Page 143 of Insincerely Yours
I go to the next ones, reading,“WTF?” and “There goes my lunch!??”
Then,“I just reported this. Seriously, what the hell was she thinking posting this?!?”
My heart drops into my stomach as I scroll to the bottom of my notifications. The first is a security notice, letting me know that I supposedly logged in from another device thirty-seven minutes ago…while I was in the shower.
The next reads,“Update to profile picture posted.”
A fresh wave of nausea rolls through me, because I haven’t made an update to my profile in over a year.
Hands shaking, I open up the app, go to my account, and—
It takes a second too long to process the image, because no.
No, this can’t be happening.
But the longer I stare at the newly uploaded image on my profile, the clearer my reality becomes.
In place of my yearbook picture is me…in the locker room.
My back is to the camera, my skin and hair soaking wet, and I’m naked!
My bare ass is on full display, and yet, that’s not the worst part. At first, I’m tempted to believe Trent and Sienna manipulated the photo by using some ghoulish depiction of someone else’s body in place of mine, but the very distinguishable beauty mark on the right side of my back is still there. It’s me…but I don’t recognize the girl I’m staring at.
I had always been thin, and it honestly never bothered me, until Blythe kept pointing it out. Even then, it was only ever an insecurity. But the constant torment from Trent and Sienna and their minions inevitably got to me. How could it not?
How many times did Trent or one of his cronies grab my ass or palm my chest, only to ridicule me for the fact that therewasn’t “anything there”? How many times did Sienna mock me for being “so ugly” that I apparently “scared off puberty”?
You can only hear those comments so many times before it begins eating away at you.
And it did. Slowly but surely, I’ve become so utterly ashamed of my body that it hurts to even look at it in the mirror now.
So I don’t.
Only once I’m fully clothed and drowning in oversized layers do I dare anymore, and even then, I try to avoid it. Hell, I try not to even look at my face if I can. All I ever see now is “Butt-ugly Birdie” and “The Ugly Duckling.”
And their torment hadn’t just been eating away at my emotional health. I’ve always struggled with my appetite when I’m stressed, and that’s all I’ve ever been for the past three years. I never “loved” school, but it still used to be a reprieve from my stepmom. Now, I don’t have anywhere. When Blythe isn’t cutting me down at home, I can always depend on the Untouchables to harass me everywhere else. Even at my job.
I knew I had dropped weight but hadn’t allowed myself to see just how much.
I’m not just thin or even “skinny.”
I look like a walking corpse.
There isn’t a discernible ounce of fat or muscle on me, just flesh clinging to bones. All of my ribs are visible, as well as the notches on my spine, and my hip bones jut out almost painfully.
I can’t breathe.
I do the only thing I can: I rid myself of the image by swiping my finger down the screen of my phone—
And I instantly regret it as I’m taken to the comment section.
“God, if I looked like that, I’d kill myself.”
“Looks like she’s already halfway there.”
“She seriously needs help. Is that why she was sent to the hospital?”
CHAPTER 33
