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I look around the room, looking for any weapon I could use to protect myself. I amnotgoing to let Elliot put me in his bedroom like I’m some sort of kidnapping victim.
Not caring about anything that belongs to him, I turn his room upside down as I search. I might unnecessarily push some stuff off the shelves and break a framed picture of him and Ethan.
Oops.
I don’t find a gun, which would have been nice, but I do find a knuckle duster with his boxer shorts.
“That’s mine, you thief,” I mumble to myself.
I know that because he’d gotten it for me, and it’s got my name engraved on the inside.
I get rid of the panties he stole from Stan and the shirt. Instead, I put on one of his band t-shirts that reaches just above my knees and a pair of his boxers.
I can’t help but glance in the mirror. It’s a habit I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop. I always need to know what I look like, obsessively checking my skin, my makeup, how my clothes fit.
I spent the entirety of my high school years terrified of everyone and what they thought of me. I used to walk through school hallways and hear people calling me ugly, stupid, and anorexic. People would mock my eyebrows for being thick and compare me to NBA player Anthony Davis.
I’ve been called pizza face, asked if I washed my skin with toilet water, and mocked so many times for my acne I would run home crying to my mom.
My jaw tightens when I see some of my acne scars along my cheek. I’m not wearing any makeup and my stomach twists.
Knowing I’m probably going to get in a fight with people doesn’t stop me from going out, but the idea that they could make fun of my appearance terrifies me. I’ve not been ugly Jade for a long time. When I joined the Kings in senior year, I also transformed myself. I spent money on acne treatments, bought makeup, started waxing. Instead of changing my way of thinking and finding beauty in who I was, I let them win, and I changed how I looked.
I run my hands over my hair, my face. I press the pads of my fingers under my eyelashes to try to curl them.
I look ugly and I’m scared.
“You’re not ugly,” I murmur to myself. “Stop it. You’re fine. You’ve always been fine. It was them, not you.”
My stomach growls, refusing to let me stay in the room. I used to let myself starve for days, but I refuse to do that anymore.
I take a deep breath, curl my fingers around the knuckle duster, and walk out of the room.
The party is at its peak. People look at me, but don’t really say anything. Just nasty glares sent my way. They’re drunk, most of them probably high. I’m lucky enough to not see Elliot or Ethan as I head to the kitchen.
There are at least ten pizzas on the kitchen table, and my mouth waters right away. This is exactly what I needed.
Some guys look at me on the other side of the table as I grab a slice of pepperoni. They have cups in their hands and hazy looks in their eyes.
“Lost your pants, pretty girl?” one chuckles.
They don’t know my name. They must be new enough to this crew that they never heard of me. Now that I take my time to study them, they don’t appear older than high school age.
I take a bite, looking at the three of them with my best unimpressed expression. I take my time to swallow before answering.
“In case you didn’t notice, that’s a knuckle duster in my right hand. Let me enjoy my food and fuck off.”
His two friends laugh at him. “Not your best flirting,” one of them says.
“She’s the one walking around half naked. If she didn’t want to be hit on, maybe she should have put on some clothes.”
“She was never very good at not being a slut.”
Vickie.
She’s behind me, probably entering the kitchen, but I don’t want to look back. I’m halfway through my slice when she settles right behind me.
“Are you stuffing your face so you can go puke it all up? Old habits die hard.”
