Page 19 of Breaking Emilee

Me: I know, "you don't say things you don't mean."

Me: Why did you kiss me?

My phone hits my legs when I drop it like it somehow offended me. Holy fuck, why did I ask him that? God, I'm dumb. Within seconds it buzzes across my lap, and when I look down, I see he has responded. Picking it up, my hands shake so bad I swear I'll drop it again. Even though I want to know his answer, I don't want to know his answer simultaneously. The need to know what he says overrides my fear, so I click on the message.

Parker: What kind of question is that? Because I wanted to. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted you.

Me: Why? It makes no sense that someone like you would want someone like me. Especially if you can have anyone you want.

I hit send before I open my big mouth and tell him I don't want to be someone's pity kiss or pity girlfriend. My brain is so screwed up from all the hate shoved in it lately that I can't believe a word he says. I'm hoping with everything I have that he means it because I want to be more than his friend. He's the first person in a long time who has been nice to me. Even though I have this attraction to him, I don't want to lose our potential friendship. The fact that Vanessa has her claws in him makes me worry. The fact that he is the first person to ever act interested in me sexually has me scared shitless. How do I know what he is saying is the truth? I've never felt more normal, safe, and beautiful than I did sitting on his lap. Feeling his hands all over me and his hardness under me made me swear it was all a dream. I don't think anyone can fake that reaction to someone, so he has to be attracted to me to some extent. He didn't make me worry about my weight or if I was hurting him. Sighing, I see he messaged again while I was lost in my thoughts.

Parker: You think I can get anyone I want? I happen to agree with you on that.

I re-read that message three times. Sure I am reading it wrong. My stomach rolls, and bile starts rising in my throat. I swallow it down before it gets all the way up. He agrees with me, what? What does that fucking mean? Is this where he tells me he was just kidding? My brown paneling walls get blurry as my eyes fill with tears that I fight back. My heart starts beating fast, and it feels like a brick has settled in my stomach. Just as the first tear falls down my face, my phone buzzes with a new message. I can barely see the screen, but I make out what he says as I hold my breath.

Parker: If you think I can have anyone I want, you don't have an excuse to not be with me. Because you are the only girl, I want to be with.

The air I was holding in escapes when my mouth literally falls open. Now I'm crying for a different reason. Wiping the tears from my eyes, a stupid smile spreads across my face. I feel like my face will split in half with how big the smile is. He wants to be with me, me, a girl who is seriously fucked up in the head. The girl that no one wants to be friends with. But more than all of that, the girl who wears a size twenty-two in pants. I wasn't kidding when I said he could have anyone he wanted. He can have one of the stick-thin girls who know how to do their makeup and hair. The ones who know how to dress and look perfect every day of their lives. All he needs to do is bat his eyelashes at any girls in school, and they will drop whatever guy they are with to be with him. Does he not know how attractive he is? He's saying that he wants to be with me! There has to be a catch to this. Like he wants to be with me because someone dared him or maybe paying him, you know, like in the old movies. My head says he's lying, but my heart is yelling that he'll never do something like that.

I must have been freaking out for too long for him because my phone buzzes in my hands. Looking down, I see he's calling me. Fuck, I scramble off my bed, hurrying to close my door all the way before I answer it. On my way back to bed, I turn on my radio. The music helps cover up my voice. "Why did you stop messaging me?" I can hear the annoyance in his voice.

"Because I don't know what to say to all that, Parker. In case you haven't gotten the memo. No one has noticed me in the past, and now, suddenly, you're here in my bubble saying things that scare me." I ramble, not even pausing to breathe. Pacing along the side of my bed, I continue, "I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall. For someone to step around the corner and yell got you. You think he actually wants you, but he doesn't. To tell me that you're only being nice to me so you can get more dirt for people to use against me." Running out of air, the last bit comes out low. Sucking in a lung full of air, I'm about to continue my embarrassing speech when he starts talking.

"Baby, what do I have to do or say to get you to believe I'm not going to hurt you? That I could never hurt you. That I think you're beautiful and want to be your man." His tone makes me picture his jaw all tensed up and his eyebrows pulling together. Which makes me ache in places that have ached more in the last couple of hours than ever before.

"Explain to me why you want me," I reply as my Papa yells my name from the living room. Shit, did he hear me? Lowering my voice to a whisper, "I got to go," not waiting for Parker to say anything, I hang up the phone and place it under my pillow. Opening my door, I wipe my palms down my jeans, worrying that he overheard me on the phone. Papa's sitting in his chair facing the tv. Taking in his face, he doesn't look mad, so I let out the air I'm holding. "Yes, Sir," I say, stopping when I'm a foot away from him.

He picks up an envelope on his lap and holds it out for me to take. "This was in the mailbox this afternoon," he says, turning his attention back to the show he's watching. Taking the envelope in my hand, I keep my pace slow instead of running back like I want to. I close the door fully before I look at the envelope. The front of it's blank besides my name, written in handwriting I've seen plenty of times. This isn't the first time Vanessa and Christian have left something in the mailbox, but this is the first time someone else has seen it before me. Usually, I get the mail right after school.

