[ Turning the lock on the bathroom door behind me, i turned and looked at myself in the mirror. My brown eyes were spilling with tears and my tears were already starting to get blotchy. I hate thursdays. And fridays. Weekends were the worst. To sum it up,

Turning the lock on the bathroom door behind me, i turned and looked at myself in the mirror. My brown eyes were spilling with tears and my tears were already starting to get blotchy. I hate thursdays. And fridays. Weekends were the worst. To sum it up, i secretly hated every moment i spent in this house..in this family. Secretyly, because it was known that we did not have emotions. We did not trigger hate, unleash anger, and tears were forbidden. Dont ask me why, that was another thing that was forbidden. Questions. Never to be asked, not personal ones, anyway.

Whenever i locked myself in the bathroom to cry, i would always reflect. At school, i was the eleventh grade sweetheart, kind to everyone. My smile was painted on every morning and there were times that i felt like i had multiple personalities. At school, i was happy, popular, kind hearted, forgiving, smart, pretty. I was like the perfect girl. And at home, i was my fathers verbal punching bag, Ms Cinderella the second, slave to laundry and dishes. Maybe im exaggerating a tad, but then again, thats just the basic.

After making sure the door was locked, i would slowly open the mirror cabinet, and sneak out my bottle. This was becoming a daily ritual. The flask was semi-heavy in my hand but i could tell that i would have to return to kevin to get some more. I wasnt, im not, an alcoholic. The drink just made my world easier to handle. Tilting it back into my throat, it didnt burn like it usually did. It slid down my throat and warmed it gently, comforting me from my dad.