I'm Okay

To be

James continued being nice for a few more days before settling back into our routine. I'd wake up and cook, he'd yell at me for something, I usually wouldn't eat, then he'd go off to work. I'd clean the whole day and maybe read a bit. Dinner was on the table by the time he got home and he'd eat while I basically just sat there. He'd get drunk and have his fun with me before going to sleep, usually leaving me to cry myself to sleep.

But one day it went too far.

-flashback kinda thingy ig-

James will be home in about ten minutes and dinner is already on the table. I sit down on the couch, waiting obediently for him to get home. I tug at the hem of my skirt and scowl a bit.

James likes it when I dress femenine but I personally dislike it. I feel so fake. I feel like his doll that he can dress however he wants and do whatever he wants with and I can't say no.

I finally decide to change out of the skirt before I kill someone and change into a pair of shorts.

'it's revealing enough that James will be happy with how you look' I think to myself, checking how I look in the mirror. I chew my lip and stare at myself in the mirror before I apply a bit of makeup to appease him.

I go back downstairs and sit cross legged on the couch. I play with the fringe on the pillow, trying to pass the time until James gets home.

That's what's so sick about all of this. I crave him. I want to be with him. I don't care if he hurts me, I still love him so much. He's the only contact I've had other than Burr for nearly a year. I find myself missing James more and more every day, the hours seeming to stretch to days when he's gone.

I get lost in thought, my mind wandering. I remember high school. I was really only friends with Thomas Jefferson and was kinda considered the school whore. I tried and tried but every boy and girl I was with just couldn't fill this hole in my heart. I treated myself like garbage. I never ate, slept with any boy or girl who was willing, dressed uncomfortably for the sake of pleasing others.

People called me a whore so I figured, why not give them what they want? I dressed in tiny skirts and crop tops, hating every second I spent in my body. I'd use makeup like a mask, thinking if I was beautiful outside, maybe I could fool myself into thinking I was worth something.

It all changed when I started dating Thomas. He was so kind, it brings me to tears just thinking of it. I remember the first time he saw me how I really was. I was wearing his hoodie and sweatpants, my hair was a mess, my mascara was streaming down my face. I was sobbing into his arms about my foster dad and how he treated me, about how I felt like everyone's toy, how I just wanted to be loved. He picked me up and brought me to the bathroom, sitting me on the counter, gently helping me wash the makeup away.

My hair was a mess, I had just been sobbing my eyes out, I was wearing baggy, oversized clothes, I had no makeup on, yet he still looked at me like I was the most beautiful person on Earth.

I can still feel the touch of his hand as he gently cupped my face, murmuring about how beautiful I was. I remember crying even more, but just from how loved I was feeling in that moment.

It wasn't the hot, fake, in the moment babbling of some guy I was fucking, it wasn't some drunk girl at a party, it wasn't my disgusting foster father. It was like my mother. Real and true and perfect and loving.

We cuddled on the couch for hours watching whatever movies I wanted. He gently ran his fingers through my hair, rubbed my back softly, kissed me again and again. He told me how beautiful and gorgeous and smart and wonderful and loved I was and I never felt safer than in his arms.