Sierra Lancaster has had an agonizingly mediocre life. She grew up in a happy home, made loyal friends, graduated college, and is now pursuing her dream of running her own bakery. Boring, right? A story like this wouldn't be one for the books. At le...
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My brain feels like it was shoved into a wall when I wake up. The spot between my eyes throbs incessantly and I groan, clutching my aching head. My senses return to me one by one. Burning eyes, stuffy nose, swollen mouth. And that's when I finally remember.
I'm currently the laughing stock of the world.
"Crap," I whisper and lie down again. I cover my eyes with my palms when I feel them growing wet again. I can't seem to stop crying. "Crap, crap, crap. Cut it out."
But it's no use. The tears fall anyway and I swipe them away angrily. I'm sick of crying. I'm sick of myself. I'm sick of the world thinking it's okay to judge someone for the way they look when that's simply the way they were born. I'm sick of all these expectations women are expected to uphold in their appearance and I'm sick of being told I'm not good enough if I don't fit those so-called categories. I'm sick of not feeling pretty when I'm two-hundred pounds and not pretty when I'm one-hundred and thirty pounds. I'm sick of it all.
Begrudgingly I grab my phone off my side table and turn it on. I'm not surprised to find a ton of missed calls and messages. My parents, Harper, Dani, Sawyer, Mara, and even Travis (the cake-snatcher from the gala) reminding me that I'm his best girl and that I'll always be too hot for him. And all of that is excluding the millions of messages and calls Holden left for me since yesterday.
I have so many people in my corner. I came to San Francisco half a year ago with nobody on my side and now I'm swimming in love and support. I know that. I'm so grateful for that. But the reminder that I have literal millions, a non-exaggerated number of millions, of people dissecting my looks and everything they think is wrong with me, is something I can't seem to put behind me. I'm being picked apart flaw by flaw for...nothing. I didn't do anything to these people. I didn't do anything to my classmates throughout high school and middle school. I tried to be kind and funny and a good person but it was never enough. I don't think I'll ever feel like I'm enough.
I know I can't keep doing this. I can't hide forever. As much as I want to I can't. I'm an adult with responsibilities and expectations to meet. I'd love nothing more to sleep the rest of the day so I can find relief from this literal nightmare I'm going through but I can't. So I suck it up and drag myself out of bed.
It doesn't go so well. I cry through my entire shower, grateful that no one can hear me above the sound of water even though I live alone. I just can't help being self-conscious anyway because I'm crying so loudly that my throat hurts. By the time I'm done and stand in front of the mirror, I find that my face is swollen beyond belief. I hate the sight of it.
I unwrap my towel and look at my body next. Boobs that aren't perky, a waist that could probably be thinner if I worked harder at it, hip dips that have remained there even after losing my stomach fat because I can't change my skeletal frame, arms that kind of jiggle at the bottom, thighs that touch, and is it just me or does my stomach not look as flat as it did yesterday? Did I gain a few pounds? I remember looking skinnier yesterday. I remember my body looking nicer yesterday. Today it looks like flawed parts thrown together in a body that isn't sexy. I quickly wrap my towel around myself and look away from the mirror. I don't like what I see anymore.
