Mirror Mirror Can't You See, What You Show Is Killing Me

Everyone Thinks That We're Perfect [Chapter 14]

A/N hey look @Andley123Kellic I'm doing a dollhouse chapter too. It's just a best friend thing to both do books with eating disorders. Definetely. Btw her book is called Calories read it.

"Caia," my teacher called, pulling me out of my daydreams. I was off in a wonderland where girls can eat whatever they want and never gain a pound. That's heaven. And I can't wait until I'm there. 

I slowly trudge up to the front of the class, my vision fading in and out. I slip a piece of gum out of my pocket and pop it in my mouth. I need the sugar. My eyes glance over the paper, it's an award ceremony for people who got good grades all year long.

What's 99-19? Happy me. 

At the bottom of the sheet, I catch the words: Make sure your parents can come, we want them to join in this wonderful occasion! I snort in disgust. The boy sitting in front of me, a redhead who I've always thought was preppy, looked back at me.

"They said invite your parents," I explained, "But I don't want those creeps anywhere near me."

He looked at me, not with pity, at least not in the way I hate. 

"I'm sorry," he said, but really, who believes a preppy? 

"No you're not," I shook my head.

"Yes," he stated, "I am."

"Really?" It felt so weird, I'm not sure I've experienced this before. This. . .humanity in me. He nodded.

"Me too," I whispered. 

I was on the verge of crying, squeezing my eyes together so no moisture escaped. I. Am. Not. Going. To. Cry. For. Them. I promised myself, no more crying for someone who doesn't care if I live or die. No more crying for someone who hurts me every day.

I thought I was past this. Bitter, that's what I should be. It's so easy to hate someone, that never gets you hurt. But missing someone, that's different entirely. The worst thing is missing them when they're right in front of you. When you see them all the time, but they never tell you they love you. 

All they ever say is try harder, do better, you're not good enough. 

And I guess I'm not. 

All my friends used to tell me how perfect my life was. A pastor's daughter, daddy's little girl. Pretty chill parents, I could do whatever so long as Jesus approved. 

But now. . .they think my black clothing symbolizes that I'm the spawn of satan himself. They say God doesn't love me anymore, but that can't be true. 

Why can't I be a normal teenage girl? Why can't my biggest problem be a wardrobe malfunction, instead of my impending suicide.

Suicide.

What a lovely word. Reminds you of playing with knives and dancing with wolves. Reminds me of a quote from a book I once read, 

She offered herself to the big bad wolf, and didn't scream when he took the first bite. -Winttergirls, Laurie Halse Anderson. 

Well, the big bad wolf has bit me, so many times that by now, I'm just a corpse, a skeleton with a few shreds of flesh still attached. My "mum" told me I'm going to hell.

She doesn't understand, I'm already there.