love me like you do | | Elizabeth olsen

15. sickly girl and robotic boys

"there's a possibility that all I had is all I'm gon' get"

Do you want me to continue adding in songs that fit to the chapters?

⚠️tw: underage drinking, abuse? Smoking a joint. Self harm mentioned.⚠️

Lucy's pov:

It felt like lava running down my throat, but with a hundred thousand needles poking me at the same time.

It's funny how he can change. One moment he's making s'mores the next he's fighting his girlfriend rolling in the bonfire.

I'm surprised anyone ever would be with him, but someone was.

"That's my good girl. Now listen. My girlfriend will be over. So you're going to be out of the house"

He has a girlfriend?
Holy shit.
He poured the rest of the beer in me even though half of it spilt out from the corners of my mouth.

"and put a hat over that horrible haircut"

I went to my room, walking past my brother's red hungry eyes.
My wet clothes slipped off easily and i changed into a warm shirt and some sweatpants. I put on a beanie, tugging all my hair under it.

The night turned darker and darker so I was sworn to sleep on the cold benches that rips your body.

And as the moon peeked out to say hello, so did the freezing cold wind.
I let out the air trapped inside my lungs and it formed that usual white mist.

The rain however had stopped and it was now only the cold wind and the light glow from the moon and the broken street lights.

I hate that I believe in people so goddamn easily.
I trusted my father but I should've learned that people don't change. Especially not alcoholics.

I swore to myself, even from a young age, that I would never touch alcohol. However I must admit the burning, lava-like feeling was nice? In some way.

The tear on my cheek was cold. It dried into my cheek but it felt as if the cold had frozen and made it into a crystal that could cut me at any given time.

I clutch my arms around my thin waist.
It's just as I like it now. Every goddamn bone that can stick out, sticks out.

It's satisfying, to feel my own bones through the soft layer of skin I used to cut. To pierce with the broken piece of an old mason jar. To paint red and then wrap it up in white from the stuff in my care pack.

It's so satisfying to be a walking skeleton and yet it's not. The kids I meet cry until my ears fall off and their mother yaps till words no longer spills out their mouths in a sensible way.

Some call the police. But is it too much to ask to be left alone.

I passed a group of teenagers. A girl, she looked sickly. Her skin was colorless, her eyes stared a thousand yards away and her ribs were almost poking through her skin, her arms were painted red. But yet there was a slight smile on her face.

The boys all look like robots. All whirred to smoke the joints and then probably go out and hook up with a girl.

The guy with glasses grabbed me by my thin arm and placed me on his lap.

"I'm Sully. That's Evans, Jameson, Millie and Sasha"

His cheeky grin grew wider as he looked me up and down. I fit the category of their friendship group.

He let me move out of his lap and onto the bench.

"Lucy"

It came out, frail as the whisker on a kitten.
He let out a cloud of the smoke into my face.

"Take one"

Joints laid finely on the wooden bench and table set.
I slipped one in-between my fingers and brought it up to my mouth.

My hand shook and I had to pinch my inner thigh to stop it.
I could feel the marijuana sweep into my lungs and work it's way around into my body.

Suddenly I was dancing with the sickly girl. The robotic boys were dancing in the form of running as the blue and black ran after us.

I laughed loudly, as loud as the screaming children when they see me.

I felt a kiss on my forehead and saw the sickly girl kissing my head. Her eyes wasn't staring a thousand miles. They were full of life now, even though we were hiding in an old cabin in the woods.

The boys had left without me seeing it and had returned with some blankets and two sleeping bags.

"Lucy you can have a sleeping bag since you're new and anorexic"

Anorexic- I'm not anorexic.

Millie, that's the sickly girls name.
She's beautiful.

I slipped into the sleeping bag, it was thin and was probably just bought for 10 dollars.

But it was better than the even thinner blankets.
The woods turned silent and only the wind playing with the Lonely leaves could be heard.

"Who are you Lucy"

Who am I? I'm Lucy.

"I'm Lucy Becker, I'm the girl who drives motorcross and-"

Who am I really though?
Am I really just the girl who drives motorcross?

"No, sorry, we meant what's your story?"

"Sasha was caught in a fire and got outcasted cause of her beautiful scars. Millie was a victim of human trafficking. Jameson is gay and got kicked out of his religious family.
Evans lost his parents and found drugs instead.

I'm with Jameson as a partner, I was a victim of rape by my uncle and priest."

What's my real story?

"My story? I guess my story is-"