BACK TO THE PRESENT:

I wake up to my dad shouting.

"Brianna! Can you hear? Come downstairs!"

I realize that he's home and I rush downstairs.

"Yes?" I say.

"We are going out to dinner. Get dressed."

"Is there a reason?" I ask.

"It's none of your business but I met a girl. So dress presentable. And don't show your scars. I don't need her to know that my daughter is a lunatic." He says, not joking at all.

"Whatever."

"Put makeup on them like last time."

Last time he beat the shit out of me because I argued with him because he told me to put makeup on my arms and legs. But he obviously won because I walked out with makeup over my scars.

I go upstairs, and put concealer and powder on my pale skin. It itches terribly and I know I am going to break out in a rash as soon as I'm done. Makeup on anywhere but my face breaks me out. That's why I don't wear it over my scars.

I then put on a black leather form fitted dress. It wasn't my favorite, but this is how my father expects young women to dress. Although most dads would prefer their daughter NOT to look like a prostitute. But he believes we should be dressed to draw attention. But whatever.

My body was tinier then it seemed in the hoodie. I needed to eat more. I wasn't insanely skinny, but I needed to eat. I just didn't feel like it. I brush out my hair, and then curl it. I do my makeup. I line my eyes heavily, trying to hide the redness in my eyes from crying. My voice was practically gone from screaming. I hope my father didn't force me to talk much. I put on some crimson lipstick, false eyelashes, and I go downstairs. I hate wearing a bunch of makeup, but women are made to draw attention, apparently. I go downstairs. My father nods at me, showing his approval. I roll my eyes the second he turns away.

We drive to the restaurant. He's such a gentleman, he didn't pick her up. She probably had to drive herself. When we get to the restaurant, he warns me.

"Don't say or do anything smart, or I will make you regret being born." He threatens.

I already regret being born, I think to myself.

We walk into the restaurant. It's extremely nice and I wonder how he's affording it. I don't know if he has a job or not. Probably not, featuring how much of a screw up he is. But how did he pay for this? I look around and see a beautiful young lady sitting at a table.

She is a beautiful girl. A perfect body, lifht skin, and long brown hair that stops at her waist. She also had on a form-fitted dress but hers was a light nude color, and she had bracelets around her wrists, and a heart necklace around her neck. Her shoes were nude heels. My shoes were slip-on basic Vans. We go and sit down at the table. We both sit in front of her at the booth, and she sits on the other side.

"Hi, I'm Belle." She automatically introduces herself to me.

"Brianna." I say, my voice barely cooperating.

She smiles at me, with perfectly straight teeth. Then her and my dad begin talking about what they plan to order. Surprisingly, my dad asks what I want, and I order a salad and a water. Food comes, and they continue in conversation.

"So when do you finish high school?" He asks her.

I almost spit out my water. He's on a date with a high-schooler?

"This is my last year." She says.

Maybe she's a teacher, I think to myself.

"What college do you plan to go to?"

"Probably Stanford University." She says.

She's definitely not a teacher.

She's in her last year of high school? So am I. He's dating someone the same age as me?

"Ah, so you're sticking to a college near here?" He questions.

"Yup. I love San Francisco. It's my home." She says.

"Ah, well..I know you weren't born here..where are you from?" He asks.

"I'm from Korea." She says.

"How old are you?" I interrupt, my voice still raspy.

"I just turned 18 last week." She says, a smile plastered on her face.

I try not to show judgement on my face. I wasn't judging her. I was pitying her. I feel bad for her. My father is a terrible person, and I don't want this young girl to ruin her future by being with him.

I see my father shooting daggers at me for asking, so I try to make my manner more causal and neutral as I ask her another question.

"Do you know how old my father is?" I ask.

He glares at me more, warning me.

"Yes. He is 38. I needed an older man in my life. Young boys are too

much drama." She says, waving it off like it's nothing.

