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Self-mutilation. Check.
Starvation. Check.
Mentally unstable. Double check.
See, I was normal before. Now? I carry so much baggage I’m surprised it doesn’t weigh me down when I walk.
I take a shower, washing my sins away. Promising myself this won’t happen again. It can’t. I can’t allow the pain to control me. I should tell my parents. I know this, but I can’t. I can’t see the pity in their eyes. No, I’d take this to the grave with me.
I wrap my hair in a towel, using another one to dry my body off with, then walk into my room. Throwing on some spandex shorts and a big t-shirt, I hit the books. School, I’m good at that. I can get lost in my studies for hours feeling content. Which is exactly what I do.
After four hours of studying and doing homework, I grab a canvas. I sketch out a girl. Her eyes shadowed in sadness. Tears as sharp as razors cutting down her face, leaving ripped skin and a trail of blood in their wake. Her lips stitched closed. Once I have a basic layer, I add some color. Her face highlighted in white and shadowed in blue.
After hours of pouring my soul into it, with only the shading and highlighting completed on the face, I decide to call it a night. I lay in my teal bedding. The color is too light for my soul these days. No matter how hard I steer my mind away, it always comes back to him. I know why Easton hates me. I even respect it. I ratted him out, but what they did was wrong. What I can’t understand is why he is tormenting me. It’s not like any of them ever got in trouble for what they did. And the hatred didn’t even start with me telling. It started when we were younger.
See, I was infatuated with Easton from a very small age. I thought he was godly. I loved his personality. The way he smiled, laughed, and God, even the way he sneezed. I always wondered, why not me? I was always nice to him. But he always treated me horribly. From a small age, something about me made him tick.
I knew then that I wasn’t cut out for this family. That I’d never blend in. That I wasn’t cut from the same cloth. I was too weak. Too nice.
Sighing, I turn to my side. If I had at least one friend, it would be nice. Just someone to talk to. But I am the nerdy girl. The one too invested in their studies to have time for friends. My focus is to get out of here. Running from my parents. They expect way too much out of me. Dad and I used to have a good relationship, but now Dad only has time for Mom, who doesn’t have time for me. Hence, why I’m almost always home alone. I wonder if they know how much they are hurting me. Pushing me away. Out of the group, I’m the one who got stuck with the short end of the stick for parents. And I’m tired of feeling bad for myself.
I vow to myself that I am done. I am going to live. Get drunk and dance on coffee tables. Make friends. Go out. Have a boyfriend.
I’m going to live up my last year of high school.
Poor Jasmine is no more. I will wear makeup. Show off my body. I will finally live for something else besides school.
* * *
Want to know something about makeup? If you have an artistic bone in your body, you can master it. I watched a tutorial on smoky eyes, and I have recreated it perfectly. Adding a bright red to my lips and giving my cheeks some life. I leave the top three buttons of my uniform undone—I usually buttoned it all the way up. I put on heels. Yes, I can walk in them. You aren’t an heir if you can’t. I even curled my straight black hair.
People's mouths drop when they see me. Dramatic? Why, it’s BurBay Falls, we don’t live in this town without the drama. I smirk, walking to my locker.
Today is a new day.
* * *
The whispers only get worse. I should have known. Really, I should have. You can’t have a provocative photo leak one day and dress differently the next. It only fuels the fire. I stare in the mirror at some girl I don’t recognize. A girl with an identity crisis.
“You can change your appearance, you can take sexy—or should I say, trashy—pictures, but you’ll still be the nerdy girl no one is paying attention to,” Maxine whispers close to my ear as I wash my hands. “A nobody. A fake. A loser.”
I glare up at her brown eyes. The ones that resemble how much shit she’s full of. Her fire red perfect hair like my mother’s. Actually, everything about her screams my mother and that is why I don’t particularly like her. I keep my mouth shut, shifting to dry my hands.
“God, you’re so weird.” She laughs. Her now brace-free, perfect teeth glimmer. “And pathetic. You can’t even stick up for yourself.”
I throw the paper towels away, glaring at her. “It’s not that I can’t stick up for myself,” I bite out. “It’s that I don’t want to waste my breath on a mere mortal going absolutely nowhere in life unless she latches herself onto someone rich.” She curls her lip. “You’ve peaked now. You may be on top in high school, but life is going to eat you up and spit your mid-grade designer clothes out. Because let’s face it, that’s all that will be left of you.” Shoulder bumping her out of the way, I hear her hissed “Bitch” as I leave the restroom.
When I get to my locker, Mark is leaned up against it in all his disgusting swagger. I walk straight past him. Or try and fail miserably. “Where do you think you're going?” He grabs my arm, pulling me into his chest.
I struggle against him. “Let me go,” I hiss.
“I don’t think I—”
“Let her go,” Easton says, walking straight toward us, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed as he stares at where Mark’s body connects with mine. Mark releases me with a smirk, pushing me straight toward Easton who sidesteps me. I wasn’t expecting him to catch me, but the rejection still hurts. But why does that action hurt? I shouldn’t expect anything less.
I rush down the hallway, heading straight into the library. The smell of books and dust is a therapeutic aroma to me. The feel of solid oak tables as I glide my hand over them, sitting in my favorite spot in the corner where I nibble on an apple and read my book.
My escape.
