Thank you so much for the reviews! I have finally got some time on my hands so I'm going to write maybe some chapters for this story and some chapters for Seeing Behind the Façade. I'm really glad that you all like the story so far and I'm really going to try and make the chapters longer, cause I like reading long chapters!

CHAPTER TWO: Understanding

Brooke's POV

I hate school so much! I used to love it when the "popular kids" were my friends. Now, I feel so alone and I hate to be alone. No one understands me, but I don't really blame them because none of them know me. I thought knew me and I thought I knew him, but I was clearly wrong.

Now, I'm the "Goth" and the "freak." I can't believe that I called people that and I treated people the way that I'm being treated now. I'm so ashamed of myself forever judging people by the way they look. Whenever someone would call me a "slut" or a "whore" I would come back with some bitchy remark and they would know never to mess with me again, but now, I don't talk. So when people bump into me, spill things on me or make nasty remarks I don't even look at them. I'm invisible.

I spend most of my time drawing and listening to music. The things I draw are not flowers and hearts. The things I draw allow me to express the feelings I have without talking. That's at least what my therapist told me. I started going there after my breakdown. I didn't talk to her I wrote or drew what I was feeling and she understood. Why was a complete stranger the only one that understood me? Why was she the only one that didn't leave me when I needed them the most? Why was I alone after my breakdown? Huh. Can anyone tell me why? Nope I didn't think so.

After school everyday I went back to my home, if you can call it that. My parents are always fighting and bickering at each other. They're both alcoholics and are very violent when they're drunk. I try and stay out of their way, but sometimes I can't avoid them. When I can't avoid them I'm in big trouble. My dad always grabs one of my arms and pulls me closer to him so I can smell the alcohol on his breath. Then he screams about of much of a disappointment I am and how my mom should have gotten an abortion. Wow, the feeling of not being wanted just makes me feel so … happy (that would be sarcasm). Then he usually smacks me around a little bit, leaving bruises on my arms and legs and sometimes I am even lucky enough to receive a black eye. My mom usually just stands in the corner, watching my dad beat me while throwing out snide remarks like "your such a little slut," or "Beth, your such an embarrassment!" My mom can't even remember my own name, now that is truly embarrassing.

After this "encounter" I go up to my room and take out my razor blade. I start slashing my wrists just deep enough so they bleed enough, but not too deep where I can actually "hurt" anything. I don't cry and I don't yell. I just let everyone walk all over me. I don't fell anything. I never feel pain, whether it is emotionally or physically, I just don't. It's kind of weird because I used to have so much spirit and life before my breakdown, but not anymore. I want to be the exact opposite of the old Brooke. The old Brooke was a whore with too much skin exposed. She didn't know anything, but boys and booze. The 2 B's, that's what she lived for. That's all she lived for. No one wanted to see what she was truly like because they couldn't look past the skintight outfits and sexual dance moves. After my breakdown, I couldn't be seen like that. Not anymore. Not ever.