Shattered|The Fosters

14

Stef's P.O.V

My heart breaks for her, but I'm angry.

Angry that we didn't notice how she was hurting.

Angry that we didn't pay attention.

Angry that someone would do this to their child.

Angry that it's not her fault.

Lena's called a therapist for Emilia.

The door bangs open, and Mariana and Callie barge into our room, slamming the door behind them.

"What the hell?" Mariana spits. "She's starving herself!"

"Mariana," Lena says, surprised by her tone of voice.

"She's anorexic. What is she trying to do, kill herself? Doesn't she know how that would make us feel?" Callie snarls, clearly upset.

"Both of you, enough! Callie, you should know better than this." I scold.

"Emilia is not anorexic." Lena says, motioning them to sit down. "She didn't have food before now, only when she worked her ass for it." Lena sighs. "I know you're upset, but this is not going to help her get better, alright? She has been through hell and back, girls. Look, I know how attached all of you are to her, but you need to let us take care of it. It's not your job. Tomorrow is Saturday. We've already made an appointment with Callie's old therapist for Emilia for tomorrow morning."

They sigh,and leave the room, the look on their face annoyed.

Emilia's P.O.V
I lock myself in the bathroom and grab my journal from my sweatshirt.

I start to write, my hands shaking.

Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. And a truth.

I don't deserve it, yes, but thats like 0.1 out of infinity of the total reason why.

Why don't they get it. Why doesn't anyone get it?

I can't live, I can't breath without the memory of his foot coming down on my side repeatedly, shattering my spirit, any self respect I have for myself.

Breaking every bone. I can still feel the cold knife driving its way through my skin, feeling my bones dive away as I shrieked and squirmed away.

I still remember his last blow to my my ribs were he stabbed me before he ran away and drive off, hearing the crunch of my bone breaking.

The very sight of food revolts me.

It's been cut, all of it.

Meat, pizza, cheese, anything but vegetables and plants, and even then, if it's cut, I'm not going to eat it.

I walk upstairs to my room and close the door shutting off the lights, thankful that neither Mariana or Callie is here yet.

I pull the covers over my head and curl into a ball, falling fast asleep.

Jesus's P.O.V

I enter the bathroom downstairs, when I spot a worn journal.

I open it, seeing, 'Emilia Juliana Evans'

I flip to the most recent page and read, feeling my heart sink in my chest.

I can't tell. Not now, when she's just beginning to trust.

I had to tell Callie.

She needs to know.

But no one else.

Especially Stef and Lena.