Broken: Emily's Story

1

I look out of the window of the bus. People around me are laughing, catching up with their friends. Everyone's sharing stories about who saw who where over the summer.

Everyone except me.

I'm sitting in the back of the bus, just staring at the houses that pass by. I tune everyone out, tune out everyone's stories about places they went out. Because I know those stories will just make me sad. And who else wouldn't get sad after my summer?

Tears spring into my eyes. Angrily, I blink my eyes, forcing the tears to go back where they came from.

Subconsciously, I notice my arms start to itch under my black hoody. But I ignore them, trying so hard to forget.

The bus stops in front of the school. The people on the bus pile out of the doors, still talking. I pull the hood over my head and walk out of the bus. I walk into the school, ignoring the groups hanging out by the doors. I push my way through crowds into a girl's bathroom. This bathroom is empty. I pull the hood off my head, revealing the face underneath.

People told me I was pretty. But I ignored them. I couldn't see how they thought so. I still couldn't.

I stare into my olive green eyes surrounded by heavy black eyeliner. My former blonde hair is dyed black and falls onto my shoulders. My face is pale from lack of sunlight. I have bruises under my eyes from the nights I couldn't sleep and the nights I did but was haunted by nightmares.

A girl in a bright pink dress walks into the bathroom. Seeing me, she throws me a look of disgust and walks around me to get to the other mirror.

I was used to it. All the girls did that. But that didn't mean it didn't still hurt every time.

I pull my hood back over my head and walk out of the bathroom into the hallway, towards the stairs to the third floor. I climb up the stairs slowly, practically winded when I reach the top. I still got winded even though I was incredibly skinny. But that wasn't because I was fit. I could barely lift myself out of bed, let alone a five-pound weight.

I walk to my locker, the same one I had last year. As usual, it was covered with notes that said emo fag, and go kill yourself. Sighing, I pull them off and open my locker, shoving the notes with the pile from last year. I don't even know why I came up here, there's nothing here. Old habit, I guess.

I slam my locker shut and shove my hands in my pockets. My right hand wraps around a small box in my pocket. A voice calls from behind me.

Hey, no one wants your Emo ass around here. Go kill yourself somewhere else, the boy's voice snickers.

My hand tightens around the box. Slowly, I breathe and turn around to face him. He's smiling, obviously proud of himself. His friends stand in a group around him, snickering.

Watch what the fuck you say to me, or I won't be the only one I'm killing, I snap back at him. My voice sounds odd. Probably from the lack of use.

Ooooo... I'm so scared, he taunts, but his heart isn't in it. He seemed a little unsure of me.

He was obviously a freshman trying to act all big and bad, when in fact, he was just as scared as I was last year. But at least he'll have friends. Unlike me.

I flip back around and head downstairs to my class. I push through people, everyone ignoring me.

When I get to class, I sit in the back and wait for the bell to ring.