charlie's point of view:

I didn't always hate the way I looked. I didn't always hate myself. It's hard to really pinpoint the moment when it started, but it's almost like I woke up one day, determined that I was the ugliest person in the world – inside and out.

Rewind to eight years ago. I was on top, to be honest. It had never crossed my mind that I would for some reason hate myself. Sure, I had moments when I didn't like myself, but hating oneself was still a foreign concept. I was simply a regular 16-year-old. The only thing that really bothered me were if that boy in the year above me fancied me, or if my hair was blonde enough. 16-year-old me had her doubts, of course. She had her troubles and she could sometimes be found crying in her bed. Was I good enough? Was I pretty enough? Did red lipstick suit me? But at the end of the day I still managed to smile. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, laughter was my mother tongue and depression was a foreign language I'd never heard of.

Two years later. I was now 18. An adult, some would say. Part of me even felt like an adult – the part that managed to get a decent job, graduate school and all. But the other part was slowly fading. It all started when my brother moved away to really pursue his music career. Him and his band had been doing gigs for quite a while and they were getting really good. The day he got the call that they got a record deal was probably one of the happiest days ever. I'd never seen my father look so proud as he did when he hugged Johnny after that call. My mother spent the day calling everyone we knew, crying happy-tears and telling them the good news. I was clinging onto my brother the entire day, constantly hugging him and telling him how great he was. But as the second call came in, later that day, everything changed. My father's look of pride turned into a look of confusion. My mother was yet again calling everyone we knew, but now with tears of sadness wetting her cheeks. I was still clinging onto my brother, but this time I was begging him to stay.

"We're leaving for New York tomorrow," said my brother, no emotion in his voice. It was as if he didn't know if he should sound happy, because it was an amazing opportunity, or if he should be upset that it was so far away.

After Johnny moved away, so did a part of me. There is a certain type of joy in this world that can only be brought to you by your big brother. In times where everything was looking as dark as night, he was there to guide me. He was the moon on my pitch-black night sky. Sure, he bugged me, we constantly fought and argued. But after rain comes sunshine. Even after fighting we never had trouble breaking down in laughter. He always had my back and I knew he'd never leave me. Well, until he did leave me...

I remember one night in particular when I got home from a party I wasn't supposed to be at in the first place. The house was quiet as I sneaked through the front door, leaving the dark but lively night behind me. I took off my vans and carried them in my hand, making sure not to cause the floors to creak as I tip-toed up the stairs. Just as I was closing the door to my room I felt it being jerked open from the other side. Busted.

"What the fuck are you doing up this late?" Johnny whisper-screamed as he closed the door behind him.

"Nothing! I'm just trying to go to sleep! Now get out, wanker!" I matched his hushed screaming.

"Right. And when did you swap your pajamas for a dress? If I can even call that a dress! Christ, Charles, that barely covers your arse!" he said, motioning to my body with flailing arms.

"Oh shut it and get the hell out of my room!"

"How did you get home? Please tell me you didn't drive? I don't want to visit you in jail."

"No, I didn't drive, stupid! I walked."

"Walked? Alone?!"

"Yes, alone. But it's fine. I'm home, aren't I?"

"Yes, but what if someone kidnapped you? Or hurt you..." he whispered, no undertone of screaming this time. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Charles."

"It's okay, dork. I'm fine. Really. Now please, let me sleep."

"Only if you promise me that the next time you'll call me so that I can come and pick you up."

"Promise."

"Pinky promise," he held out his pinky finger.

"Pinky promise," I said, giggling as I hooked my finger with his.

"Good night, Charles."

"Good night, dork."

***

I know I just said I couldn't pinpoint the moment I started feeling ugly, but on second thought I think I can. My brother leaving me ripped away a part of me. It ripped away the part that felt wanted and important. It killed the part of me that felt protected and safe. Left was only the flesh, my insides spilling out. He'd taken the skin, the wall guarding me, he'd helped build. It wasn't his intention, I know that. The last thing he told me was to always stay strong. But it's easier said than done.

