'm still kind of tired from getting sick." I say as I yawn for effect. He seems to understand as he nods and leaves. I smile, truly exhausted, tired. Tired of living. I think I've fooled him and them...at least for now.

Notes

Apparently, I'm nothing but a fat cow who should go kill herself. I can't do anything right after all. I can't take this fucking shit, sorry guys....