Page 1 of Breaking Emilee

PROLOGUE

OCTOBER

I wince at the sting of the razor blade gliding across my skin. The pain is quick, lasting only for a second, but the relief will last longer than that. You see, the brain releases endorphins when you get hurt, and that’s what I’m chasing: release from all the torment. The calmness only lasts about five minutes before everything comes rushing back. When that happens, I’ll just pull the blade back across the inside of my arm. It’s a fucked-up endless cycle of temporary pain, then a temporary high, but it’s my fucked up infinite cycle.

Standing up from my bedroom floor in the double-wide trailer where I live with my two brothers and grandparents. I make sure that no one is coming down the hallway so I can sneak into the bathroom. When the water makes contact with the fresh cuts, I suck air through my teeth. I have no control over the torment that forces me to do this, but this is something I can control. Making sure my bracelets cover the fresh cuts, a sigh falls from my lips. I still feel like the walls are closing in on me.

Walking out of the bathroom, I hear my family having a life around me. The constant feeling of being invisible has become a close friend of mine. It’s creeping back in as I stand in the narrow hallway. Looking left, Levi, my younger brother’s bedroom door is shut but I can hear him screaming at his game. Turning my head to the right, I can see straight into my grandparent’s room located off the living room. Even though I can’t see them I can hear my grandparents laugh at the TV. I can see a small part of the kitchen off to the right of the living room, connected by the dining room. My oldest brother Adam is heading to his room while talking on the phone to his girlfriend. I shake my head, hoping to rid the feeling of abandonment as I head into my room, closing the door behind me. Changing into a clean long-sleeve shirt, I make sure my thumbs are in the holes I cut to help it not ride up.

I turn off my light to make it seem like I’m going to bed, not that they will notice if I don’t. When I get this bad that a couple of cuts are not enough to dull the ache in my soul, I know there will be no sleep for me. Slipping open my window, I slowly move the screen inside my room and step over the ledge straight onto the ground. Living in a trailer makes sneaking out easy because there’s no second floor to climb down from. Creeping through the night, I pull a joint out of my bra and light it. My lung fills with the sweet, stinky smoke. I hold my breath till I can’t anymore. How did I become so broken?

CHAPTERONE

JANUARY

Entering into my final year of school, I expected it to be my best year yet, it’s turning out to be a nightmare from hell. My school is just like any other you can find in small-town America. We have small classes filled with students who have known each other since kindergarten. The student population consists of popular kids: basketball players, baseball players, and their cheerleader girlfriends. Unlike schools found in bigger towns, we have a few farmer kids. Of course, there are the occasional nerds and let’s not forget the band kids. Even a few are cool enough to float between the groups and are friends with everyone. If I had to put myself in a group, I would say I’m a band kid even though I don’t hang out with them. No, I used to have a tiny group of friends made up of two other kids and me. I thought that was all I needed and that we would be together forever, but I was so wrong.

Now I walk the halls, and no one even looks at me, not that a lot did before everything happened. But now it’s like I’m not even here; they look right through me. Even if the whole school forgot that I’m a student, two individuals refuse to forget I’m here. Because of them, I dread walking into the building in front of me.

Stepping into the cafeteria, I ensure that my hoodie sleeves are all the way down to my wrist, covering my secret. It’s finally cold enough outside that I don’t have to make an excuse for why I always wear one. I also make sure that the old portable CD player headphones are stuck in my ears. Not only does the music allow me to drown out any noise around me, but it’s also one of my only escapes from reality. All I want to do is turn around and go back home, but my grandparents are the type that will not let you stay home unless you are running a hundred and four fever. Too bad for me, I’m a cool ninety-eight point six.

A few years ago, the town deemed the old high school building unsafe for us, so they raised the taxes to build a new one. It’s the complete opposite of what we used to have. Instead of having two floors of classrooms, it’s now all on one level and in the shape of a capital T. There is only two entrances that the students are supposed to use, the main office and the doors leading straight into the cafeteria.

With my head down, eyes not looking anywhere but the floor, I can’t hear anything besides the music blaring in my ears. My stomach grumbles as the smell of the freshly cooked food they are serving for breakfast reaches my nostrils. I’m starving but can’t afford to sit down and enjoy anything. I try to ignore the noises coming from my stomach as I walk past the last table set up in the square room, heading straight for my locker. The locker is not the tall one we had in the old building, where we had to share it with another student. We each have our own locker; one student has one on top and another on the bottom. They are grouped by Senior, Junior, Sophomore, and Freshman classes.

Since September, I’ve made sure I don’t need to stop by here, but I forgot the book we were reading in English class this past Friday. Usually, I sneak in through the door by the student parking lot right by the library; that door is only supposed to be used in case of emergencies. I sit in the back corner, getting lost in a book; reading is my other escape until the last bell rings.

The lockers in this school have no locks, and when I asked if I could put one on mine, the request was denied. The principal said that too many kids were late to class due to having to unlock them. I don’t believe him because all athletes are allowed to have one. That means my locker is an open invitation for Christian and Vanessa to put stuff in. It has become a daily thing. One time there was an actual fish in there, a whole fucking fish just sitting on top of my books. I learned very fast not to leave anything important there anymore. Mostly it’s letters or pictures that hold ruthless words.

