Parts

“Ugly.”

“Stupid.”

″Worthless.”

Day after day she would spit those words at me. Mom said to put on a brave face, don’t let her know how much it hurts. So I tried.

″Loner.”

But she knew if she was persistent, my brave face would melt away and drown in my tears. Each word stung like a hornet. It felt rehearsed - as though she spent hours sharpening her tongue to hit a direct target: me.

″Nobody even likes you.”

I began to avoid her at every turn. I stayed in the library at recess and ate lunch in the bathroom. But she always found me, every day she would scratch at my heart until it felt hollowed out, enough to give room for all my fears to reside.

″I would hate myself if I were you.”

One day, I was eating in the stall and I heard her come in. I froze and peeked through the crack, praying that she wouldn’t find me; but she wasn't even looking.

She stood in front of the mirror and, just like I had imagined, stared herself hard in the eyes and practiced saying those words that were keeping me paralyzed in fear.

“Ugly.”

“Stupid.”

She hissed the words at herself with an intensity that surpassed all I had seen before. I shivered, imagining how quickly I would crumble if she performed as well as she practiced.

″Worthless.”

I held my breath as I waited for her to leave, certain that she could do no more, only: she practiced my part too.