Now, being left without my shell covering me, I felt vulnerable. I felt as if everyone could see right through me. That's when I started to see through me, as well. I now saw all the flaws, the imperfections. The bulky thighs, stained and crooked teeth, wide ass and spotty skin. Not only did I see the physical imperfections, I also saw the ones I hid inside. My nervous habits started to increase. Picking and biting my nails. Bouncing my leg in a stressful pace. Constantly talking shit about myself in my head. Well, I guess that's what happens when the world around you shatters.

***

It had been three weeks since the day at the library with Alex. We hadn't really seen each other since, only the occasional bump-in at Tescos or the subtle wave and nod when we locked eyes outside the houses. But nothing more than that. Therefore, bumping into him in my driveway, was quite the shock.

I was fumbling with my bag, trying to get it to stay on my shoulder, as I looked down at my feet that were deep in the snow. Not looking where I went I suddenly bumped into something hard. Naturally, this sent me flying backwards, my backpack dampening my fall.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, love! Didn't watch where I was going..." a now slightly familiar voice said from above me.

"We have to stop meeting like this, Alex," I said as I stood up again.

"No, I enjoy sweeping you off your feet," he laughed and winked at me.

"Ha ha, you're a funny one, aren't you?"

"I try my best!"

"Anyway, why are you in my driveway?" I said as I started to slowly walk down the road.

"Thought I might shovel it, seeing as you clearly don't," he scoffed.

"Hey! I just haven't had the time..."

"I'm only kidding, Charlie. I'm a funny one, remember?" he said and laughed slightly.

"I knew that!" I exclaimed, my voice very high. I didn't know that...

"So, where are we going?" He was following me down the street, hands in his pockets and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm going to the park."

"The park? In this awful weather?" he questioned with raised eyebrows.

"It's not awful! It's lovely! Besides, it's only minus 7 degrees, that's not even very cold."

"Well, I guess I see parks as a place for summer activities, you know."

"Parks are perfect for the winter as well. Now follow me."

After walking for about ten minutes, useless but nice small talk being thrown between us, we reached the park. I kept walking past the playgrounds and benches.

"Are you trying to find Narnia?" he exclaimed and stopped walking, "How far are we going?"

"It's not far away, now come on, lazy," I said and grabbed his hand, dragging him with me. Grabbing his hand was only meant to show that we should keep walking, but his fingers grasped my hand tightly, not letting me pull away.

A few minutes later we reached a small bridge. I raised my hand to point at our destination, only to realize our hands were now connected, meaning his hand was also thrown into the air.

"This is it," I said and walked towards a small bench that was sat in the middle of the bridge, "Now sit."

I picked up my book from my bag – We Were Liars by E. Lockhart – and started reading. I could feel Alex watching me from my left side. We stayed like that for a few minutes, me reading and him watching.

"Do you mind?" he asked. I looked up to see him holding a packet of cigarettes, motioning to it.

"Don't you mind? It will only harm your lungs..." I placed my book in my lap and turned slightly towards him.

"Sorry?" he said and placed the death stick in-between his teeth.

"I've never understood why people smoke. Is it to be cool? Because if that's it I know plenty other ways to be cool, ways that won't result in your death.

"I'm not trying to be cool. That's what makes me cool, though," he smirked at me, "But to answer your question, no, it's not to feel cool. It helps calm me down."

"Tea can calm you down as well. Tea won't kill you," I said, but he only chuckled and lit the cigarette. He offered me one but I scoffed and picked up my book again. "No thanks, I'll stick to my book. You'll have to make it a solo, this isn't some death-stick-smoke-destroying-your-lungs duet."

We sat for what felt like hours, the smoke of his cigarettes blending in with the crisp winter air, chatting about nonsense. But it was nice. Who would've thought human contact was actually kind of enjoyable?

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hiiiiii, sorry for not updating in weeks! writers block is a bitch and so is school hahah.. anyways, thanks to everyone who's reading/voting/commenting, i just realized we reached 300 reads!! wow!!

if you have any predictions or any reactions to anything i'm writing please feel free to comment! byeeee