I almost miss the folded-up paper lying on my book this morning. I should throw it away or leave it there. Any sane person wouldn’t read anything they leave, but I always hope that one will be an apology letter. Even after all this time, I still hold out optimism that we’ll return to the way things were, but just like everything else, it’s only mean words. It’s blatantly obvious who it’s from. I have plenty of notes from Christian over the years; the only difference is that he was my best friend, not the individual who tormented me back then.

Vanessa,

Friday, while sitting in band class, I was looking around and noticed something that I had to get off my chest for the first time. My gaze stopped on Emilee, and I couldn’t help but notice that she was the ugliest person I had ever seen in my whole life. How is it that we never noticed this about her? Someone should tell her that even though she wears oversized hoodies and sweatpants, we all can tell just how fat she is. It’s not like they do anything to hide that or help her. God, I’m glad you came here and showed me that we no longer need to be friends with her.

Love,

Christian

My eyes start to sting as I fold the paper and put it into my bag. I can feel eyes on me. I don’t have to turn around to know whom they belong to. This is why I work so hard to not come here till later in the day when they’re nowhere around. I put up my walls and tried to reinforce them as much as possible.Do not let them see you cry, Emilee. You are stronger than them.I remind myself for the millionth time in under a week. It’s useless; I know I cannot control my tears. I used to be a very strong-willed girl. I wouldn’t take shit from anyone, but you’re not the same once you get to where I am now. I don’t recognize myself anymore because of the one person I thought had my back.

I steal my face and turn to see the two people who used to be my best friends leaning on the opposite wall from me. I shut the door with more force than necessary, making people turn and look my way. I’m trapped, if I walk down the hallway; I know they’ll follow me without a second thought. They haven’t figured out where I spend my mornings or lunch periods, and I don’t want them to. I need my safe place, safe. My only choice is to walk straight past them through the open door. My English teacher is friendly and will not mind me sitting in class early. I stare at them a little longer but soon drop my eyes. I pull my bag tighter against my back and take that first step. I hate this so much; why can’t I summon the old Emilee and fight back? As soon as I go to pass them, Vanessa pushes me, knocking out one of my earbuds, so I hear what Christian says next.

“God, she’s so pathetic. No wonder no one wants to be around her. Even her parents hated her so much they walked away from her.”

That makes her laugh. “Her mom should have aborted her ass. It would have saved us all the trouble of being around her.” She adds.Their words hit precisely where they want because even though we thought in elementary school that words could never hurt us, they do. After dealing with this type of shit for almost five months, you would think I’m used to hearing it. That I could just let it roll right off my back, but I can’t. I don’t want to be this girl anymore.

Stopping, I whisper, “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” The words are laced with so much sorrow I almost choke on them. My heart starts to race, just like every time I find myself in this situation. I can feel it pounding beneath my bone like it’s trying to get out. I can’t swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth because of the lump in my dry throat. The white tiles the school used on the floors blur as I desperately try to hold back the tears threatening to run down my face.

“That’s never going to happen bitch,” she says, spit hitting my face.

A heaviness settles in my legs, making walking difficult, but I have to get out of here. My head drops even further as I continue into class. My chest is uncomfortably tight as my heart is still pounding in my ears. I’m feeling even lower than I was a few minutes ago. Technically they are correct when it comes to my parents. My father was too busy with his other family my whole life to acknowledge us. My mother dropped me off at my grandparents’ house when I was twelve and never looked back. My brothers were already living with them for a couple of years, but I wanted to live with my mom; what a fucking fool I am. I’m not good enough for them to want me; Christian knows that. Hell, he used to call them all kinds of names because of how they treated me, but now he’s using that abandonment against me.

I know I’m a bigger girl; I own a mirror and am not ignorant. I have tried many diets, but nothing really helps me. When people see a fat person, they assume we overeat, only eat sweets, and never work out. Still, they don’t stop to think if there is an underlying medical condition that works against us. Yes, I eat a good bit and have a horrible sweet tooth, but I also have a condition that makes it hard to lose weight. Even my family will comment on my weight and tell me I need to do something about it. I tried starving myself but couldn’t handle it. As for what I wear, I used to try to dress up for school, but I don’t have the energy to try anymore. Even if I take the time to put effort into my outfit, they still call me names. They usually ruin them by dumping food or drinks over me, so why bother.

Anyone would think the administration would say something to stop this because plenty of people see it, but they don’t. There are cameras in the school, so I’m sure something has been captured on them, but nothing is ever said. No one tells them to stop and comes to my rescue, not the other students or teachers. Hence why, I feel invisible. Even if I had someone to talk to about all of this, I wouldn’t. It won’t change a thing; the teacher and students see what is happening and yet do nothing to stop it. Graduation is a couple of months away, and then I am out of here, then this town can go fuck itself.

My anxiety is steadily climbing; the last place I want to be is sitting in this empty classroom. Vanessa and Christian will camp out by the door to continue their torture. But what choice do I have? It’s either this or them following me to my safe haven. I drop into my assigned seat at the table where no one else sits next to me. Laying my head down on the table. I turn it to look at the wall instead of the open door, pull up my hood, and turn up the music so it’s blaring in my ears, trying to get lost in the lyrics of a song that fits me to a tee.

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