Always Atlas

25 ➵ Dumb Blonde

ALWAYS

ATLAS

It's been two fucking weeks.

Two long fucking weeks since I had last seen Atlas Westbrook.

God, I kind of miss him, his company that is.

The last two weeks have been hell. They've been so draining and hard, the work has given me longer shifts and a lot of them, which is great because I need the money but fucking hell no one can do their bloody jobs at all.

I hate that no one does their job properly and I have to take on so much more work all because people are too lazy and uninterested in doing their job. It's so unfair as I'm already going through so much shit, mentally.

But life is good, Ophelia and I have been together none stop and God does it feel good to be with her, although I do miss Atlas, I have enjoyed being with her, even though we may not have as much fun and what not as I do with Atlas it's still good.

Lately, she's come running with me, each morning she meets me at a street that is exactly halfway from both of our houses, we run taking turns holding Archies lead where we take him to the park and allow him to chase the squirrels while we sit and talk.

I don't think Atlas would ever come running with me.

Ophelia has been great, she's been there for me a lot lately and it feels good to be able to go to her house and cuddle her with no questions asked, especially when it's late at night and I've just snuck into her room after fighting with my father or finding my mother drunk on the floor.

Elia knows little bits and pieces of why I come over late or why I'm not in the best of moods or why I've just smoked my whole packet of cigarettes in one day. She knows my dad is a fucking dickhead and my mum loves to drink.

But not my eating disorder.

She's went to bring it up a few times but I've either changed the subject or I've brushed it off, but I see the hurt and sadness in her eyes. I've noticed that lately she's been trying to get me to eat, she offers me little bits of her food or says that I just need to try it as it's to die for.

Little does she know that I would rather die than eat some days.

You know I try so hard to be happy, to pretend to everyone else that I am. I fake this self-love bullshit time and time again but it's not true, it never is. I still hate myself and my body and the way my face looks right after I wake up when it's puffy and slightly red.

I hate the way my body feels when I touch it and so I try not to, I shower with sponges because it means I don't have to feel my own skin.

I hate the way my hair never quite looks right, it always looks messy but never in that effortless way, but more in the 'I spent the night tossing and turning because I'm too anxious to sleep' way.

I hate the distance between my eyes, and I hate that my eyes are never the sort of colour people fall in love with.

I hate my stomach and cellulite and my veins and my fat rolls and I hate how whenever i say that I hate these things everyone goes 'what? No! you're so perfect I wish I had your body!'

No, you don't, no you fucking don't.

And I hate it.

"So, my family is having a massive family dinner on the weekend." Ophelia stated aloud in the now-empty diner where she stood at the counter scrubbing it with a rag.

My first reaction was to immediately say no. I didn't want to be rude bit fuck being around her family and food, two things that make me insanely nervous, its nothing against her family they're great and all but God they don't know we're together yet because she's still in the closet which is completely fine and all.