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Fresh blood runs down my back, hot and stinging, and I’m still shaking. Fuck this shit. Fuck the world. None of this is making me feel any better, nothing gets that burning itch from under my skin, from my mind, this need to smash into walls and break everything around me, break my mind until the pain stops.
Things are only bound to get uglier as time passes. I can’t see a fucking way out...
CHAPTER TWO—LUNA
Luna rhymes with Fortuna
That’s what my aunt always says. Luna rhymes with Fortuna, the goddess of good luck. Luna means “moon”, it means bright.
None of that seems to apply to me, though. Where’s my good luck, where’s the brightness? I don’t see it, quite frankly. Life kinda sucks right now. Mom isn’t around. It’s been a couple of years since the divorce and her vanishing act, but it still hurts. I get why people get divorced, I’m not dumb. But why did she have to go so far away? Why did she leave us behind like we meant nothing to her?
And then there’s Ross Jones’ gang at school, teasing and bullying me, making my life hell. School used to be my escape. At home Dad mopes most of the time, and my little brother, Josh, misses Mom so much that he keeps acting up, crying and throwing things about. Demanding my attention, like I’m his mom now, like I don’t have my own problems.
We live in the middle of nowhere, so there aren’t any distractions. And joy of joys, our only neighbor is Ross Jones and his dad. Just my luck, right?
Fortuna, my ass.
At first I thought it unfair. Where’s the justice in this, huh? Why me? What did I ever do to those stupid guys? To the whole frigging world?
But later I started feeling that... that I deserve the teasing and bullying. That they’re right to call me those names.
That I am fat. I am ugly. I am stupid. I’m starting to believe all of it.
Dad says I’m beautiful. That my body is fine as it is. That I shouldn’t compare myself to others, that I should accept myself as I am.
But how? Surrounded by tall, willowy girls in tight jeans and tops, looking like they stepped out of the pages of fashion magazines, how can I accept myself, my lack of a thigh gap, my jiggling legs and big boobs, and my ass. My big, fat ass.
The ass Ross Jones has specifically made fun of.
It shouldn’t matter that he was the one who said those things. But it does. God it does, because Ross Jones is hot. He’s sex on legs. He’s beautiful. His beauty is cold, arctic, with those ice-blue eyes and white-blond hair. He has the kind of square jaw that makes girls stupid, the kind of sharp cheekbones you can cut diamonds on, and then he has the muscular body of an athlete. Big shoulders. Broad chest. Thick thighs. A tight ass.
Girls talk a lot about his ass. And his cheekbones. And his jaw.
But it’s the eyes that get me the most (okay, and his shoulders, too. I love how broad his shoulders are). Those cold eyes that flare up with heat sometimes when he looks at me. There’s anger, rage, and what looks like sadness in their depths, the emotion sharp and jagged, snagging at my thoughts.
Sometimes, even... sometimes I think I see interest lurking in his gaze.
For me.
And it makes me burn up inside. Despite the things he said to me. Despite him watching impassively as his gang shoves me about and stomps all over my stuff, breaking it and tearing it apart.
I’m crazy, right? Come right out and say it. Is this some sort of Stockholm syndrome? Is it because of how attractive, and popular he is? How can I want someone who treats me like shit under their shoe? I’m an intelligent person.
Right?
Yeah, this makes me wonder, too. I mean, when they say love is blind, what do they mean? This is the opposite. Love makes you stupid, rather than blind. Being blind would have fixed this.
Or maybe that’s my mistake, right there: this isn’t love. It’s lust, and attraction. A gut-wrenching need to have his attention, to have him smile at me, say I’m beautiful. Put those powerful arms around me, lean in and kiss me...
God, what am I doing to myself?
I h
ave to stop...
***
I ride my bicycle to school every morning, and though today it’s raining, I decided against taking the bus. I’m running late as it is, and by the time I walked to the bus stop and caught the next bus, I’d have missed half the morning’s classes.
