“Isabelle! If you don’t get downstairs this instant, I’ll be late again!” Mom’s voice floats up the stairwell.
I stare into the broken mirror and finish putting on my makeup. I sigh heavily and trace my finger along one of the cracks in the mirror. The war that I’m waging with myself gets bigger every day.
I close my eyes for an instant and go downstairs. I lock the door behind me and face the chilly October wind. It seeps into my jacket as I climb into the front car of my mom’s car. The clock is ticking. Hurry because Mom will be late again.
“What takes you so long to get ready?” Mom asks as we turn off the immaculately sculpted street, past tall pretty houses, and miles of groomed lawns. My neighbourhood is one of the richer ones in town.
It’s the neighbourhood where everyone has to fit into the perfect shell; nice houses, job that deals with law or government, and pretty families.
“I was fixing my makeup.” I say.
“Okay. But get up earlier in the mornings. If I keep being late, I’ll be fired!” Mom complains.
If she’s fired from her quaint business job, I will be blamed. I am the blame for everything, she says.
I’m the reason she’s having job difficulties, it’s my fault that I can’t fit into a size zero, the reason why I am sinking deeper into the darkness.
The only good thing about Mom not being able to see past her own issues is the fact that she can’t see any of my troubles.
We roll through town until we stop at a tall, ochre-coloured building. A sign reads DIANE LANE HIGH SCHOOL.
Diane Lane was the first principal’s daughter. She died when she was fifteen so the principal decided to name it after her.
I slam the car door and lift my bag over my shoulder. I sigh and walk through the front doors.
School. Not much to say here. It’s repetitive and dull, especially in certain classes.
I walk to my locker and plaster on my smile. My “friend” Lily is waiting for me. I wave at her and twirl my lock until it clicks open.
“Hey.” She says. She wraps a lock of bleach-blond hair around her finger.
“Hi.” I reply, bending to reach the bottom of my locker. I push some textbooks into my bag and snap the door shut.
“Did you finish last night’s History homework?” Lily asks as we go into homeroom.
“Yes.” I say, as I sit into my seat.
“Can I copy it from you? I totally forgot mine.” She rolls her eyes as I pass her my battered textbook.
She nods a ‘thanks’ and scribbles some words onto her paper. Our teacher comes into the room a few minutes later. It doesn’t matter to her though that Lily didn’t finish homework because when she takes attendance, she doesn’t look at us so it takes her fifteen minutes.
The bell dings and we shift out of the room.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Three hours later, we are freed for lunch. Damn it. I snake into the cafeteria with the hungryhungry people and get into the lunch line.
When I get to the serving window, a fat woman with leather skin piles a slice of grease pizza onto my plate. I get water with it.
I sit at a table and lift the pizza slice from the cardboard tray. Greasy residue coats the surface of the tray. It’s repulsive but I cram the cheesepeperoni mess into my mouth.
I quickly toss the tray into the garbage.
I sprint to the bathroom and lock myself into the stall furthest from the door. I stick my finger down my throat and up comes my lunch.
The puppet strings of my body snap and I can’t feel my hands. They claw down my throat, without any control from me
