Being a fifteen-year-old girl was hard enough already. Being in love was already a fucking burden. And now, as I stood in front of my full-body length mirror in the tiny room in my mother's apartment, I broke. I had no home, I had no one left in the world that I loved, I had nothing to live for but vodka and the warmth of his embrace that I craved oh so much. My god, I missed him. He was my life force. He was my energy. He kept me going. Without him, I was absolutely nothing but a hollow figure and an empty mind. I sat down in front of the mirror, tightening every single muscle in my body and then letting them all relax. My body was tense and my mind was racing all over the world.
What was he doing at this moment? Did he care that my heart was tattered and my soul was torn? Did he care at all? No. No, he didn't give a single shit about me. All that he cares about is his fucking drugs and his life and other girls. Did he care about me? No. If he had cared about me, he would never have let me walk away so easily.
I stared at myself for a while, trying to find something beautiful about my face. My nose was short and pointy and fanned out a bit at the end and definitely was not beautiful. Although my cheekbones were high, my cheeks were flat and unshapely and certainly not beautiful. My chin was short and round and not beautiful. My ears were pointy and strange-looking and were not beautiful. My hair was wavy and frizzy and not attractive in the least. My eyes, which were once creamy brown and full of life, were now empty, dull, and lifeless, as if he had taken my heart and soul with him when he'd left. I was not beautiful and I was not worthy of him.
