Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
But me?
I was left behind. Alone with my dark thoughts.
Once I reached the three-month mark, they extended my program for another three months. It wasn’t because Dr. Bailey thought I needed the extra attention or help for my bulimia recovery and anxiety disorder.
But because I was forgotten.
Because my father asked them to keep me there longer. The longer the better, he had said. To keep me out of his sight. It’s disgraceful just how much you can use the system to your benefit when you have money.
Something small flutters in front of me, catching my attention. My gaze flickers to it, following the fluttering red wings as it flies to my left. A red butterfly.
A ghost of a smile plays across my lips.
I am unattractive.
I am beautiful.
I am grotesque.
I am strong.
I am a failure.
I am brave.
I am worthless.
I am worthy.
Dr. Bailey had these words drilled into my brain, forcing me to acknowledge the pain that came from my parents’ abandonment and my friends’ betrayal. “Your worth is not measured by how others perceive you,” she’d tell me. “Because it is human nature to judge. They will always find you lacking. But you will find your worth within yourself, Riley. Listen to that voice.”
Those are all nice and consolable words — to make someone feel confident and brave in their own skin. With their own emotions.
And honestly, I thought I had the hang of it. Rehab didn’t just magically fix or cure me. My scars are still etched deep, underneath my flesh. But I knew how to cope better with my eating disorder and my anxiety. I thought I could do this, that I was no longer a wreck.
That was until today.
My first day back at Berkshire Academy was a shitshow, to say the least.
It’s a new academic year and my bullies are now seniors, while I am redoing my junior year. I thought if we weren’t in the same grade anymore, it would be easier to avoid them. I kept my head down, I didn’t talk to anyone, I sat in the back of all my classes, I made sure to blend into the crowd. I avoided the cafeteria at lunch and went outside instead. Found myself a nice willow tree and ate my cold sandwich there.
But the sneers still followed.
The taunting whispers and the mocking giggles. They were everywhere I went.
I really can’t escape the ghosts of my past, no matter how hard I try. Sometimes, I wonder if that stigma will follow me for the rest of my life. Will I always be reminded of that night at the Christmas gala? Is this how people will recognize Riley Johnson now? The girl who puked all over her father’s expensive shoes and then promptly passed out?
Will my life ever go back to normal?
Well…not that it was any normal before. But at least I don’t have to walk around like I have the word SHAME written on my forehead, in bold letters.
I’m still wallowing in self-pity when the red butterfly flutters in front of me again, and then settles on the bench across from me, a few feet away. Next to the young man, who has been sitting in the park as long as I have.
Even though he’s seated, I can tell he has to be really tall. He makes the bench look small compared to him. His shoulders are wide, and he’s built like he just walked out of a romance novel. Tall, dark and handsome.
I might have sworn off boys and dating for the rest of my life, but I can still appreciate a fine specimen when I see one in the wild.
He’s dressed in black pants and a white polo shirt, the color contrasting with his beautiful, tanned skin. The black-rimmed glasses perched on top of his nose gives him a bit of a nerdy vibe, but I think it just makes him look hotter.
And I might be wrong…but I think Mr. Tall, dark and handsome is drawing me.
I didn’t notice the sketchbook before, but now I do. So, he’s an artist?
Taking my phone, I scroll through my Kindle app and open the book I was reading last night. I try not to make it obvious that I’m studying him, only looking at him in my peripheral vision. I catch him staring at me as well, every now and then, before looking back down at his sketchbook. His pencil never stops moving on the paper, even when he looks up, his gaze flickering over my face with rapt attention and then down again.
There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what.
An hour passes, just like that. Me trying to read, but easily getting distracted by Mr. Tall, dark and handsome, while he continues to draw. I get to my feet when I can’t bear the suspense any longer. Somewhere in the back of my head, alarm bells are ringing. But my curiosity beats me. I pocket my phone, and close the gap between us with a few steps.