I nod, completely feeling sympathy for her. At least I won't have to worry about her trying to replace my mom. She's not old enough to even begin to be a mom. Especially to a girl who was born a few months after her. She is young enough to be my dads daughter! She is young enough to be my sister! We are in the same grade!

I shake off the thought and attempt to eat my salad. By the time they are wrapping up the conversation, I have only managed to take two bites of my salad, but gulped down my whole water. The girl moves over to me, a smile bright on her face. She stares at me expectantly.

I look down. Her arms are out.

Oh.

She wants a hug.

I hug her with one hand, very awkwardly, and while I'm hugging her, I notice my father checking her out from behind her. Gross.

"It was so nice to meet you, Brianna. Bye!" She chirps.

"Mhm. Bye." I manage to say.

She hugs my dad. He wraps his hands around her lower waist and whispers something in her ear, causing her to giggle, and him to move his hands lower. I turn away, before I barf. I hear more giggling and mumbling and flirting, and I decided to head to the car. I get in the car, and wait. The drive back is silent.

I go home, change into PJ's, and attempt to sleep.

THE NEXT DAY

Tuesday :)

I wake up and take a shower. My stomach is growling horribly. I get out and put on some clothes. I put on a black hoodie and some black jeans. I don't wear a shirt under the hoodie since it's warm, even though it's February. I wear a sports bra under it. I don't put on any makeup, and I put my hair into a low ponytail. I decide to eat before I leave for school so I go downstairs into my kitchen to make myself a quick breakfast. I hope that my dads not down there. When I get down there, I am greeted by my dad, wearing a white button up and black pants.

"Hey, are you leaving now?" He says, no emotion in his tone.

"No. I still have 30 minutes." I say.

"Oh well Belle will be here in 5 minutes so can you leave early?" He asks.

"Uhm...I live here..?" I say.

"Don't get smart with me. I don't want you here. She doesn't need to get close to you. You make dumb decisions." He snaps.

"You're too old for her. It's only a matter of time before she realizes how much a screw up you are." I snap without thinking.

He comes over to me and slaps me, hard.

"I wish you would've died instead of Isabelle." He snaps.

I shrug, trying to fight back my tears. I wish I could've died instead too. I wish my mom would've lived and I would've died. She could have another child. One who's better than me. One who is beautiful, smart, and doesn't want to die. One who isn't broken.

I run upstairs to brush my teeth. I look in the mirror and see that there is a large red handprint on my face, and a long cut in my face. It wasn't bleeding, it was just a painful, swollen, line. I go in my room and grab my backpack. When I pick it up, something falls out of it. It's my box cutter. I've always kept it in there. I quickly shove it back in there. I shouldn't have, but it was like an addiction that I wanted to rid of but couldn't. Hopefully I wouldn't use it. I haven't used it since I've been out the ward. In the ward, I would use my fingernails, but they started cutting my nails, so I was left without an escape. It worked, but now I'm out in the real world, faced with my terrifying reality.

I put the backpack on my back and rush downstairs. I grab a cereal bar. I rush out the door. When I get out there, I bump into Belle.

"Oh hey, you're leaving?" She asks.

"Yeah. School. Don't you have school too?" I ask her.

"Yeah but I'm ditching for your dad." She says, tossing a wink.

I cringe and keep walking.

I go to a nearby cafe and sit down. I eat my cereal bar, but I'm still hungry. I get up and walk over to the counter. I order a black coffee and a muffin, and a donut. That's a lot, but I was starving. Most people love flavored coffee but I like it plain. I pay using the weekly money my dad gives me. Then, I sit down and eat. I go on my phone and look at my contacts. I always kept my mom in my contacts. I like to keep her number. Before I know it, I'm calling the number. I hang up before anyone can answer. What was I thinking? Someone else probably owns this number. I delete her contact. I had some pictures of her in my phone. I owned a photo album book at home, and I took pictures out of it and took pictures of them with my phone so I'd have pictures to look at on the go. I look at the pictures and wipe away the tear I didn't notice was falling. Someone walks up behind me.