'You're fat.' Those words repeat in my head. 'Overweight. Fat. Revolting.' I list off any possible synonyms or comparable adjectives. I take a step on my scale. 122. Maybe I should be 110? He's right. He's so absolutely right. Why would he tell me I was fat if it wasn't true? He wouldn't.
My dad is waiting downstairs. He wants to know what I want for dinner. I couldn't decide between pizza or chicken nuggets, so I asked for a few minutes to think. Slowly I make my way downstairs, finally having made a decision. "Hey dad," I call out for him when I'm almost to the bottom step.
"Did you choose?" he asks me with a smile as he stands up from the couch. I nod my head and force out the best smile I could.
"I'm actually not very hungry tonight, I had a big lunch." I lied. "I'm going down to the library to get some book, I can't find it online." I enlightened him as I grabbed my backpack and headed towards the door. He sighed and sat back down. I rolled my eyes in response. Not at him- I was just angry at myself. I wasn't trying to resent my dad at all. I know he misses my mom, and I do too, but I can't be around forever. He should get used to it.
The wind was blowing just hard enough for my hair to flap around my face. I took my arms up and grabbed my hair into one handful, pulling the hairband from my wrist over it and up into a ponytail. I eyed my car for a few seconds, hesitantly walking away from it. The library wasn't too far, and the extra exercise could benefit me.
As I headed down the street I took out my phone. I didn't want to look lonely as the cars passed me. It was lame, but I happened to care about everything people said about me. And it was for one reason, and one reason only.
One person. Two words. Four syllables. Harry Styles. He's the boy who has single handedly pushed my self esteem to the ground and set it on fire. I can be perfectly fine until he shows up. His snide remarks and witty comebacks always, dare I use such a horrible expression, grind my gears.
There is literally no reason to why he does it. Why he calls me fat or ugly. He most likely says it because it's true. Why else would he say it? Ever since the day he moved to our school in 11th grade, he had made my life a living hell as if it wasn't already bad enough. Just the thought of him is angering me again, to the point where I can feel my tears leaking from my eyes.
I quickly reached up and wiped my cheeks for any fallen tears. Tears were a sign of weakness. Weren't they? Harry always says so. I went to my messages on my phone to text my best friend Mackenzie.
To My Boo: hey Mack <3
From My Boo: hi Dani bear<3 (;
We continued a short conversation, as average as any other teenagers; Whatsup, how are you, that boy is so cute no way, etc. We're girls, what would you expect?
I neared closer to the library. The sun was already starting to settle down a bit, even though it was only about 5 or 6. It was rather chilly too, considering it was nearing the middle of winter. I would say that I'm freezing, but in reality I was used to the cold weather. I liked it better that way, too.
I walked inside with only about 30 minutes until closing time. My first instinct was to check one of the computers to type in the title and do it the easy way. Of course it's exactly what I did. I pushed past a few slow walkers, the most annoying people in the world, and stood at the open computer. After searching the book I used the scrap pencils and paper to write down the section.
I knew I couldn't be on a computer without checking out my blog. My blog was my life. It had every secret and every detail about my life inside of it. I put no pictures of myself up, for multiple reasons. 1. I didn't want to be judged. 2. I would absolutely die if anyone from school knew who it was. All my followers knew was my name and the state I live in. Of course my age and a few other minor details, but nothing to put a face to.
My fingers scrambled across the keys, typing in tumblr.com in the URL bar. I quickly entered my information and logged in. There were a few messages, as always, and a couple new followers. I scrolled for about two minutes, reblogging whatever I was feeling at this moment.
I felt nervous as someone crept up behind me. I turned around slowly, a weak smile across my face. The smile faded as soon as I realized who it was. Kaylee Jones. Or should I say Kaylee Malik? She's just about the biggest, brattiest bitch I know. Zayn Malik's girlfriend and Harry Styles partner in crime. I can't stand to even look at her.
I felt her looking past my shoulder to my screen, which was currently on my blog. I was examining it to see how it looked with the new posts. Her lips moved the slightest bit, showing that she was reading. Embarrassedly I went back to my dashboard.
"Can you hurry up?" Her annoying voice asked impatiently. She crossed her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. Could she be any more ridiculous? I rolled my eyes and pressed the home button on the computer, but not before logging out. God knows what I'd do if she posted on my blog.
I walked away with a huff, grabbing my slip of paper with my information. She smirked at me as I walked away. I could feel her staring intently at me, watching my every move. I stumbled across the section, grabbed the book entitled Brave New World, and checked out.
It was darker than when I had got here. The wind was blowing harder, and I was pretty sure I had just felt a raindrop fall onto my head. Perfect. The hood of my jacket came over my head, awkwardly fitting against my ponytail. With no hesitation I set off down the road all the way to my house.
"Dannica!" My dad shouted as soon as I stepped into the house. I meekly walked to the staircase, somewhat closer to him. "Why are you so wet?" He asked me confusedly.
"I walked." I simply stated. The sprinkles had quickly turned into a full on, hard, rain.
"You have a car, why the hell are you walking?" He asked me angrily. I shrugged. I knew exactly why I walked, but was I going to tell him? No, of course not.
"I just didn't feel like it." I simply stated. I knew he was about to start yelling at me. He was angered so easily- it wasn't fun to be around. Ever since my mom had died he was always a list of things- hurt, bipolar, protective, and mean. There were hardly clues to what he was feeling too, so sometimes I had to feel his wrath from out of the blue.
"I didn't buy you that car so you could fucking walk instead!" He yelled. I called it, for once.
"Dad," I calmly answered, not looking at him directly.
"You're so selfish sometimes, I should just take your car back. You're such an ungrateful little girl." His hand came in contact with my cheek. I know he didn't mean it. I know he's just upset and I would never blame him for it. I probably deserve it anyways. I'm told I'm worthless so many times, I guess I just believe it.
I casually walk upstairs as if nothing happened. I'm great at holding things in. I'm very great at it actually. My door slammed shut and I locked it quickly. I threw my backpack to the side and leaned against the door. The tears leak from my eyes again, nothing able to stop them. I can feel myself growing ashamed for showing weakness, but I couldn't help it.
After a few minutes of feeling sorry for myself - and then a few minutes feeling guilty for doing so - I get up and plop onto my bed. My headphones are shoved into my ears and plugged into the side of my laptop. Some No Doubt starts to play into my ears as I go straight for my blog.
When I log in there are a larger number of messages. It seems almost, unreal. I get messages of course, but never this many. Before I open them I click on my page and look at the views. The views are up significantly and the number of online people has reached 64 at the moment. That's odd..
I open the messages and gasp immediately. My hand is brought to cover my mouth and suddenly I feel weak again. There were excessive amounts of hateful messages. All of them being anonymous and consisting of things such as:
I only made this account to keep track of how pathetic you are.
You're so worthless.
Haha! Your blog is so funny! You should just kill yourself if you hate life this much.
You get bullied for a reason. "Poor you boohoo" cry me a river, bitch.
And I do exactly as they want. I cry myself dry, occasionally smacking or scratching myself for being such a weak person, until I fall asleep for the night. I have a feeling this blog will become my new nightmare.
