Everything Ariella (COMPLETE)

Ariella Hanson

"I don't know Ariella. I really don't. I have a selfish mentality. I believe no one can feel the pain I do. I still believe that. I was hurt so I hurt other people. You surrender to them. As much as we share we're very different." He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You have the ability to fake it and not tell anyone, to not blow up in peoples faces, to still want to live and travel and be happy. I am angry. I came here because I lost everything six months ago. I bought this house by selling drugs, I want to scream at people, I want people to hurt like I do because I failed to kill myself the first fucking time. I-I don't want to be here. I can't be happy." He stuttered, his eyes getting red.

"That's what that's from?" I pointed to the thick, bubbled pink scar on his neck. The only space with no ink.

"Yes. Now come on." He motioned me to go into his house and sit.

"When did you start smoking?" I asked, sitting at the small table in his kitchen.

"I was 14." He told me.

"Did it help?"

"No." He answered.

"Don't hurt yourself again." I whispered and he placed a brownie in front of me.

"Why not? Aren't I an ass? Shouldn't I fuck off?" He sat across from me, tossing me a small chocolate milk.

"You are an ass. I said fuck you not fuck off. And you're a human being. You're a kid with adult responsibilities. I prefer to try to be understood then helped. That's why I don't talk because people don't understand they just want to help. I prefer to understand other people as well." I took a bite.

"You're a sweet girl Ari. You really are. It's a bit to late for help." He laughed.

"I don't want to help you." I told him.

"Have you ever lost a sibling?" He asked me.

"Yes." I answered and he seemed shocked.

"A mom?"

"Mine left me." I nodded.

Shocked again.

"And we've both been beaten. Not much different then." He sat back.

"My mom gave birth to my baby brother when I was 6. At three months old my dad suffocated him." I told him.

"By accident?"

I shook my head no.

"She ran, of course my dad says I'm to blame. He told me I look so much like her. Since I turned 10 he's forced bulimia on me. The other night he make me puke up all I ate. I haven't really eaten since. Tonight he beat me because I lost three pounds instead of five." I touched the sore side of my face.

I don't think makeup will heal it this time.

"My jeans are size 00 but my hips are too wide. He said no boys would ever like me if I had a tummy and weighed more than 100 pounds." I lifted my eyes to his and they looked pained.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

"It's over now. I just need to teach myself how to eat a lot so I can be healthy." I laughed.

"What about the hospital stuff?" He asked.

"I was locked in my room, starved and dehydrated during Christmas break, had to be taken to the hospital to live and this has happened a lot I guess." I shrugged.

"Don't shrug, that's not good or normal. And Peyton was talking shit about you in my car, that's when I came back in and you need to let her go." He said, more upset.

"I can't." I whispered.

"You can, fuck her money I'll feed you, sell that house and we can be roommates, I'll drive you in a better car to school. You can dress yourself and not have that bitch degrade you just because you're skinny. You're not the good skinny angel. You need to be fed, you'll do better in school and you'll sleep good, you'll cry less and won't be a 00 for high waisted jeans. You're pretty. You have a chance." He pleaded with me.

"Sit with me at lunch. I have money, fuck I have a lot. I'll help you get a job if you're interested. I'll be your friend. I'm here now, I won't be mean, let me help." He whispered.

"Make me a promise." I looked at him.

"What?"

"Live." I smiled.

He huffed.

"Done. I'm here."

"Past 25. Past 40. Live." I raised my eyebrows.

"Ariella I-"

"I'll leave then." I stood and he stood, grabbing my arm.

"Okay. I'll try. But that means you have to be my friend to find out if I made it." He put out his hand, lifting his pinky and I took it.

"Okay." I nodded.