How could anyone truly like me?
The question silently hung in the air, as though suspended by a delicate thread from a spider's web. A thread that threatened to completely unravel me if I put too much weight on this singular, crushing thought.

As much as I wished this was real, I knew in my heart of hearts that it was likely to be fake. Though I dare to hope that there was the slightest chance it wasn't.
But Hope is a dangerous thing.

And I've been hurt enough times from being stupid and naive enough to believe that real life is like that in fairy tales. It isn't.
And I learnt that lesson a long time ago, though it took me a while to truly grasp the concept that you can't believe everything.

Part of the beginning of that revelation was during Valentine's Day (which also partially inspired my dislike for this particular day).

I was in Year 7. There had been this boy I had a crush on, Jonathan Thompson. My girlish crush had mostly stemmed from the fact that he was cute and seemed nice.

Anyways, back then I had still had people who I hung out with and considered to be my friends. At their urging, I wrote a Secret Admirer note and slipped it in his locker.
I felt heat rush to my face as I recalled the embarrassment that had followed after that.

I hovered nearby, watching as Jonathan opened his locker. He stared inside for a second before glancing around him, and I ducked my head behind my own locker door, blocking him from sight until he turned his attention back to my note. He flipped through it, mouthing along to the words I had written. As he did so, I felt unsettled to notice that his expression was not happy, but rather that it became more entertained with every line he read. Once he reached the end, he lifted his head, his face bemused as he shouted out,
"Hey, listen to this crap!"

My heart sank. 'Crap'? I don't understand.

Then he began to read the letter aloud, his voice becoming more mocking with each line.
With each word, I felt my heart crumbling apart. I thought he was nice, how could he do this?!

As the guys around him raucously laughed at my heartfelt words, I felt myself fill with deep shame at my naivety. I KNEW it had been a bad idea, but stupid me had decided to do it anyway.

Having finished the note with a sneered "From, your Secret Admirer.", Jonathan lifted the note and waved it in the air, shouting,
"So? Who wrote this stupid crap?"

Silence greeted him.

I lowered my head and slouched my shoulders. No way was I going to own up to it in front of everyone. Especially not after what he just did.

I started as Julia, one of the girls who had encouraged me to write the note, broke the silence, pointing at me and shouting,
"It was Emily!"

I looked at her, gaping in shock, feeling hurt and ashamed at being exposed.
But my now-former friend just smirked.

My ears burned as I felt everyone's gaze on me, heard cruel laughter swelling up around me. Jonathan approached me, leering. I gazed up at him, silently pleading him to leave it be. A plea which was left unheard - or ignored as Jonathan looked me up and down. I felt myself shrink under his scornful gaze as he sneered,
“You? You think I would ever like YOU? Miss... Fatty Patty?”

The harsh sound of laughter filled the air, and I wished the ground would swallow me whole.

'Fatty Patty'? I knew I was overweight and a bit, well, 'smushy', despite trying hard not to be, but I never realised that was how people thought of me. Was that all they saw when they looked at me? A fat girl?

Everyone waited  with bated breath for my response to this new nickname. To see what possible thing stupid, ugly "Fatty Patty" could say to justify writing that dumb note.

I opened my mouth, trying to speak, but found that my voice was lost. I couldn't breathe. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard and fast that it seemed deafening, almost drowning out the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Then blood drained from my face. My vision blurred black and I felt the floor tilt. I need to get out of here.

"Well, Fatty Patty? What do you have to say for yourself?" Jonathan jeered.

Oh how had I ever thought he was cute? His once seemingly-sweet smile was now replaced by a curled lip of disgust. His beautiful blue eyes no longer seemed kind, but cruel. And his face. The face I had once thought handsome, now contorted with disgust, was ugly. How had I allowed myself to believe that he was nice? He didn't friendily tease people, he bullied them. He didn't laugh with you when you told a nerdy joke, he laughed at you. He acted friendly, but was really just mocking you the whole time.
I now saw him for his true self.
Jonathan Thompson was not cute and nice.
He was unattractive and cruel.

"Well!?" He demanded.

Forcing the air through my lungs, I tried to explain,
"I-"

Overcome by the devastation of what had just happened, my voice broke. My legs finally remembered how to move and overcome my inertia. Turning as tears blurred my vision, I ran, pushing through the crowd as I tried not to sob.

Behind me, Jonathan shouted,
"Aww look at that! Fatty Patty thinks she can lose weight if she runs away!"

Howls of laughter pierced the air.
And my heart.

I sniffed as I remembered that awful experience, surprised to find that my cheeks were moist with tears. I hastily wiped them away, hoping that no one in library had noticed. Even after all this time, almost four years now, the hurt and shame was still raw.

But. I reminded myself, trying desperately to hold onto the good, to stop myself from slipping back into the overwhelming darkness of depression which I had been fighting against for all these years, At least there was Kara.