These eyes that cry

“Look at you. You’re fat and you’re ugly.” The girl tossed her hair and took a breath. I slowly breathed out, working up a head of steam. “I don't know how you can stand to look at that face. I mean, do your cheeks always sink in like that or is that your new idea of cutting out the fat?” The girl shifted again, her hands went immediately to her face.

I looked closer at her and swallowed my feeling of revulsion. “You look physically sick. I’m sorry but it’s true. You look sick and gross.” I straightened up imperiously. “It’s no wonder none of the boys look twice at you. Half of them don't even look at you once – except when they’re laughing at you; they look at you then.” I could tell that one hurt her; tears were rimming her eyes now, I knew about the bullies but I couldn’t lie.

My eyes sailed down her figure. “And your clothes. On our way to a fancy dress party were we? Why do you bother? And really, what amount of gear can hide that!” She tried to twist away from my pointing finger. She hated people talking about her prominent stomach and her weight. I coughed and continued. “You don't even dress properly. You want to be cool and you want to be liked, right? Well I don't know where you got the idea that either of those would happen but whatever. But what is the point? You never get it right. You almost look emo – you think you almost look emo – but really you look stupid. You are so stupid its not even funny – its ridiculous.”

She was on the verge of tears now. “You’re not going to the school dance are you. Were you hoping someone was going to ask you out? Don't be pathetic. You knew that would never happen. Never ever ever.” Tears were starting to spill over her cheeks. “You want to have friends, you want to like a guy, but who in their right mind would ask you to be their friend? Someone as lazy as you. As hideous as you. As stupid as you…that’s something else isn’t it. Your schoolwork has gone down the tube, hasn’t it?” I wasn’t asking her, I was telling her. She couldn’t look at me, she kept her eyes downcast. “Hasn’t it?” I said, much louder. I noticed some of her tears had hit the floor and her makeup was running down her face in wretched streaks, she looked so pitiful and so ugly.

I looked away with my hands on my hips. I chewed the inside of my lip. “You can’t even keep up in school. You are so useless. I mean, detentions? You’ve never had detention before.” I ran my hands through my hair angrily. “Why do you bother?” I asked, my voice grating and fighting to get past a jaw that was locked in place by rage. “Why the damn hell do you bother!” I pulled my jumper off and threw it on the floor but it did little to improve my mood.

“I hate you. Do you have any idea how much I hate you? I want to kill you. I want to hide you in a dark hole in the desert where no one will ever find you.” She was crying freely now, tears gushing down her face, hair flying wild in disordered clumps, nail marks biting at the skin of her face – a testament to the storm raging inside her. “I hate you!” I screamed. I picked up something from the bedside and threw it at her with all my strength.

The mirror shattered.