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

I ran my hands down my face, contemplating yet another difficult question. Susan was good. She bombarded me with questions until we reached the root of the problem, but I wasn’t always ready to face the truth. It took great courage to be able to look deep into myself and see who I actually was.

“I don’t know. I think three. Four?”

She wrote something down in her notepad. “We talked about how bad self-induced vomiting is.”

I nodded. “Yes, I’m aware of the consequences. My mom is a living example of how unhealthy it is.”

“That’s right. Your mother is a clear example of this. It may feel like just one episode isn’t a big deal, but after that may come another, and then another, and soon it can become worse, and before you know it…things can get really bad.”

I stared down at my shoes, swallowing hard. I was aware of my repetitive mistakes. I just didn’t want to return to that scary place where wrong seemed right and pushing fingers into my mouth was the way out of my problems. I had to overcome this.

“I know. I know it’s not a way to deal with my problems and it won’t lead me anywhere.” I pursed my lips. “I’ve been thinking…yes, an event or person is what causes me to do it, but if I wasn’t already having doubts and insecurities, I wouldn’t do it. Right?”

“In your case, yes, there is an underlying process, and it ends when you solve what troubles you. You aren’t satisfied with the way you look. You feel you’re not good enough.”

“Yes.”

“But the number on the scale doesn’t define your worth or the worth of your body. It doesn’t define who you are. Weight doesn’t define you. Who are you, Jessica? Think about it.”

I looked at her pencil. I didn’t need to think about that one. The answer had been burning in the back of my mind all this time.

“I’m just someone who clings to others to solve her problems. I always take the easy way out. I’m a coward who can’t even follow her own dreams. I would rather live in the infinite cycle of my mistakes and complain about them day after day than break that cycle and fight for what I actually want to be.” I chuckled. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror without that silent voice telling me I’m not good enough. I’m not good-looking, I’m not brave, I’m not myself.”

I finally met her gaze, realization dawning on me. I couldn’t even begin to love my body if I felt so much self-hate. I kept focusing on my bad points, without ever thinking about the things I’d never want to change about myself. If I was to look myself in the mirror, everything beautiful I saw would be devoured by negatives. I loved my big breasts and thick butt. I loved how sexy I could look in dresses that emphasized my curves. It wasn’t all bad.

I always compared myself to others and envied all those slim girls, always wanting to be like someone else and never like me. I knew I had to embrace my imperfections and remember that all of us are imperfect in one way or another if I wanted to be happier, but I’d never actually tried to do it.

Sure, I would have been ecstatic if I weighed a few pounds less, but more than that, I had to stop letting everyone, especially my parents, determine my life without ever trying to fight back. I wanted to be respected for what I could do. I wanted to follow my dreams and stop living in fear.

“There you have it,” Susan said. “The first step is to identify the problem. Now you should think of a way that will help you resolve it—a bridge between what you are now and what you want to be.” She leaned toward me. “It’s your choice, Jessica. You can choose to live your life blaming yourself or others, or you can actually do something about it.”

I left Susan’s office feeling unburdened for the first time in a long time. It was like a piece of what had been troubling me had been removed and replaced with something much better, much healthier. I had a long way to go, and I still wasn’t sure if I could do it, but I felt more determined to improve and stop living with regrets and complaints.

I rounded the corner, buttoning up my coat, when the door across the hallway opened and a tall guy dressed in all black came out of an office.

It took me a heartbeat to process whom I was actually seeing, and my pulse accelerated, all my thoughts rushing to a halt.

Blake.

Blake’s previously vacant eyes widened when he saw me, rooting me to my spot. He was here. He was actually here. The memories of that darkness in the basement hit me hard as we stared at each other, and blush spread all over my cheeks.

He took a step toward me, anger replacing surprise on his face. “What are you doing here?”

I had no intention of staying a second longer. I bolted, passing by the people who gave me weird looks for running through a clinic. I didn’t care. I just had to get away from Blake.

I stopped next to my car and reached for my key in my pocket, but I didn’t manage to take it out, because Blake pressed me against my car. Damn, he’s fast.

“You think you can run away from me?” His hot breath caressed my ear, in contrast with his harsh voice. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“And what do you think? I was visiting a therapist. It’s not like I went on a picnic, Blake,” I bit back, surprising us both with my guts.

He spun me around to face him, his eyes nearly dark with fury. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Flaring up, I fisted my hands. With