Trapped (Bullied Book 4) (Bullied Series) Vera Hollins (best large ereader txt) 📖

losing myself in that rich, amazing taste of food and being ashamed of eating it.

And I was stuck between reason and liking the monster who only hated me.

“Why am I here?” I sang the lyrics I’d come up with just now as the sad piano melody played out in my head, my voice shaking with tears. “Why am I here when I’m like this?” I sniffed. “Why am I here when you hurt me? You hurt me.” My voice was shaky, going deeper and deeper. “Why do I like you? You’ll never like me—”

I started sobbing. Why did I have to fall for him?

I was stupid. So stupid.

“Jess? Honey?” My dad knocked on my window, making me flinch.

Just great. I wiped my tears quickly before I raised my head to look at him.

“What are you doing in your car? Why don’t you come into the house?”

I took my backpack from the seat and got out, avoiding his gaze. “I was about to go inside.”

“Honey, are you okay?” He made me look at him and frowned when he noticed my face, which was probably all puffy. “Jess. Why are you crying? Did something happen to you?” He looked at me as if he was checking me for any injuries.

I sniffed. “Dad, am I fat?”

“What? Of course not, sweetie.”

Resentment surged through my veins. “You’re lying! You’re only saying that because I’m your daughter!”

“That’s not true. You’re beautiful and normal-looking—”

I rushed into the house, refusing to hear another word. He was biased, so he couldn’t be telling the truth. I wasn’t normal-looking. I was fat, and there was no denying it.

I locked myself in the bathroom and sat on the floor, lowering my head between my knees. I rocked my body back and forth as the fresh tears burst out. I hated myself for looking this way. I hated the hideous balloon that was my stomach and the trunks that were my legs. I hated the number on the scale. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

The old urge to throw up reared its ugly head for the first time in several months. It came from the recesses of my mind that reminded me how disgusting I was for being this way.

I stood up on my shaky legs and looked at myself in the mirror, repulsed by what I saw. Each bite of the food I’d taken today created guilt and shame that pressed in on me from all sides. I felt like my heart pumped acid, and the pressure to relieve myself and get rid of the toxins in me prompted me to get down on my knees and empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

And I did that. I grabbed my hair to keep it from getting into my face as I hunched over the toilet and pushed my fingers deep into my mouth, making myself throw up until I was dry-heaving and my chest burned. I flushed the toilet and slumped against the wall, my whole body shaking and breaking out in sweat. I felt tired, but for a few moments, it didn’t matter, because I was overcome with peace. I felt good.

But, as always, the high was gone as quickly as it had come, and I was left with more shame, disgust, and disappointment. I’d promised my parents I wouldn’t do this again. I’d promised myself.

The knocks on my door ripped through my thoughts. No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

“Jess? Honey? Please open the door,” Mom said, rattling the handle.

I couldn’t let her see me like this. “No. Go away!”

She knocked harder. “I won’t go away, Jessica. Open the door.”

“Leave me alone!”

“Jessica Metts! I swear to you, if you don’t open this door right now, you’ll be grounded for a whole month!”

I pressed my forearm against my eyes, terribly ashamed. She’d caught me throwing up the first time I did it, and it had been one of the most humiliating experiences of my life.

I picked myself up and forced my unstable feet to carry me to the door. Shame hit me even harder as I unlocked the door and stepped aside. She barged in and took me in with a gasp, realizing immediately what I’d done.

“Sweet Jesus!” She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a firm embrace. “Oh Jess…oh dear…”

A fresh wave of pain washed over me, and I burst into tears. I wound my arms around her waist like I was drowning and she was my lifebelt. I might as well have been drowning because I couldn’t find the way out, and I didn’t know what to do with myself.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said into her shoulder as I clutched her shirt in my hands. “I said I wouldn’t do it again…I’m so sorry.”

“Oh Jess. Don’t be, honey. Don’t be sorry for anything.” She leaned away and cupped my cheeks. Her eyes filled with tears. “Talk to me. You know you can always talk to me, especially when it gets this hard.”

“I know, but I…I don’t want to worry or disappoint you. Or Dad.”

Her eyes widened. “No, honey. Don’t ever say that. You can never disappoint us.” That’s not true, my inner voice said. You’re disappointed whenever I act the way I shouldn’t. “Please don’t hide things from us. Your dad and I are here to help you.” She put the toilet lid down and made me sit on it. She kneeled in front of me, taking my cold hands. “I know it’s hard, but you know you only hurt yourself by doing that.”

I nodded and sniffed. My eyes were swollen from crying.

“I understand how you feel because I’ve been there. I went through all kinds of things as a teenager with bulimia, and you know what happened in the end.”

I nodded again. A fear of dying, which I knew too well, seeped back into me. Mom had struggled with bulimia since her early teens. She’d binge-eaten and purged by vomiting, using diuretics, and exercising excessively for many years. These recurring cycles lasted