A Rose In The Dark

Chapter 1

Why?

I think this to myself as I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling, reliving my argument with dad for the tenth time in the last half an hour.

Why does this happen to me? Why aren't I enough for him? Why do I get so caught up in what he says to me? Why does it get to me so much?

But the only questions that don't cross my mind are why does he get to say this about me? Why is it OK? Why do I believe it?

It's like my brain has adapted to only think negatively. But only about me. How could I ever think of dad as anything as perfect. Amazing. An idol.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts, that I don't even notice Lucía open my door, and step inside my room.

Lucía is my older sister. She's sixteen, and I hate her. She's so perfect- too perfect. Perfect grades, perfect brain, perfect record, perfect voice, perfect boyfriend, perfect hair, perfect body. Perfect.

And then there's me. Good but not perfect grades. To me, at least. All that my dad sees is average. Trashy writing that no one would want to read, ever. At least that's what my brain tells me. A record dotted with minor incidents that dad never lets me forget. Ever. I'll probably end up taking them to the grave. A terrible singing voice that would probably shatter glass if my life was a movie. No boyfriend. Hair that never stays in one place. An ugly body. Imperfect.

Lucía looks at me, and sighs, taking in my miserable face, attached to my miserable form, cocooned in sheets on my bed.

And she rolls her eyes. I probably appear as a little disgusting bug, stuck to the bottom of her designer shoe. A stain that she can't remove, so she just has to put up with me.

'Sofía, what is it now? Is it dad again? God, you're too soft. He's just trying to help you, you know. It's not my fault that you take this so personally. Just calm down. It's fine.'

And... she does it again. Shatters me when I'm already shattered into a million pieces. Somehow, she ruins me even more. I don't know how she does it, but I hate it. I want to love my sister, but sometimes I just can't. Like now.

'You don't get it, Lucía. You don't know what it's like to walk into a classroom with a teacher that's already had your older sister, your perfect older sister, and expects you to be as good as her. If not, better. And you disappoint her, time after time, 'cause you're not. You don't know what it's like to face sexism because you're a girl that isn't perfect. You don't know what it's like to have a dad that you try your best to love, but you just can't, 'cause all he does is point out all the ways that you are not your sister. You don't get it at all!' And I throw my pillow at her. Hard.

At least, that's what happens in my brain. In reality, I'm silent. I take it. For what must be the five hundredth time.

'Fine. If that's the way you want it. Silent treatment... like I deserve that.'

She huffs, and storms out.

Once she's left, I get up, and look in the mirror. A mistake, but I'm so torn up that I can't really think straight. I look at my reflection. At my brown skin that covers this body that's never good enough. For anyone. Especially me. At my hair that can never stay in one place- right now, little strands are escaping, and I hate it. My face. It's so ugly. My too pale lips, my brown, ugly eyes, my too big forehead. Then I look at my actual body. My stomach that's never flat enough. My legs that are too big.

And I hate it. I hate how I look, and I hate my brain, and I hate my dad for controlling me, and I hate how I'm not perfect, and I hate how I'm not like Lucía, and I hate myself.

I think- no, I know- that it'll never get better. I'll always be trapped as the way I am.

Not good enough.

Never good enough.

But I have to face school. Slowly, I get ready, and hop onto the bus, not even bothering to call out goodbye to dad.

I walk through the school gate, my hair in a high ponytail, because that always makes me feel more confident. More sure of myself. I don't know why.

As soon as I step inside school, my best friend Caitlin comes up to me. Caitlin is Irish, and gets made fun of for her accent. I'm half Mexican, and get made fun of for my slight accent- I mean, I lived in Mexico until I was 9, then I moved here to Australia, but still, I have an accent, although I've lived here for five years now.

Caitlin has long, wavy red hair, and a pale face. She fits the stereotype of an Irish person perfectly. She's also very optimistic, which is annoying sometimes. For example, now.

'What's up, Sofía? Why do you look so sad?' she asks. I don't know how she does it. She says everything with a smile. If the world was about to blow up, she'd smile at everyone, and say something like 'Well, at least we got to live such an amazing life with each other!', then probably throw confetti in the air, or something.

'Not much, Caitlin. And, I'm fine.'

'You sure?' she says, smiling, and pretending to look into my brain.

'Yes! Now, we need to get to class. You know how angry Mr. Williams gets if someone's late.'