Home is a person - Lizzie Olsen

-3-

Little did I know what was going to happen when I reached home.

I walk into the living room to see a few alcohol bottles on the floor. The fuck?

"Freya.." My dad says, clearly drunk. The smell of alcohol coming from his breathe.

"Hi dad.." I say. I'm a little nervous because my dad rarely drinks.

Out of no where, he picked up a bottle and throws it at me. What rhe hell? He comes closer and starts beating the crap out of me.

"Dad stop, your drunk." I plead, crying out for help.

"Please please." I sob out.

He stops, and walks away. What the fuck is going on. My mom stumbles in the kitchen, also clearly drunk.

"Clean up the house." She says, and then leaves the room.

I start picking up the empty bottles, sweeping up the broken glass and dust the house a bit. After I finish, I limp to my room. I'm dizzy and in pain. Tomorrow i'll eat something, but I can't deal with that right now. I start to take care of some of the cuts the broken glass left in my skin. My back and stomach are littered in bruises. He didn't go for my face, so that's a relief that I can hide this easier. My parents weren't great parents, but they never abused me. They do love me, they just can't always show it..right? After I clean up my injuries, I lay in bed and sleep the rest of the day.

Since I went to bed really early, I wake up extremely early. Since I have more time to get ready today, I decide to curl my hair. I put on some makeup, and throw some baggy jeans and a crewneck on. I feel really faint and dizzy, so I decide that I need to try to eat something. I decide to challenge myself, making some scrambled egg. As soon as I put the first bite into my mouth guilt washes over me. Fuck. I really can't do this. I rush to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet. This is what I hate. Sitting on the bathroom floor, making myself sick. There's no way i'm making it to school, but i'm up early enough to catch the bus. I grab my stuff and make my way to the bus stop.

The bus finally arrives and I get on, shoving my two earbuds in my ear. The drive to school was quick, and I approach my English class almost 40 minutes early.

"Freya, your here early. How are you doing?" Miss Olsen asks, giving me a smile.

"I'm fine." I say quietly.

"Bullshit." She mutters under her breath, thinking I can't hear her.

"Sweetheart, you have bags under your eyes, your extremely pale, and you look like your in pain. Let me help you." Miss Olsen says.

"I'm okay, really."  I say in reply.

"No honey, your not. Tell me when the last time you ate." She says, firmly but softly.

"I uh 3 days ago. It's not that bad, i'm fine really." I say, no point in lying.

"You're going to eat with me, okay?" She says, putting an arm around me. I flinch at the contact, but she doesn't say anything, not wanting to push me anymore.

She pulls out a plate of two pieces of toast.

Fuck, how much calories is in that?

Tears spill out of my eyes. "I can't-" I cry out.

"Honey, look at me." She coos.

My glossy eyes meet her soft ones.

"I will get you through this. I will help you." She says, pulling me in for a hug.

"Please don't make me eat this." I sob.

"You don't need to finish it, let's try to take a few small bites, okay sweetheart?" She coos.

Try. That's all i've done. My whole life i've tried. I've tried to make my parents love me. Make them proud. I've tried to overcome this on my own, but I was on death's doorstep. My parents had no choice but to send me to the hospital. They didn't even come visit once. They didn't care that their daughter was moments away from death, a tube shoved up her nose, sick.

"Lovely?" Miss Olsen asks, giving me that same warm smile she gives me everyday. Ugh that smile, it brings me comfort..makes me feel safe. Something my parents never did.

"Is everything alright?" She asks.

I take a small piece of the toast and put it in my mouth. Chewing slowly, trying to ignore every though racing through my head. I have to try, but maybe this time i'll have someone by my side pushing me through this.