Delicate Hearts | Completed

23 || My Body

make sure you vote and comment! and this chapter is in our bby angel's pov. it was about time. comment on this chapter! it really makes my day!!! 

TW: depictions of an ED. 
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Angel

I don't remember the last time my parents went to work. The last time they earned their own money. The last time they didn't empty my fucking bank account on things they didn't need. For example, expensive alcohol to throw their own party.

At first, when I began to get paid, I was pretty young, and I didn't care about my money. Now I do. Because there are things that I want to buy for myself, and it fucking pisses me off.

So when I see the lights on everywhere in my house and silhouettes of people holding wine glasses, I debate whether I want to barge in and call the party off and kick everyone out or save myself the energy and walk away.

I walk away.

It's almost midnight now, and I don't know how long the party will last. The cold breeze hits my face, and I clench my fists in my pocket. I don't mind the cold, but I prefer summer over winter any day. I'm lucky it's still September. September nights aren't as cold as the ones that are about to come with October and November.

It's funny that the first person I think about when I think of the cold is Madison Snow. It's safe to say that I am worried about her mental state in the coming months. How often will I be able to see her then? I barely see her now, as it is.

Think about coming back to school... I'd love to see you back. Maybe telling her, that was a mistake. What kind of sicko asks a girl who was sexually assaulted by her own teacher in her own school to come back? I frown as my mind starts traveling through all the worst possibilities that could happen because of what I told her.

Rivera could return to school and attack her again... Another teacher could do something horrible to her... Or Madison could have a terrible panic attack in school and has to be taken to the hospital... Holy shit! I start to feel my palms get sweaty, and I turn straight back around. If I have an anxiety attack in the middle of the streets, the only people that'll find me are the press.

I storm back to my house and swing the door open without a second thought. "Party's over!" I shout at all the guests. "Everybody leave. Sorry for the inconvenience," I make sure to add. I don't know who these people are, but if any one of them starts to record, I can sue them for recording me on my property, but at the same time, if that goes on the internet, it'll cause so much drama.

I got into social media just two months ago, and I don't want all the hate that comes with it. I keep my face hung low, just in case anyone whips out their camera. I pray no one recognizes me, especially since they're kind of old and not so classy.

A low murmur flies through the crowd as everyone exits. Slowly, the house empties out until there are only three people left. Me. My parents. I don't say anything to them. I just slam the front door shut and storm upstairs to my bedroom, which should better be untouched.

I leave my parents scowling but unable to say anything because it's my house. I pay the bills. I parent them. And they're not the least bit ashamed about it.

It has been easy for them this entire time. Pick the prettiest kid of them all, adopt him, and push him so hard to have the perfect body, face, and literally everything so that he can be a model and make them money. It must have been easy.

I slam the door to my bedroom– the master bedroom– shut. I feel my body automatically collapse onto the bed as I stare at the ceiling. Which I do almost every night.

I do it every night because I'm scared of closing my eyes and falling asleep. I don't want to face the nightmares that come with sleep. I hate them so much that I'd rather stay awake. And what's more twisted is that photographers think my 'sleepy eyes' add more depth and attractiveness to the picture.

I don't remember much from my childhood. I just remember that it wasn't something good. Why else would I end up in an orphanage, waiting to be adopted by someone who would love me and care for me? Clearly, that didn't work out, either.

I just have deadbeat parents mooching off the money that I earn. They didn't adopt me. I adopted them. And not by choice.

I recall that in elementary school, kids would say something like, "you get what you get, and you don't get upset." It was all good fun, but it meant so much more to me. Because I am upset with what I got. And maybe I don't have a right to be. My parents might not love me. They might not care for me or provide for me like normal parents.

But they did adopt me.

Shouldn't I be happy about at least that?

Hell no, my subconscious screams at me. If they hadn't adopted you, a better family would have. They wouldn't have been nearly as toxic as your parents today. You would have had a good life. And maybe that's true. But you can't bet on something you have no idea about.

I get a string of messages from my manager. It's a bunch of images from my last photoshoot.

Mason:

12.48 am - here, kid, post some of these on your instagram.

I look at the pictures, zooming in and out of every single aspect of my body. I stare at each part for several minutes before deciding which images are perfect.

Because that's what people like. Perfect. No one wholeheartedly believes in body positivity. Because if they did, then they would not find me more attractive than the next guy. Because that's what body positivity is all about. Everyone is beautiful until no one is.

I zoom into my neck in one of the pictures and stare at it for a while. It looks a little off. Did I gain weight I wasn't supposed to? Fuck. I feel my stomach twist and turn with anxiety as I continue to stare at myself in the picture.

Before I know it, I find myself running to the bathroom and crouching next to my toilet, throwing up all the popcorn I had eaten at Madison's house. I shouldn't have eaten it. It's not good for me. It's not good for my body. 

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a/n: okay. yeah. like i said. i need dark pasts. and i need drama. i like to romanticize broken boys. it's my personal issue. 

anyway. what did you think of angel in this chapter? my poor bby </3 

what do you think of his parents? ew. i hate them. 

alsoooo, thank you sooo much for reading!! i love you all sooo much!!! <3 <3 nowww, time to go read "it ends with us" brb!