My Step-Brothers

Chapter 35: Dad Finds Out

E V A N N A

My dad still didn't know. How I was going back to self harm. How I started starving myself again. He barely came home anyway. I felt upset that he was always leaving, leaving no time for us to bond as a family again. I realized that my step brothers felt the same. Their mother barely came home too.

Andrew stopped talking to me. He didn't hit me anymore, but he just ignored me. I guess that was better. The rest were the same. School was the same too.

I put in my locker combination and opened my locker, only to have trash pour out. Laughter filled the hallway as people stared and pointed at me. Humiliation rose to my face as I looked at the trash that was surrounding me.

I started pushing the trash into an empty bag I had in my locker. The bell rang and sighed. I finished cleaning up and threw it out in the trash can. I grabbed my binder and went to class.

"You're late," my teacher said.

"I'm sorry," I replied, going to my seat.

"Nice Instagram account. Are you gonna talk shit about me next?" Dylan growled in my ear.

I haven't seen him in a long time. He went on a trip to I don't know where, but he came back. He was annoying. Apparently, Dylan was the "second-in-charge" until Owen came. Dylan was moved to third, but after he left, Blake replaced him. Now, Dylan was fourth, and he hated it. I could tell neither Blake or Dylan liked Owen, but they had no choice. Confusing? Yes. Good? No. Not at all...

Dylan just had to be in my class, along with Owen and Jayden. I hated it. They would torment me whenever they had the chance.

"Why are you even alive?" Jayden asked in the middle of class.

Why did that sting so much? Why were tears coming to my eyes? It was merely just a comment. But why did it hurt more than being punched? It felt worse because I ask myself that every single day.

I felt something hit the back of my head. I ignored it, but another one hit my head also. Don't give them the satisfaction. Pay attention to the lesson, I thought.

"Lose some weight, fatty. How much do you weigh?" Dylan asked.

I wanted to cry. These questions made me feel vulnerable. I hated talking about weight.

"Claire told me you had eating disorders," he chuckled. "Are you serious?"

The bell rang, and I bolted to the door with my stuff. I just wanted to get out of that class. Suddenly, I felt a hard shove, making me knock into the lockers. I dropped my stuff and winced in pain, my ribs aching.

"Watch it," Jayden said, walking past me.

Picking up my stuff, I continued to walk to the locker rooms. I put my binder on the bench and opened my gym locker. I felt fat. I became self conscious about my weight again. I only weighed 90lbs, which in my eyes were bad. I had to gain weight, but I didn't want to.

After changing, we played volleyball. It was awful. People aimed at me—on purpose. Someone threw the ball so hard, I fell from the force. It was humiliating. Everyone laughed at me. Why did everyone hate me so much?