Page 26 of Breaking Emilee

“Yes, ma’am. I need to go to the library today to type up my English paper. If I finish all my chores before noon, would someone be able to take me?”

“No one will be here to take you.”

“But you normally come home for lunch.” I don’t have time to react or apologize before she crosses the room, and her palm connects to my cheek. My hand flies up and covers the sting as tears form in my eyes.

“Watch your tone, young lady. I can’t come home for lunch today, and even if I did, I’m not your servant. If you want to go to the library, walk. If you can make it that far. If you backtalk me one more time, you won’t be leaving this house for anything ever again. Do I make myself clear?” She’s so close to my face that the level she’s yelling at me hurts my ears.

The way that conversation took a turn for the worse shocks me so much that I can’t form a reply to her question. She doesn’t wait around for one, either. She storms out, and I hear the front door slam shut a second later. I’ve only been physically hit by her a couple of times. Typically, my family yells at me, talks down to me, or ignores me. I don’t think I’ve ever deserved the smacks or the harsh words, but this time, I know I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just making a statement, not backtalking her. I don’t move an inch until I hear the front door open and close for a second time, signaling Adam and Papa leaving as well.

The tears I’ve been holding back fall down as I head to the bathroom to wash the drying blood off my arm. The house is once again silent, Levi stayed at a friend’s last night, so I’m all alone. The water running over my arm turns crimson, but I can’t pull my eyes from my reflection in the little mirror over the sink. God, I hate what I see staring back at me.

My eyes are a dull shit brown color and too big for my face. My skin is littered with pimples and scars. I have a double chin; to top it off, my hair has turned into a nasty two-toned color. The roots are showing since I can’t get hair dye, and the black is all patchy because I did a shit job the last time I colored it. There is nothing special about how I look or anything that would make someone look at me and say, “she’s pretty.” No wonder Parker left. I’m stupid for thinking he truly wanted me. I have the itch to punch the mirror, breaking the glass, but nothing good will come from that, so I settle for shaking my head.

If I want to have time to head into town, I’ve got to stop wasting time and get cleaning. Walking into my room, I plan to grab my small stereo and the list and not stop till the list is complete. As soon as I walk in, my eyes land on my phone, laying half hidden by the pillows. Picking it up, nothing has changed. Parker still hasn’t responded to any of my messages. My heart screams at me to message him again, even though it will do nothing but hurt me worse. Sighing, I guess I’m a glutton for pain.

Me: Parker, I need you to respond to me. Even if it’s to tell me to fuck off. I need something. I’m sitting here with all these thoughts running through my head, none of them good. God, why am I not good enough for anyone?

I feel so bad about myself for groveling and begging him to answer me. Throwing my phone down on the bed, I leave it heading into the dining room. Plugging the stereo in, I put in one of my many mixed CDs. Since no one is home, I can turn the volume up as loud as I want. I need to get out of my head and drown out the demons. Soon the house is filled with the sound of a piano as Empty by Letdown blasts through the speaker. It’s like they pulled every thought from my mind and wrote a song about it.

“Fuck.” I scream at the top of my lungs. Leaning back against the dining room wall, I slide down till my ass hits the floor. I’m in the exact same place where I sat the morning I called Christian all those months ago. Bending my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them. Leaning my head against the wall, I close my eyes and let the tears fall.

I’m so frustrated with my life.

I’m so sick of the bullying.

I’m so tired of being ignored.

I’m so scared of my feelings.

I’m so done fighting the urge to end it all.

Why don’t I just surrender?

As I sit here stuck in my own fucked up head, the cd plays through twice. “Emilee, get your ass up. There are only four months until graduation, less than eighty days of school. We can do this. We’ve come this far, fought this hard to make it here, and we can still fight.” I tell myself. Shutting my brain off, I stand up and head through the kitchen to the back door. I desperately need a cigarette, hoping it will calm me a little more after that breakdown. I can’t keep letting myself be weak. I’m strong enough to get through this. I want, no I deserve, a better life, and it’s right in front of me. I just have to hold on a little longer, and then I can grab it with both hands and never let go.

Walking back into the house with a new determination, I start ticking stuff off the list. I don’t think about anything but the task I’m doing at that moment. I never stop moving and cleaning, not until almost everything is done. Looking at the clock, I see it’s 11:45, and even though I know he hasn’t, I have to see if Parker replied. I cleaned my room during that time but paid no mind to my phone. My walls were strong and keeping the demons out, letting me get lost, but now I have no choice. My grade depends on his work as well as mine.

