What Could've Been Us l EDITING

eleven

TW: mentions of alcohol, abuse

C H A N T E L L E

It was about 10 am, and I was watching TV while occasionally looking outside at the beaming sun.

I hated the sun. I hated the way it hit my skin and burned me. It was so uncomfy. And it always made me sweaty, and gross.

Today's sun didn't help with my mood at all. I was mad, upset, and bored. I wish it was raining. So I could be mad in peace while watching droplets hit my room's window.

I never knew why people liked summer. I preferred autumn much better. It wasn't too hot or too cold. And it was the perfect season to wear baggy clothes.

The main reason why I loved wearing baggy clothes is that they hid my body.

They hid all my imperfections that I was afraid to show to the world. I wore baggy clothes so no one could see my insecurities. The parts of my body that made me so self-conscious. My clothes hid the scars and marks that were supposed to make me who I am. 

But they only made me re-think who I was. If this was me, then why didn't like it? Why didn't I appreciate myself? Why didn't I love myself?

It was the people who had pointed out my insecurities that were at fault. They had pointed out things about myself that I hadn't even seen.

My big nose, crooked teeth, my eye bags.

If I hadn't paid attention to those until people made remarks about them. It all started when I grew up. Kids never paid attention to those flaws.

All they wanted was to play and have fun. Teenagers and adults were way different. They didn't care if their words affected or hurt you. They did it for the fun of it. For their own personal pleasure and gain.

I never understood why some people hurt others.

Like my parents.

They had hurt me in ways that I couldn't even explain.

If only my dad hadn't changed.

*Flashback*

"Dad?" I whisper, lightly shaking him.

"What do you want now." His eyes pry open and are now glaring at me. I shouldn't have woken him up.

"I- I need help with my math homework," I say hesitantly. His eyes scan over me and he scoffs.

"You can't do your own homework? How dumb are you? Go get me another beer from the fridge." He points towards the kitchen and sits back up on the couch.

"What about my homework?" As soon as those words left my mouth, I regretted them. I should know by now that when he tells me to do something, I should do it immediately.

He doesn't answer.

He stands up, his tall frame towering over me, and grabs my wrist tightly.

"You're hurting me." I manage to mutter out. Tears are forming in my eyes and my vision is becoming hazy. But I can still manage to see my father's menacing glare on me.

In the blink of an eye, his hand slaps me across the cheek.

"I'm hurting you, huh? How weak are you." He spats.

"Go get me my fucking beer." He yells, pushing me towards the kitchen. I step over a glass shard but brush off the pain, not wanting him to wait any longer.

I quickly open the fridge and take out a beer. I look around the kitchen and see the cigarette stubs and the empty alcohol bottles. The house smells disgusting. I can't even describe the stench that fills my nose practically every day.