(Seraphina)

I knocked on the nurse's door when I made it to the front office. The receptionist told me to knock on the door to let her know I was there. She opened the door and let me into the office.

"I got a call from your social studies teacher. He said that your lip was bleeding?" she asked me when I gave her the pass. I nodded, showing her my bottom lip.

"Maybe just let it heal on its own for a couple of weeks. Don't apply lipstick onto your lips during that time. Apply chapstick to help the healing process go by faster," she tells me.

I nod, not really wanting to talk. She gives me a pass for my second-period class, which was mathematics. Shit. I don't want to go to that class.

I made honor roll plenty of times in my mathematics classes in elementary and middle school. I'm not sure if the classes here are easy. I go to the class, anyway, to see how it works.

The teacher is a male. Great. This is going to be fan-fucking-tastic. He looks at me and tells me that the late bell hadn't rung yet. No need for a pass, then. I spent the rest of first-period at the nurse's office.

I tossed it in the trash and sat down at a desk at the back of the classroom. "The notes will be in the Google Classroom, which I give you the code during class. Name?" the teacher asks me.

"Seraphina Cohen," I mumble.

"Repeat that, please," the teacher asks me.

"Seraphina Cohen," I say, a bit more loudly. He nods and writes me down on the seating chart. When the other students come into the class, he asks them to choose a seat. He won't move us unless he absolutely has to, for the sake of our education. The students write their names on the seating chart and he gives us the code for the mathematics class.

We take notes for the entire period. I listen to some violin music while he's not looking. Shutting my eyes, I try to picture myself in another world, a world where I wasn't raped. A world where my parents did like me. A world where I was able to like myself. I open my eyes when the list of what I want becomes too selfish.

After class, I go to physical education. It is very embarrassing. My locker is way too close to the door, so I ask the teacher if I could get a different locker away from the door.

"I'll try to work something out. Name?" she asks me.

"Seraphina Cohen," I tell her. She's able to hear me, even when I mumbled. Canine hearing. Must be careful when I talk to myself around her.

She gives me my new locker number. When I look, it's next to the showers and away from other human eyes. I sigh in relief, putting the lock on the door. The day goes by slowly. I have to introduce myself to the students. At my desk, thank goodness. During lunch, Charlotte sits with me.

Talking a mile a minute.

"I noticed that your lipstick was cleaned up. It was most likely because it must've been very uncomfortable. My mom says that I can't wear makeup yet. She doesn't want me to wear a whole lot of makeup until I'm old enough. I noticed that you know my older half-sister, Emily Bradley. We have the same mother, but we have different fathers. Emily's father stayed with my mother, but my father left us. If I were in his shoes, I would leave because there was another man in the house. May I have your baby carrots if you're not going to eat them? Thanks! You're an excellent friend," she babbles.

I wish I can tell her to shut up. My throat is dry. I can't talk. Besides, no one wants to hear what you have to say. Would anyone care? After school, Emily offers me a ride. Charlotte is in the backseat, chattering to her half-sister like there's no tomorrow. Emily rolls her eyes and tells her to shut up. She does, thank God.

Would He care if I start to self-harm? If I try to commit suicide? He would; He cares about everyone. I'm not religious, but I know that He's watching over everyone. I listen to Hurricane from Hamilton. The drive to my house is quiet, Charlotte raising her hand to talk and Emily rejecting her.

"You've talked enough for one day," says Emily. Charlotte remains quiet. I mouth "thank you" to Emily and she nods in response.

When I get home, both my parents are at work and I have the house to myself until my mom comes home. I make myself a grilled cheese sandwich and head to the basement. Hopping onto the exercise bike, I let my sandwich cool down as I try to lose weight.

You shouldn't be doing this.

Kids in middle school told me that I was fat. Why should I not listen to them?

Those kids don't matter.

That's not a good enough reason.

You're wearing large clothing to have people not label you as "anorexic." What else are you going to do?

Use the exercise bike until 20 miles is completed. Then I'll take a shower and eat my sandwich. If the weather is good tomorrow, I'll walk it off.

You're already so skinny.

I know that!

Whatever makes you happy. I'm telling you right now: This won't work.

I use the bike until 20 miles was completed and I use a rag to wipe the sweat off of my face. Taking a shower after eating my sandwich, I realize that the voice telling me to stop treating myself like I'm garbage is right.

I weigh myself and I'm 100.5 pounds. I tell myself to avoid the exercise bike for a week, to break that habit. I hope this works. If it doesn't, then I'll try something different.