Why am I here? (Sequel to the meet-up!)

⋏⍜ ⏁⊑⍜⎍☌⊑⏁⌇. ⊑⟒⏃⎅ ⟒⋔⌿⏁⊬

WOOOO LET'S DO THIS! Do i have ideas? no. We're just making it up as we go :D

TW (these applies for this chapter and the last chapter)- flashbacks, abuse, alcohol, knives, blood, injuries, homophobia/transphobia, self harm, eating disorder, coming out, facial dsymorphia, panic attack, implied rape (+incest), and manipulation.

When I was 14, I went to my grandparent's house again. Or really, it was just my grandmother's house now. Three years ago my grandpa had died, and honestly, I hadn't been too upset about it, but I did spend lots of my time comforting my parents. 

I wasn't sure how this visit would go. My grandma barely ever interacted with me other times that I had come and stayed, and on top of that, I was staying for 2 months this time instead of just a few weeks. 

I was shaking as my parents left me there, but unlike the other times that I had come here, Grandma didn't grab my wrist and drag me to the closet. Instead she crouched down and smiled at me, cupping my face in her hands. 

"You're so pretty Amy" She smiled and then took my hand, dragging me to her room. At 14, I was still very short, as my growth spurt hit at 16, so she dragged me with ease. 

When we reached her room, my luggage left behind, she treated me like a doll, forcing makeup on my face and tight clothes on my body. My hair was tugged and pulled into fancy hairstyles and when I asked her to stop, she slapped me, telling me that it was for the best. 

When she was done, I barely recognised myself. But I knew that I hated the person I saw. I hated the face that looked back at me, with horrid memories of my grandpa surfacing every time I looked at it. I hated my body and it's curves. I wanted to change back into my loose clothes, but my grandma slapped me again, telling me to stop complaining and act like a lady. 

And I acted like a 'lady' for the rest of the time I was there. Every morning she would 'help' me look 'presentable', which usually meant clothes that didn't cover enough and a thick layer of makeup caked onto my face. Then I would clean and cook for her and if I didn't do it correctly, she would hit me. She always would re-clean the house before she would hurt me tho, and she would always use products with scents that would attack my sense, making me feel nauseous. She always hid the marks under my clothes and hair, but by the end of the month, my body was covered in bruises and cuts. On top of all that, my grandma forced me on a diet. All my life I had been told that I was skinny, but she didn't see that. She saw me as a fat cow, and forced me to eat less and healthier, saying that no boys would like me if I was fat. She caused so many insecurities and then would use them against me, tearing into me. 

But she loved me. And she made sure I knew that. She was doing all this for me, for my future. And she was my grandmother, so she must love me, right?

That's why I never told my parents. That's why I didn't tell anyone about what happened, and almost never complained. Because she was just doing what was best for me. She loves me, so she wouldn't be doing this to hurt me... right?

I knew it was different now. She didn't love me. She did this same thing to my mother when she was my age, but since I had never told anyone, my mom thought that she had changed. I wonder what she would have done if she knew her parents were acting like this before our last visit. Maybe everything would be better. Maybe these memories wouldn't haunt me. 

But there was nothing I could do. This was the past and the most I could do now was try and stop future-boo from having any more trauma. 

The final time I went to my grandparent's house was the worst. And I wasn't even alone this time.