Amber

06| social media

Nowadays, I find myself looking at my reflection in the mirror more than I should.

Don't get me wrong, I definitely am not admiring myself like Chloe from my favorite show 'Miraculous' would on a daily basis. Instead, it's my flaws that I seem to notice more. I hadn't even known before that some of my features were considered flaws until several Twitter users made it their responsibility to inform me. 'Amber Peterson's forehead is so big, me and my fav could have a picnic there' one tweet read, 'Ew, it's so obvious that Lucas and Sophia did not make that creature, because there's no way in hell that she's so fat' another one said.

I remember Raven's advice, her telling me I was perfect how I was but after scrolling through hate tweets for hours, I wonder if she only says that because she feels obligated to. Because she feels as if she would be in trouble if she doesn't.

I look like my mom, most would say. My blue eyes, blonde hair, warm ivory skin, they came from her. But as alike as we looked, we were very different. In more ways than one.

My heart burns in my chest and I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to let the tears flow. It's amazing how well you put up with this, they always tell me. But what if I don't want to anymore? I feel exhausted, mentally. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take until I break.

That's why I'm elated that Lucas and Sophia agreed to me attending Liberty Academy. They had told me that I could go, not only because I wanted to, but because being away from this — the toxicity of the internet — would be beneficial to my mental health. And while I felt a little sad that I had to leave them to go to a boarding school, I was also happy that I could do something that might help me get better.

I knew from the sadness in their eyes and their constant repetition of 'You can come back anytime you want' that they would miss me too. They did say it, and it is nice to know that they mean it.

"Amber, are you ready yet?" Today we are going to a fashion show. One that Lucas will participate in. It's the last family trip — with the exclusion of Raven — that we will have, which is the reason why we're each making every effort to attend.

"I almost am!" I yell back to Sophia who I hear scurrying in the kitchen downstairs. I take one last look at my appearance in the mirror and grab my purse, heading out of the room.

Sophia is still scurrying around when I get downstairs. She glances at me only for a brief second before turning back to placing the dishes in the dishwasher. "You look great, honey" She refers to my freshly curled hair, light make-up and yellow sundress that I paired with a jeans jacket.

"Thank you," I smile gratefully. "You do too"

"Oh thank you honey," She's wearing a bold red dress, her brown hair tied in a neat bun that rests on the top of her head. Her make-up is dark, complimenting the red that she wears and to finish her outfit, she seems to have thrown on a pair of red boots.

I open my mouth to speak again but the words get caught in my throat so I close it again. And suddenly, a wave of awkward silence falls over us. Sophia must notice it because she stops after putting in a glass plate and smiles up at me.

Placing her hands on her hips, she asks, "What's the matter honey?"

I shake my head slowly, "It's nothing of muc-"

"Amber"

"I just wanted to say thank you, Sophia" It's out in the open now and by her reaction, I'm not sure if I want to take it back or say it again.

Sophia's eyebrows raise in confusion, her face morphed into a frown. "What are you talking about, Amber?"

"Thank you for everything you and Lucas have done for me. Thank you for taking me in, thank you for taking care of me, thank you for thinking about me even when no one else is-" The words rush out all at once.

She cuts me off, "Of course honey, you don't have to thank us; you're our responsibility." Looking at me skeptically, she continues, "Where is this coming from?"

I look down at my shoes, blinking back tears for what might be the umpteenth time today. "Honey..."There it is. The tone that I hate. The tone of pity.

"Oh come here," Sophia's arms embrace me, the warmth of her body calming my shivering nerves. "It's not true y'know — what they say on social media"

"I know — I mean I think I know," uncertainty clouds my judgment.

"Honey," Sophia pulls away — leaving just her hands on my shoulder — to look in my eyes. "It's not true."

She pulls me into another hug, "It's not true at all."

Maybe it's the confident tone of her voice. Maybe it's the way she forces the words into my mind. Maybe it's just because she's my only present motherly figure. I don't know what it is that convinces me, but I actually start to believe her.