Lonely Hearts Club // Book One

Chapter Thirty-One

June 1st, 2014

For Paige

A labeled cardboard box sat on my front porch with my name on it, and for a minute I was confused, until I noticed on the side it said from Luke. My smile grew for a second, then I wondered what was in the box. I carried it up to my room with great struggle since it probably weighed half of me. Why would Luke send me a box full of heavy shit after a week and a half of him being missing- again? Because he's Luke, of course.

I grabbed a pair of scissors frm my desk to open the box. After tearing off all the tape and crap, I got it opened and it revealed ten composition notebooks, each with a paper taped onto them with five words.

Reasons why I hate myself

I stared at it for what felt like ages. He said he hadn't touched them for years; why would he send them to me? Did he want me to look through them? I took the one at the very top, feeling its coolness and hearing the binding crack as I turned the cover.

Page one.

1. I'm too fucking tall
2. My disorder, it's ruining my life
3. My foster parents, they're ruining my life
4. I don't have enough courage to self harm
5. I don't have enough courage to kill myself
6. I'm afraid to die.
7. My nose is oddly shaped.
8. My shoulders are too wide
9. I'm chubby
10. I'm not manly enough
11. My acne
12. My voice
13. Girls don't like me
14. I have to take medication

I had to stop reading the list after that point, though it went on for thirty more pages. Throughout the first journal, there were paragraphs of what happened that day, or more lists, etc. There were many torn out pages too, so it was a whole lot of writing.

The second journal had clippings of reports and pictures of stuff that had happened to other kids with the exact same situation as Luke. Under each one, he wrote, they all have it worse, for which he was wrong. Those kids had lost their parents in something tragic, but at least they wanted the kid. My heart felt for Luke. He never told me that he wished for parents that loved him or wanted him, but it was obvious of how that affected him.

The third journal was like the first, only dated a few months later. It consisted of most of the same reasons of why he hated himself, which was a big deal.

I can't deal with this anymore, he wrote. John choked me yesterday for saying 'no', and now I'm afraid that if I do anything that is considered "disobeying", the consequences could be worse. I hate this. Why did it have to be me? Why my life? I just want there to be someone out there who can change everything, who can make me love or be happy. But right now, I hate myself, and I hate life. I'm not happy, I'm miserable. I've been miserable. Why can't I be happy?

My hands began to tremble as I moved onto the fourth. All of this was too much. He shouldn't have sent these to me. This one was a month after the third, it was the most torn. There were only five pages in it, all the same entry.

It's been a few months since I hit her. She hasn't bothered to talk to anyone with connections to me, and I understand why. I haven't left my house in three weeks, I haven't talked to Calum since our last band meeting, and I haven't bothered to like anyone since I hit her. I fucking hit her. I don't know if I could ever forgive myself. What kind of monster hits a girl? John. I'm turning into him. If I hate what he does to me; how come I've done it to somebody else? I'm guilty, I need to be locked up. I'm mental. I'm angry. I'm trash. But why do I expect to eventually find someone who will love all that?