Holding On

Chapter 1

I walk out of my bedroom. It's a Saturday morning, so I know I'm home alone for a few hours. My dad is at work until 2, and my mother has her book club until 1:30. That leaves my older sister, who has summer soccer conditioning until noon.

I check the time on my phone.

9:48.

That leaves me with about 2 hours to myself.

I had just woken up, and my first instinct is to go into the kitchen and make myself some toast. It's an automatic thing, but I have to stop myself.

Don't eat. Don't eat. Don't. Eat.

The voice is back. Great.

I walk back into the bathroom, in shame.

There's nothing in me to purge, so I walk over to the scale. I strip down, I step out of my sweats and take off my baggy t-shirt. I let my hair out of a messy bun and let my natural curls fall loose. I make sure the door is locked, just in case someone were to walk in. I have to be careful when I go about stuff like this. I have to be accurate. No room for mistakes. As I walk back to the scale, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Fat. Ugly. Gross. Hideous. Pale.

I step on the scale. I get tense. I haven't had a chance to weigh since last Saturday. My parents almost never let me out of there sight, not that they're worried, I'm just always around them. And I'm always out doing stuff. I'm shaking.

The numbers blink. I close my eyes.

111.7 lbs.

I scream inside. I've gained 1.9 lbs since last week.

I scream inside. How is this possible? I decide I won't eat lunch today and only have a light dinner with my family that night. I'll add an extra 15 push-ups and 40 more squats to my work out this week.

I go to take a shower. First though, I lie in the tub, twirling my razor through my fingers. It feels good. It feels right. I feel in control.

I shave my legs and pits like always, then stare at the razor.

I wonder what time it is. I pick up my phone from the bathroom floor. Music is playing.

10:27.

There is still plenty of time.

I take my razor and slash relentlessly at my thighs.

Thighs are the easiest to hide, I think.

The pain overwhelms me. I love it. It give me an exhilarating high. I love how it stings every time I make a new cut. It feels amazing.

Soon enough, the bath water has turned slightly red. I look at my fresh cuts proudly. This feeling won't last long, I know. I get up to shower, wash my hair, then my body. As I get out of the shower, I check the time again.

11:03.

I walk into my room and get dressed. I make sure to put on long pants. I have to hide my cuts. My skinny jeans over the open wounds stings like H**l. I put on my Beatles t-shirt. It's so baggy on me; I love it. It was my dad's but I always wanted to wear it so he eventually gave it to me. Although, I would never wear it in public. I go to the bathroom and blow dry my hair. In the summer, I wear my hair natural. When it's completely dry, I have 'perfect wavy hair.' People say it's natural beauty and the perfect shade of chocolate brown. Though, I hate it. I need longer, straight, blonde hair. Because straight hair is what people think is pretty. And only blondes are pretty. When I'm done, I look at myself in the mirror.

Gross. I think. Just gross.

I cake on my makeup. It's the only way I can kind of cover up my terrible acne. I notice a new zit on my nose. My huge, oversized nose.

You're worthless. And ugly.

I want to cry. I want to let everything out.

It's 11:35.

My sister will be home soon. I have to be strong. I can't let these tears out. I finish doing my makeup and walk into my room. I grab my phone and book and walk into the living room. I sit down and start to read. Maybe I'll stop thinking about my unfortunate hideousness for at least a while.

I love to read. Reading takes me to a whole other place and I'm able to forget, just for a little while. I'm actually really smart, too. I guess I just don't "apply myself". That's what my parents say. But I don't really care.

Time seems to fly. I get so caught up into the story, it's like I'm actually there and I'm witnessing what they're witnessing. I feel brave, like the people I read about. I just want to be like them someday. Sounds cheesy, but it's true, okay?

I check the time on my phone as I'm finishing a chapter.

12:11

I quickly slam the book shut and pull my laptop out from under the couch. I start browsing the Internet aimlessly. I wish there was something more productive I could do. The heat from the laptop makes my thighs kill. I hate that feeling, but I keep a straight face.

Over the past 2 years I've really learned how to fake emotions.

Soon enough my sister, Jade, walks in. 

Jade is two years older than me. She's pretty much perfect. Straight A's, athletic, SKINNY, has a perfect boyfriend, and she's BLONDE. It's still curly like mine, but she has the most perfect blonde hair. The exact color I want.

I hate her.

"How was soccer?" I ask, not looking up from the screen.

"Fine," she says walking into the kitchen. "How's your day been?" She takes a bite out of an apple as she re-enters the living room.

"Eh, so-so." I have nothing to do really. I respond, keeping my eyes locked on the screen.

"Oh. Hey, is it alright if Luke come over?"

Great. Now her perfect boyfriend is gonna be here too.

"Sure." I answer.

"Sweet. Hey, um, is it alright if he brings a friend?" Jade asks.

Crap. "Uh, sure, I guess."

"Awesome! It's this new guy on Luke's baseball team. He just moved here and he doesn't know anyone his age. Luke thought of you so he thinks you guys should meet."

S**t. I don't want to meet any guys. I'm fine by myself.

"Oh, ok. What time are they coming over?"

Jade looks worried. As if I'll be mad at her. She speaks quietly. "Now."