Skinny Love

But I'm a creep

I get into the passenger seat of Dallon's car. I set my backpack down by my feet. "So music? No music?" He asks looking at me. "You can play music. It's your car," I say. "But you're the guest." I smirk. "Just play some music." Dallon giggles. He is so cute. He grabs an auxiliary cord from the center console. He plugs one end of it into the radio and the other end into his phone. The music starts playing. He pulls out of the parking lot and we get on the road. After about ten minutes I recognize a song. I start singing along to it. "Oh. My. God," he says. I freak out and look around. Did we hit something? Is there a deer in the middle of the road? I don't see anything. "What?" I ask him confused. "You're an amazing singer!" "No I'm not," I say shaking my head. "Yeah you are." I blush and look down at my lap.

We get to a stoplight and Dallon looks at me, "So what else do I not know about you?" "Maybe I'll tell you if we ever make it to your house. How far away do you live?" I ask. "We're almost there. Don't worry." The light turns green and Dallon continues driving. The rest of the ride is silent. It's not an awkward silence like it usually is between me and my mom. It's a comfortable silence. I switch between looking out the window and watching Dallon drive. He gets this adorable smile on his face when he realizes I'm looking at him.

Suddenly we pull up to a gate. "Where are w-" Dallon rolls down his window and I stop talking. He presses a button and says, "Hey Spence it's Dallon. Can you let me in?" "Anything for you Dal Pal," says the man over the speaker. I assume his name is Spence or Spencer. Whatever his name is he buzzes us in. The gate opens and Dallon drives in. He drives down a semi long path. We stop at a large house. It's three stories and has like a million Windows.

"Is this your house?" I ask. Dallon nods. "You didn't tell me you were rich. Isn't that something you'd think to tell a person before you just take them to your house?" I add. "Not really. I don't invite friends to come over to my house just to show it off. I invite them because I want to hang out with them," he says. "Are you saying we're friends? Are you defining the relationship?" I laugh. "I guess I am. Unless you don't want to be my friend then I could just drive you back to your house," he jokes. "Ha ha very funny... I would love to be your friend by the way," I tell him. "Good then follow me."

We walk into his house. The first thing I see is a giant mirror on the wall. I see my hideous reflection then look away. "Take off your shoes," Dallon says as he starts removing his shoes. I do as told and remove my dirty black converse. "So... Where's your room?" I ask. "This way," he says walking away from me. I quickly pull off my other shoe and follow behind Dallon. We walk through what I assume is a living room past a huge kitchen and down a hallway. We stop at a door. Dallon opens it up. There's a staircase leading to the basement.

I follow Dallon downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs there's another door. It's painted black and has a red "keep out" sign on it. Dallon opens the door. "This is my room," he says. I look around. There's a giant fire place and flat screen TV. There's arcade games, a wall full of guitars, a desk with three computer screens on it, a king sized bed, a door leading to a walk in closet, and a door leading to a master bathroom.

"Can I use the bathroom?" I ask. "Sure. It's right through that door," Dallon points. I enter the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I find a scale laying on the floor across from the toilet. I step on the scale. I wait about five seconds then step off and look at the number. 110.5 lbs. whew I'm still losing weight. I go over to the toilet and flush it. Then I wash my hands pretending that I actually went to the bathroom.

I walk out of the bathroom and my eyes land on the wall of guitars. "Do you play?" I ask. "A little," he confirms, "do you maybe wanna sit down so we can talk?" Great. Time to talk about the things I've been trying to avoid. I sit down on one side of Dallon's bed, up against the wall. Dallon sits on the other side. I just sit there quietly, hoping to avoid talking even longer. "So are you gonna talk first or do you want me to?" He asks. "I mean technically you just did," I tell him. "You know what I meant." I sigh, "where do you want me to start?" "The beginning."

I think back to when it all started. "Back in elementary school I was friends with this boy named Ryan. He was my best friend. We were pretty much family. Our Parents were friends. So whenever his parents came over they would bring Ryan over too. He was a good friend. Then my dad died. I needed a person to turn to and he was that person. I got too close and he didn't like that. He started spreading rumors saying I was gay and at that time I wasn't really sure what I was. I was bullied. I was picked on for anything you could think of. Ryan and his new best friend Jon made it their goal in life to make me as miserable as possible. Most days they beat me up before school. They call me things. I just want to know what I did wrong."

"That's terrible. I'm sorry about your dad. No kid deserves to lose their parent at such a young age. And Ryan was a terrible friend. He's still terrible. Do you have any other friends other than me?" Dallon asks with a wink. "It's fine. Really. And yes I have another friend. His name is Tyler," I say. "Good. Having friends to turn to when something happens to you is very helpful. I know from personal experience," he says, "now tell me. Why did you get suspended?" "Jon and Ryan put a note on my locker," I pause. Do I really want to tell him? What if he laughs. I can't trust him. I barely know the guy.

I shake my head. "What?" He asks. "N-Nothing. It's nothing. It was my fault. I shouldn't have gone to school that day," I say. "It's not your fault," he tells me. "You don't kn-" "it's not your fault," Dallon interrupted me, "growing up my parents were always away on business trips. I was watched by the nanny. My dad would come home on the weekends. He slept around with the nanny. And when my mom found out they fought. They fought every night. I felt like it was my fault. They were staying with each other because of me. They hated each other. People think because my family has a lot of money that there's no reason I should be sad. There's no reason I should hate myself. But I did. And once I entered high school was when I hit my breaking point. I brought a boy home with me. My mom walked in on us kissing and flipped out.

When the boy left my mom took all her anger out on me. Everything from dad cheating to finding out her son was a faggot. What was wrong with me. Why couldn't I have been born normal." I know how you feel. "My parents got a divorce and I tried to kill myself. I drank an entire bottle of bleach. It could have killed me. I started hallucinating. My dad found me throwing up in the bathroom. He called poison control and took me to the hospital. Ever since then he's had me going to therapy. I started to self harm and got caught doing that. And that's when my doctor recommended out patient therapy. So I decided I would do it. I figured it could help. I haven't cut for about a month. I'm using this rubber band," Dallon shows me.

"Anyways... The things other people do are not your fault. You were born different but that's not your fault. So don't blame yourself. What someone else did was their choice. So what did the note say?" He asks me. My eyes start watering. "The note told me to kill myself. When I opened my locker bottles of pills fell out of it. I didn't do it but the teacher thought I did. I was taken to the principals office and I didn't go in. I ran away. And then I was suspended," I say. I blink away my tears, "Anyway let's get off this sad topic."

Dallon grabs a bass guitar and plays all different types of bands songs as I sing along. We do this until he has to drive me home. During the car ride we talk about our favorite artists and songs. And when we pull up to my house Dallon says, "I just don't understand." "What don't you understand?" I ask. "People like Sarah. I don't get how someone can just starve themselves. Especially when they aren't even fat. They just think they're fat. It's sad. I don't think anyone should starve themselves to get skinny. That's just messed up," he says. "Yeah," I agree. I give Dallon a hug goodbye and exit his car. He can never know about me.