Sighing, I slump down on my bed, sitting cross-legged, bracing myself for whatever lays inside this envelope. Ripping it open, a piece of paper falls out along with a photograph. The photo lands picture-side up on my lap. Three sets of eyes stare back at me as my eyes start to fill with tears. It's an old picture of us. Christian is in the middle, with Vanessa on his right and me on the left. I remember that day like it was yesterday. We spent the day swimming at Christian's and discussing our futures and how we would always be in each other's lives. Where my face once was is a picture of a pig's face with makeup on it. An ache starts in my chest. Rubbing at my chest, hoping to help with the tightness I'm feeling, I flip the picture over and, on the back, written in red ink, "We hated you then but couldn't tell you. We have always seen you as the fat ass you truly are." Even though the envelope was addressed in her handwriting, this is in Christian’s writing. Doesn't he know how much his hating me is killing me? My world once revolved around him. He told me he loved me and would always be there for me, but he threw me away like trash as soon as someone better came along. The picture has blotches because of my tears, but I don't care. Laying it to the side, I pick up the folded-up paper.

I've always thought you weren't the smartest person, but I never thought you would be this fucking dumb. What part of backing away from my man do you not understand. I don't know what sad sob story you told him for him to feel sorry for you, but I will make your life ten times harder if you don't tell him you don't want to be friends with him.

It's pathetic that you think someone like him would actually want to be with someone like you. He won't ever want you like you want him; he just feels fucking sorry for your fat ass. You're like a project for him. It boosts his image if he is friendly to the poor outcast girl no one likes. He chooses to spend all his free time with me and Christian, not you. It's us who are always at his house and who he is begging to not leave. He always tells us how he feels obligated to be nice to you because you sit next to each other in class.

Do you think what we have done so far is harsh? We are just getting started. What will your grandparents say if they find out what you are doing to your arms? I'm sure they will have you locked away in a snap of my fingers. That will save them a shit ton of cash from not having to feed your fat ass. Plus, maybe their house would start to smell better without your lard ass there anymore. Better yet, what do you think Parker will say? Do you think he would want anyone to know that he is friends with the school freak who cuts herself?

No one wants you around. You have to know this by now. People at school see you upset and never step in to stop anything because they're glad someone's doing that to you. They all want you gone, just like your mom and dad did.

I will tell you one more time. Save yourself the embarrassment and tell Parker you are not his friend. Leave my boyfriend alone, or else you will pay for it.

Or hear me out; you can do all of us a favor and kill yourself. Your choice.

Parker's girl,

Vanessa

My face is wet, and so is the paper, as the tears constantly stream down my face. My hands are shaking so bad the paper is trembling, and the only sound I hear is my heartbeat. What did I do so wrong that warrants this? How could they hate me so much? Picking up the photo and the letter, I shove them back into the envelope. Opening the drawer on the table beside my bed, I place it on top of everything I have kept from them. I don't know why I keep it all, but I do. I never open the drawer to look, but I still know it's there. Turning out the lamp, my room is covered in darkness, and anyone walking by will think I'm going to sleep. I pull the headphones I keep at home out and plug them into my old boombox. Hitting play on the CD in it, the song Would Anyone Care by Citizen Soldier starts playing in my ears, and I turn the volume up until it hurts. It's odd that when someone is hurting or depressed, the music they listen to is even more depressing and sad. It may just be a me thing but hearing how I'm feeling at that moment being sung by someone who doesn't know me makes me feel less alone in the world. It makes me feel better knowing that someone else has felt the pain I'm feeling, and they are still around to write about it, so it has to get better. Right?

Closing my eyes, I try to focus on the words screaming at me instead of the growing urge to pull out the razor and slice my skin open. I promised Parker I wouldn't, and he said to come to him if something else happened. Can I actually tell him? After reading everything in that letter, my heart is finally quiet, and my head's ruling me. All the hope and trust I felt earlier is gone. The walls he broke down are back in place, and I feel I can't trust him. My fucked-up brain is telling me that no one really cares. Even though my eyes are closed, I know when all the lights in the house go out. Everyone is asleep, and I have to get out of here for a little while.

I can't stand the quiet tonight, but the batteries are dead in my portable cd player, so all I have to help the chaos in my head is the sound of the night around me. As soon as my feet crunch on the gravel of the graveyard, my body starts to relax a little, and I feel a sort of calm come over me. It's a feeling that I haven't found anywhere else besides Parker's arms this afternoon. It's scary that the place where you feel even a little peace is surrounded by the dead. Gazing at the last reminders of the individuals laid to rest here as I head to my favorite spot, I wonder if any of them ever felt like I do right now. Did someone that is currently under my feet go through what I am? Is that why they are there, dead instead of alive? Did they finally give up and decide to throw the towel in?

Finally reaching my favorite spot, I sink to the cold ground and lean against the giant tree. I'm so tired, physically but more emotionally. It's becoming harder not to give in to the thoughts screaming at me to end it all. The mystery of the afterlife is starting to look better than the reality of this life to me. Leaning my head back to see the stars through the branches, I wonder if anyone would miss me if I never showed back up. If I up and leave, never to be seen or heard from again, would anyone notice? Would the kids at school pay attention to the empty seat? Would it even bother my family that I was gone? Who knows.

A shiver racks my body, but it's not due to the wind that's picking up but the thoughts in my head. Pulling Parker's hoodie tighter around me, I pull out my cigarettes from my pocket and light one up. Taking a long drag from it, I hold the smoke in till my lungs are screaming for air. Even when my vision gets fuzzy around the edges, I still don't let it out. I don't release it until I feel light-headed and am sure I'm about to pass out. It whooshes out of me with force and triggers a coughing fit.

My eyes are streaming from all the coughing, but it feels better than crying because of harsh words. The night slowly slips away while I sit there staring at the stars and wondering when everything will get easier. I also wonder about the possibility of heaven or hell existing. Do we become a ghost, or do we get a second chance at life when we die? If I have a choice, I want to come back as someone else. I think I'm owed a redo on life, but I want to be someone completely different this time. If there is a God up there, he wouldn't be cruel enough to make my second life as shitty as the first one, right?

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