My phone is laying face down on my dresser where I put it. Hand shaking, I pick it up, flip it over, and hit the button on the side to light up the screen. I slam my eyes shut quickly, so I can’t see the screen. Taking a deep breath, I hit the button again and open my eyes, looking down… and nothing. “Fuck you,” I say for the second time today. Why is he like this? Did he really not mean anything he said the last couple of days? Not even about pulling his own weight? Stopping mid-step because it seems like when I think, I pace. The more I pace, the more pissed off I get, and the less hurt I feel over his actions. Not stopping to think, I start typing a message to tell him exactly what I’m feeling.

Me: You know, if you don’t want to be my friend, that’s fucking fine. If you want to take back every kiss, every touch, and sweet word we have shared, so be it. But the fact that you are bailing on this project pisses me off. You know that I want, no, I need a good grade to get the fuck out of this town and away from everyone. How could you, Parker, for fucks sake? FUCK YOU.

After texting that last word, my legs give out, and I crumble to the floor for the second time today. Rereading the message, I’m surprised I didn’t misspell any words. My breathing is heavy, like I just ran a mile but the longer I sit here, it evens out. As my breaths even out, my anger disappears, along with the need to send him this message. Holding the delete button, I watch as, word by word, everything is deleted. I can’t send that. The old Emilee wouldn’t think twice before hitting send, but she’s nowhere to be seen. In her place is this fragile thing who doesn’t want to piss him off anymore. My heart still wants him, but more than that, it wants him to want me, and that message says the opposite of that. So, I type out a new message.

Me: Hey, I’m headed to the library. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’ll finish the project, don’t worry about it. Just work through whatever you have to and come back.

I’ve always loved living in the country, the fresh air, the quietness, and the woods, but today I hate it. It’s three point four miles to town from my house, which will take me a little over an hour to walk, and the roads aren’t flat. It’s getting colder outside, so even though I don’t want to do this, I stand up and go to my closet to layer up. I’m already wearing a tank top, but I grab a long-sleeved shirt off a hanger. Next, I look at where my hoodies are hanging. Right beside mine is Parkers. I’ve washed it, so it doesn’t smell like him, but it’s still his. Wearing it would just be torturing myself. Kicking myself for being so weak that I can’t wear my clothes, I pull it over my head. I double check my bag before putting it on. Heading out into the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water. I also switch the cd over to the portable player in my pocket, hoping that the walk won’t be too bad if I focus on the songs.

The cd starts playing for the third time as I make it to the park, and I can see the library right ahead. Placing my hands on my knees, I bend over, trying to get enough air into my lungs, so they stop burning. I want nothing more than to sit at one of the tables and take a break, but I won’t ever make it there if I do. Halfway to town, I decided that there was no way I was walking home as well. I’m going to see if Uncle Charlie will take me home.

I’m frozen to the bone as I pull open the doors to the library. Warm air rushes around me, making me shiver. Our small library only has three computers, and each is being used now. There is a waiting list on the counter, so I add my name and head off to a table to work on my handwritten paper. The easiest way to make all of this seem like we both worked on it is to break up the main differences in half. Half for me and half for Parker. I’m able to get at least three-fourths of my paper written before my name is called.

Sitting down, I almost check my email one last time, but there is no point. I know deep down that Parker hasn’t emailed me, and my emails get sent to my phone, which has been sitting in my pocket, silent. There is an hour’s time limit for using the computer, but before I know it, my time is up. I don’t need more time, satisfied I print it off and pay for the paper. Heading back into the cold, I start mentally going over what chores are left for me to do at home and if I’ll have enough time to finish them. I should have time, but only if I make this trip quick. I’m not allowed to go to stores without someone with me, but I need to get the supplies to make the presentation.

I could walk to my uncle first and then ask him to stop, but I worry that he will get mad, so I decide to go to the store first. My plan is simple: go in, keep my head down, get the poster board, and get out. As unbelievable as it sounds, if someone sees me and tells my grandparents, I’ll be in trouble. Everything was going according to the plan until I walked through the clothes section heading toward the register. My eyes land on an adorable, girly, black lace bra with a clearance sticker on it. It’s so different from the ones I have at home. All my Nana will buy me are the white, boring granny ones. She says I don’t need anything that will bring unwanted attention to me. Picking it up, I see that it’s in my size. It feels like fate is telling me to buy it, and who am I to not listen to fate?

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t questioning if something like this would impress someone like Parker. Old me would never buy something just to impress a guy, but at this point, I would do anything to be perfect enough for someone. Making sure to hide the bra deep in my bag, I jog toward Uncle Charlie’s. I’m cutting it close. By the time I get home, I have to rush to ensure everything is done and dinner is on the table.

I’m in such a hurry that I forget to put the supplies I bought in my room. They are sitting in the living room when everyone gets home, and my Papa instantly notices. “Emilee, what is that poster board and bag doing on the couch?” Out of instinct, I flinch, but I recover and answer honestly.

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