Growing up, I read... a lot. Like the average growing girl, I loved to read romance. Where a girl enters a situation and ends up falling in love or the nerd from high school who goes off to college and crosses paths with their adolescent crush. Books that distracted me from what really was happening.
My eyes were always on my Kindle, reading about my most recently found star-crossed lovers. When I was sad, I used it for comfort. When I was happy, I used it for celebration. Most of all, when I was suicidal, I used it as an escape, pretending that I was the one who got the happy ending instead of the characters. It's how I stayed sane. My parents were clueless to my thoughts and I planned to keep it that way. I never want to see them look at me with a wonder to where I went wrong.
For years, my plan worked. I would scan the words through my tears, telling myself that it will work out in the end. Then I got worse, to the point that stories could fix it. I would try and read, but it did not do enough. Riley was the only thing that got me through that month. Her soothing words took away the thoughts. She reminded me that she need me and that that should be enough
I called her every night that month, in tears. It wasn't till March was approaching that she said she had told my parents.
"Wait... what do you mean 'Told my parents'", I questioned.
"El, it is time that you get the help you des...." she began to respond.
That was when my mother broke down my door to find me sitting in the corner. I had my blade in my hand, covered in fresh blood.
She immediately broke into tears. Chanting,"Why?!? Why did you not tell me?!?"
She stared at me with the look, that look of wonder. Where did I go wrong raising my daughter. What did I do to deserve this.
My eyes were again drawn to my doorway, only to see my father standing there. His mouth was open, but no words seemed to be coming out. His eyes were locked onto my wrist.
"Eleanor..." He said it with such a depressed ring.
"My baby girl... my only baby girl".
Then, It all rushed by. The talk we had. All I remember is me explaining, no lies, what happened. Then, the phone call my mother had with a therapist. We met him and he talked to my parent, but I did not listen. All I did was stare at my feet, thinking about what is going to happen next. Then I was told. I was told that I was going to be sent away. I had a week to prep and then I would be on my way.
The week passed before my eyes and the next thing I knew, I had my bags packed and was at the train station. My parents cried, but I had no tears left. With a lost stare, I slowly waved my hand. I could still see the look of wonder in both of my parents red, puffy, eyes.
