Breaking Skin

Chapter 5

A/N: Eating disorder triggers ahead, including anorexia and purging. be cautious while reading 

Johannes had never been so afraid in his life. Sure, Jonas seemed nice and sure, he hadn't hurt him yet. YET. He was still expecting it. After all, why did he ever do to deserve any kindness at all? All he did was burden Jonas by making him think he had to carry him away from the bullies. But why didn't he just leave him there? That still confused him.

"Johannes?" Jonas's calm voice broke him from thought. He only looked over, not saying a word. "Come with me. I won't hurt you, I promise," Jonas smiled and walked downstairs. Johannes stood frozen for a moment, but then followed, bracing himself for any sudden ambush from anyone. Everything was just too calm. Nothing ever goes this well for him.

"You can sit on the couch alright?" Has looked at him. Johannes just froze, staring at the couch and standing a few feet away. He kept looking around like a scared deer, slowly inching towards the couch. The moment he finally sat down, he braced himself to be hit, but it never came.

Why wasn't Jonas hitting him? Why didn't he EVER show any aggression towards him? What did Johannes ever do to deserve this sudden kindness?

"Now, are you hungry?" Jonas asked, the word 'hungry' immediately making Johannes freeze in place. No, he wasn't hungry. He hasn't been hungry in months. He'll probably poison it, Johannes thought to himself. He'll poison it in hopes it'll kill me, and I'll finally be out of this hell.

But before he said a word out loud, Jonas was already walking in the kitchen. Johannes sighed and pulled his hood over his face. Now to come up with an excuse as to why I won't eat, he thought. He subconsciously pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands, fearing that how bony his hands were would give away the rest of him was just as wasted away. If Jonas knew the truth, he'd beat the living shit out of him then and there, he just knew it. Why wouldn't he? He was different. He didn't have the motivation to even care about himself, he was practically asking for it.

Jonas came back in carefully holding a bowl of what seemed like soup. Johannes was torn, just staring at the bowl as if he'd never seen soup in his life. Should he eat it and risk gaining weight to be beaten even more? Or should he avoid it and continue to stay small? His stomach was twisting itself in knots he hadn't eaten in so long, but he always refused. Then again, maybe he did poison it.....

He took a small spoonful, very small, then pushed the bowl away. Never once did he look up from the bowl. It tasted terrible, but anything he used to it did. His stomach was twisting more now that he had a tiny bit of food he hadn't had in so long. "Johannes what's wrong? It is not good?" Jonas asks, slowly pushing the bowl back to him. Johannes nodded, immediately pushing it back. "Can you eat at least a little more, please?" Jonas actually sounded worried.

It'll make me gain weight, the thought overtook Johannes's mind. He tried to stop it, but couldn't. He'll gain weight, he'll gain weight, he had to get rid of it now!

Before Jonas could say another word, Johannes jumped up and bolted down the hall. He ignored Jonas's frantic calls of his name and kept running until he found the bathroom, then immediately slammed the door and locked himself inside. 

He bolted right to the toilet, forcing his fingers down his throat and puking up the minuscule amount of broth that barely stayed in his stomach. He puked until there was nothing but bile coming up, then slid down against the wall.

He was sure by now Jonas would be screaming and threatening him if he didn't come out and eat the rest of the damned soup, but at this point he didn't care. Part of him wanted Jonas to yell, to threaten him, to beat him like everyone else. He was so scared of his kindness it was unreal. He wanted Jonas to just drop the act and beat the shit out of him and get it over with.

Why doesn't he? Johannes thought, looking down at himself. I may be tall but I'm a bag of bones. I can't possibly fight back. I should be an easy target, he thought, unzipping his hoodie and looking at himself. He began to wonder how much he weighed now. He was certain it was far less than when he last checked, which was right around 100 pounds.

His eyes became transfixed on the scale in the corner. Slowly stepping to it, he became torn. He was terrified to know, as every pound lost seemed to add a beating to the already seemingly infinite amount of them daily. But he was also curious. Was he close to dying? How little must one weigh before they die? Shaking his head, he finally stepped on the scale, then closed his eyes. He remained that way for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and looked down.

The number 88 stared up at him.