The Lies We Told On Thursday Nights

8. Thursday Evening: Toyota Tyranny (Emery)

Hey guys! I am so sorry that I'm off/late a duet of chapters. But I originally made this one really short, but figured you guys would like a longer~ish chapter! 

So, in this chapter, I hope is not that confusing. As the chapter goes on it kinda reflects/explains previous interactions with others while describing the current scene.

I feel bad because it's more explaining/describing the past (but very important) however, I tried to make it as thrilling and less boring explaining.

I am really sorry! But thank you guys so much!

(Also, wow, getting a lot of views.)

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Emery

Thursday- 7:18 p.m

I sipped my low-fat black coffee, letting the bitter warmness burn my tongue and ease the knots in my throat.

I hated myself with every single sip, but my throat was still extremely irritated from my first purging episode last night.

Sighing, I peered around the quaint, Paris styled cafe.

The cafe was quiet, as usual. In this lightly populated town, many citizens spend days doing monotonous labor to support their families. People in this town do not have access to those high paying-top floor-corner office-jobs, because there are no two-story buildings here and no major university.

Most people in this sparsely populated town were at home eating freshly cooked meals and watching poor cable.

But here I was, where I was every Thursday. Every Thursday I take the hour-long drive from the city to this desolated town. And every Thursday I sat in the curb-side cafe, facing the tinted window.

And from this cafe, I watch teens walk towards the old meeting hall. Some chatting, some pulling down their sleeves, and others trying to ignore the world.

Now was my 15 minutes of solitude.

I loved these few minutes; they were the highlight of my crowded, forced week.

I placed the cup back on the bar-counter, resting my chin on the bar. The colorful early evening sky was addicting to look like.

But then...then my consistent moment of every week was seized from me.

This solitude quickly spun out of control as I heard the all too familiar rambling of our school's famous truck.

I caught a glimpse at the red Toyota truck with the blue stripes, the side view window teetering from its rim.

It was unsettling to see that truck troll down the street. My stomach churned with uneasiness as I was mentally prepared for the brutal mockery.

For the past two years, the truck's dangling mirror was the three-second warning before the team slandered me with insults.

"Goody-two-shoes" "teacher's pet" "top tier freak."

The memory of their teasing proud at my brain, stabbing me all over again.

I hated the memory of them, of their smug faces and distinct voices. Their daily torture lasted all through freshman and half of sophomore year.

It was only after I lost my first eight pounds that they stopped paying much attention to me. I convinced myself it was not a coincidence.

Nevertheless, the tauntings never ceased. Fortunately, the majority of the bullies have graduated and/or a group of them got expelled after a major drug scandal.