If the World Had Only Loved Me Chapter 1 Part 2/2

When I get to my room, I slump down on my bed. I just pray that Valerie won't send me another text. I don't think I can handle any more taunts from her. Valerie doesn't make fun of me at school. She just makes faces at me, reminding me of the torture I receive over text and social networking. It never goes away. My home, the place that is supposed to be my solace is violated. Yet, I can't seem to turn off my phone. It's almost as if I need to see myself in pain, like I deserve it.

I pick up my phone, and open Facebook with shaky fingers. I see that Valerie has posted something. It's a video. I press play.

Valerie points the camera towards her face and waves. I assume she took the video on her phone. I can tell she is walking because the camera shot is a little bouncy. She grins and makes a "shh" motion, like if I make any noise, l'll give her away. She points the camera away from her and down a hall in our school. It's the hall by the bathrooms outside of the cafeteria. I see a familiar swish of brown hair turn the corner into the girl's bathroom.

My stomach is churning. She was taking a video of me.

The video continues with Valerie stopping just outside the girl's bathroom. I can hear my own voice calling out, asking if anybody else is in the bathroom. I can hear my fist connect with each stall door as I punch them open, daring any person to be on the other side. Valeria quickly points the camera in the bathroom. My brown ponytail is easy to distinguish with the bright red hair band I wore earlier. I watch myself shut and lock the door. I keep my eyes on the floor under the stall, and watch for my legs as I kneel. Then I listen to the gagging and retching sounds I made as I vomited the only thing I had eaten for lunch, a cupcake.

The video ends. I did not realize this before, but tears are streaming down my face. My tears mess up the makeup I applied earlier. I grab a wipe and clean my face. My own sadness disrupts the facade I so cleverly put on every day. Now it's on Facebook for the world to see, everybody knows my secret.

My name is Dani Williams. I am bulimic.

I can almost hear my heart tear into two as I admit this. I look at the comments. There are a few sympathetic ones. Others are just cruel and sting worse than a slap to the face. Most of the boys that commented typed about my boobs, or just sexual jokes in general. Only one boy commented in my defense.

"Danye! Dinner is ready." My Mom calls up the stairs. I grimace. The last thing I want to do after watching this video is eat. Actually, I take that back. The only thing I want to do is eat. Lots of carbs and sugar. Then, throw it back up again.

I walk back downstairs and force myself to eat. My Mom asks me about my day, I force a smile and tell her it was great. I can't remember the last time I genuinely smiled. After dinner is done, I hurriedly help my mother with the dishes. I'm in a hurry to get upstairs.

Mom always watched TV after dinner. So she doesn't hear me walk up the stars and shut the bathroom door. She doesn't hear me retch into the toilet. Most of all, she doesn't hear me sob. She's never heard me.

By this time, it is around 7:30. So I dry my eyes and leave the bathroom. As I walk out of the bathroom, my Dad gets home. I hear him say hello to my mother. He doesn't say hello to me. I always think my Dad wanted a boy rather than a girl. He doesn't seem to like me very much. Most of the time he just ignores me. It hurts, but two can play at that game. He doesn't want a daughter, and I don't want a father who doesn't want me. Simple as that.

My phone buzzes. My chest feels tight and I can hardly breathe. I am paralyzed by fear. Is it Valerie again, with her sniping comments? It's not. I breathe a sigh of relief. It's my friend, Kat. Kat is short for Katrina, she's a lot of fun and my best friend. I check the text.

Hey girl, I saw Val's video on FB. Are you okay?

I smile. Many people that I know would be more concerned with why I didn't tell anyone, or how stupid I was for making myself puke. Kat is always more concerned with me, and if I am okay. It is reassuring. I text her back.

I am now that you texted me. Can I stay the night at your place?

She texts back and tells me that her parents aren't home, so it should be fine. I hurriedly pack a toothbrush, toothpaste and some pajamas and clothes for the next day. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I don't want to have to go straight home from Kat's so I can change. I don't want to be alone.

I run downstairs and nearly kick myself. My Dad doesn't care what I do, but my Mom might not be okay with this. She hates plans that haven't been set into stone for more than a week.

"Mom?" I ask, "Can I spend the night at Kat's?" She glances at Dad and he nods. She in turn, gives her permission. I'm surprised. But then, my Dad is controlling. If he doesn't want me in the house, that's the way it is. So I grab the keys to the second car, and run out the front door.

I am going to Kat's. My Mom might not hear me in anything I do, but Kat does. Kat hears me, and she cares.

As I drive, I can feel butterflies forming in my stomach. Kat is my best friend, but she is also the girl I like. She is the girl Valerie caught me staring at. I know Kat is completely straight, she would never go for me. Kat doesn’t know that I’m bi. Kat doesn’t know that Valerie sends me taunting texts. Kat is actually friends with Valerie, (not that she wants to be). She just doesn't want Valerie to go after her. Kat knows nothing about me. The big problems, I keep from her. The small problems that can seem so big are what Kat is really good at handling. I can’t tell her I like her. She has nothing against bisexuals or gays, but I don’t want to make things awkward.

I get to Kat’s house after about ten minutes. Her house is huge, her parents are rich. She has every modern appliance and electronic known to man. She also prefers to shop at thrift stores, and she drives an old VW bug. I respect her for this. The thing that distinguishes Kat as rich kid is her ballet. She dances en pointe at an almost professional level. This is not a cheap skill.

Kat walks out to meet me, and she draws me into a hug. I hold my small bag in one hand, but she takes it from me and leads the way into her house.

The interior of Kat’s large, looming house is just as big as the exterior. The floors alternate between carpeted and hardwood flooring. It's never too hot or too cold. The kitchen is as big as a small apartment, and there is a balcony over-looking the woods behind the house. The living room has a big L-shaped couch with an easy chair in the corner. Her house is big and open. I love it.

“Hey chick. Let’s go up to my room.” I do as she says. Kat’s bedroom is purple. Purple walls, purple comforter, purple canopy on her bed. Her purple walls are plastered with posters from her favorite bands and television shows. On one side of the wall is a vanity style dresser with a mirror, makeup and drawers for clothes. I stand in front of the mirror.

“Are you really bulimic?” Kat asks. I’m also having a hard time wrapping my head around it. I nod. She exhales. I can't believe this. I have just surprised Katrina Johnson, the unpredictable and rebellious blonde who isn't afraid to go after what she wants.

“Can I…?” She motions to the hem of my shirt. I nod and put my hands up. She pulls the hem of my shirt and my two tank tops up over me stomach. Each time her fingers brush against my stomach I shudder. Her touch on my skin gives me goose bumps. She stares at my ribs and at my smaller, bra. She puts her hand over her mouth. I’ve never seen Kat this upset.

She pulls my clothes back down and gives me a big hug. I needed this from Kat. I need love, and my body does too. I hug each other for several moments. When I pull away I see a tear track running down her cheek and her makeup is slightly smudged. I touch my face and realize that I am crying too.

I think about telling her that I am bisexual. I immediately rule that out. She's still shocked with my eating disorder. I'm surprised. Actually thinking the words "eating disorder" somehow make this much more real, and a lot more scary. Before I thought those two words, this experience didn't feel real.

I so badly wish this weren't real.