Damaged

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You take my photo
I fake my breaking smile
I'm fucking loco
I can't get through to you
You turn your nose you
Spark up and I can go

The lyrics to the song resonate inside my head as I turn the volume up, trying to escape my parents' conversation. I glance outside the window of the car and gaze at the familiar landscape passing by, and I wonder how many times I've made this exact journey to school before.

"Isn't it too early for Luna to return to school?" Mom's voice can be heard through the music blaring in my ears, and her anxious tone is evident.

"Her therapist says it's fine, Emma. She's out of the clinic and she's stable. We just have to trust that she won't relapse." Dad answers her and I roll my eyes.

They're talking about me like I'm not there, as if i'm not a person anymore.

They're just coming along out of obligation because my therapist told them to do so. He suggested that more outings together will promote family unity.  How does that even work?

I've never spent extended periods of time with my parents. The exceptions are the annual family vacations where we go somewhere around the world, but even in the trips we aren't really together. I've always seen my parents in the weekends and rare late evenings for the duration of my life, and I was practically raised by my babysitters.

Dad is always traveling because of work and mom always has some function or auction to attend to, and spending time at home isn't one of their top priorities.

I feel my muscles tensing up with apprehension as my father pulls into the parking lot, and his voice echoes inside the car as he talks on the phone.

The last time I saw the people in here was before. Not even my supposed close friends visited me in the clinic once visitors were allowed, and that confirmed my suspicions about them. They are a hoard of fake bitches which only hung around me because of the status it gave them. There isn't empathy or friendship in this school, and I have realized in time that everything in high school is fake, one way or another.

"Bye Luna," Says mom, giving me an encouraging smile.

"Call if you need anything," Dad says and waves absentmindedly, interrupting his current phone call.

I open the door and step out of the door while grabbing my bag. I pull my black skinny jeans up and take a deep breath, calming my nerves. I slam the door of the car shut and hear as it immediately drives off, leaving me alone standing in the pavement.

I clear my throat and force my mind enter the proper mindset that comes with high school. Shrugging the nervousness off, I walk confidently towards the building, my legs strutting across the pavement and crossing by expensive cars as the building looms before me. I near the main steps of the school and feel the curious eyes boring into me, my skin, and into my clothes.

The school hallways smell like Chanel N.5 and cigarettes, a smell i've grown up knowing. The girls walk around in their designer clothes and bags with confidence exhaling from their bodies, their postures erect from all the expectations thrown at them since they were little. The private school decided to abstain from having uniforms so that the students could develop their own sense of style and personality, and people used and abused the freedom that this gave them.

Their explanation is bullshit, but it's nice not having to wear plaid skirts.

I walk with my back straight and chin up just like I used to do, so long ago. I stroll down the main corridor and every person that I walk past looks at me, at my eyes, staring with shock. I pass by people I used to hang out with, people who wanted to be friends with me, and they give me cold, indifferent glances as if I'm was something undesirable. I guess I am.