Chapter 3—

Ella's POV

~Day One~

I don't remember coming home.

I remember the gym wall. The phone shattering. The cold ground. Then suddenly I'm in my bed and it's morning and sun is coming through my window like nothing happened.

Like the world didn't end last night.

I stare at the ceiling. That's all I do. Stare.

Mom comes in sometime later. She's still in her work clothes, so it must be morning. Or maybe she never went to sleep.

"Ella?" She sits on the edge of my bed. Her hand touches my forehead. "Baby, you okay? You didn't come out last night. I got worried."

I don't answer.

"I brought you soup. From the diner. Your favorite, the chicken noodle."

She puts the bowl on my nightstand. Steam rises from it. I watch the steam curl up and disappear. My favorite meal became what I hated.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

No.

"No," I say.

She waits. I can feel her looking at me. Worrying. That's what moms do.

"Okay," she finally says. "I'm here if you need me."

She leaves. The door clicks shut.

I keep staring at the ceiling.

My phone is gone. Broken into a million pieces behind the gym. Good. I don't want to see anyone's messages. I don't want to see Damon's lies. I don't want to see anything.

The soup sits there all day. By nightfall, it's cold. A skin formed on top. I never touched it.

~Day Two~

I don't know what time it is. Dark outside. Light outside. Doesn't matter.

The replay button in my brain won't stop.

Damon's eyes sliding past me.

Sera's shoulder slamming into mine.

"Thanks for warming the bench, fatty."

The laughter. God, the laughter. It echoes in my head over and over and over.

I start crying at some point. I don't even know when. The tears just come. They soak my pillow. They make my face puffy. They don't stop.

I cry until my head hurts badly. I cry until my eyes are swollen shut. I cry until there is nothing left inside me.

Then I cry some more.

Mom comes in again. Twice? Three times? I lose count.

"Ella, please eat something."

"Ella, do you need anything?"

"Ella, I'm getting worried. Really worried."

I don't answer. Can't answer. There's no words left.

At some point I drag myself to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and don't recognize the girl staring back.

Red eyes. Puffy face. Messy hair. Blue dress still on, wrinkled and stained from last night.

That girl is pathetic.

That girl actually believed someone like Damon would choose her.

That girl thought she mattered.

I turn away from the mirror. Can't look at her anymore.

Back to bed. Back to staring. Back to the replay button.

~Day Three~

The crying stops.

Just stops. Like someone turned off a faucet.

I lie in bed and feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. My body is heavy. My brain is slow. Everything is gray.

I haven't eaten. I'm not hungry. I haven't moved. I don't want to.

This is what rock bottom feels like. This is what happens when you let yourself hope.

A knock on the door.

"Ella?"

Mom's voice. Tired now. She sounds tired.

"Yeah."

She opens the door. Comes in. Sits on the edge of the bed like before. This time she holds something in her hand.

"School called. You've missed three days."

Three days. Has it been three days?

"I know they're going to start asking questions. I told them you're sick. But baby, you can't stay in bed forever."

Watch me.

"Ella." Her voice softens. "I found this outside. The mailman brought it. It's addressed to you."

She holds out an envelope. Plain white. My name on it in handwriting I know too well.

Damon's handwriting.

I don't move.

"I'll leave it here." She puts it on the nightstand next to the cold, untouched soup from two days ago. "And Ella? He's not worth it, baby. Whatever happened, he's not worth this."

She leaves.

I stare at the envelope for a long time. Hours maybe. The ceiling is boring now. The envelope is something new to stare at.

Finally, I reach for it.

My hands are shaky. Weak. Three days without food will do that.

I open it.

Ella,

I know you're mad. I know you're hurt. You have every right to be.

But please let me explain. It's not what you think. Sera's dad found out about us somehow. He threatened to have my dad fired from his job if I didn't pick Sera at the awards. My dad can't lose that job, Ella. We'll lose everything.

I didn't want to hurt you. I swear I didn't.

I still love you. That hasn't changed.

Please talk to me.

Damon

I read it twice.

Then I rip it in half.

Then in half again.

Then again until the pieces are too small to rip anymore.

I drop them on the floor.

The tears start again. Not the loud crying from before. Just quiet tears that slide down my cheeks and drip onto the pillow.

Because here's the thing. Here's the truth that letter made me see.

It's not just about Damon.

It's about every rejection. Every cheerleading tryout where Sera smirked and said "maybe next year." Every hallway taunt. "Fatty." "Loser." "Why don't you just disappear?"

It's about every lunch eaten alone in the library bathroom stall because the cafeteria was too scary. Every time I pretended the words didn't hurt. Every night I cried myself to sleep wondering what was wrong with me.

Damon was supposed to fix all that. He was supposed to prove that I mattered. That I was worth something. That all those people were wrong about me.

But he didn't fix anything.

He just proved they were right.

I don't matter. I never did.

The door opens again. Mom. She looks at the ripped paper on the floor. Looks at my face. Comes to sit on the bed.

"Ella."

"Mom."

She lies down next to me. Puts her arm around me. I haven't let her hold me like this since I was little.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry I'm like this."

"Like what?"

"Broken. Pathetic. A disappointment."

She squeezes me tighter. "You listen to me, Elara Blackwood. You are not broken. You are not pathetic. And you are the opposite of a disappointment."

"Then why does everyone treat me like I am?"

She's quiet for a minute. Then: "Because people are cruel. And easy targets are easier than looking at themselves. But that's not your fault. That's theirs."

I want to believe her. I really do.

But the voices in my head are louder than hers.

We lie there in the dark, my mom and me, and I cry until I fall asleep.

Tomorrow is day four.

Tomorrow I have to decide if I ever want to leave this room again.