It’s Sunday, and it’s time for church. The musty smell of my house radiates into our family car that’s covered in wrappers and sand. Time to pretend. We take the two minute route to our local Catholic church. We go through the arduous service, receive communion, and head to our little luncheon fundraiser in the parking lot that our church is holding. I take my beat up, cracked iPod out of my pocket and start listening to The Drums. They have a song for everything. Now I’m choosing Book of Revelation and I feel like a rebel as I hear the sounds of words describing atheism whilst I’m at a church. I like this feeling. My blonde mother with a perfect physique and perfect face and perfect blue eyes comes over to me. She tells me to take out my earbuds. I do so. She starts talking to me about Henry. She wants me to date Henry. Too bad Henry’s an idiot. His crooked face and mousy brown hair irritate me. All the girls think he’s amazing. He plays football, basketball, and baseball, he gets straight A’s, and is in all of the smart classes. I’m in those classes too.
My parents always thought I would never make it into those classes, but oops. I’m in them. My mother and father love to underestimate me. According to them, I should be in assisted math classes, shouldn’t be able to stay on pitch or read notes, and shouldn’t be physically able to simply run in a straight line, more or less kick a soccer ball. It’s too bad that I can. Simply terrible.
My mother decides that she doesn’t want me to eat anything so that I don’t gain any weight. She decides to take large helpings of everything for herself. I know she’ll throw it up later. She always does. My mom’s an interesting character. See, she always needs to be societally correct. It’s like she’s from the ‘50’s, but she was born in ‘71. Well past that time. She dresses like the perfect housewife, doesn’t have a job, perpetually cleans the house, and always cooks for the family. Be it cookies or lamb chops, my mother can make it.
After the luncheon, my mother, my father, my brother, and myself climb into our beat up BMW. My dad smokes a cigarette on the way home, and my brother stares out the window. I do that too. There’s nothing to talk about. My mother tries to fix her dress, even though it’s already perfect, and the later starts to get worried. She’s concerned that she won’t be able to get home in time to throw up her food. I look away from her.
She disgusts me.

Today, being Sunday, is the day when my brother’s friends come over. One of them being Nick. I don’t like Nick, but Nick seems to like me. A little too much. Nick thinks I’m too pretty to be left untouched. So that’s what he does. After my dad gets too drunk to care, and my mother is in the bathroom for hours, making sure she throws everything up, and my brother is too stoned to know the difference between our cat and a couch, Nick walks into my room. When he first started doing this, I’d scream and refuse, but I don’t anymore. Now I walk over behind him, lock the door, and lay down in my bed. I slide down my trousers or skirt, and let him have his way.

After he finishes, I go to the kitchen, get him a beer, and let him do it again. I’m 15, I can handle it. When he leaves, and my mother completes her bathroom routine, I go and take a bath. A nice long bath. I see the scars of self harm from my past, and I glance at the scars Nick has left, and the emotional scars my parents have left. I realize that I’m not worth it. Every week, I throw my head underwater until I can’t take it anymore. I burst up to the surface. I get out, eat dinner, watch television in the living room, then go to sleep. Ready to repeat it all next week.