Freya
"Here's another hamburger," my grandaunt put more on my plate.
My mouth was loaded with food, it was difficult to tell her I didn't want anymore. I was on my third hamburger.
"No, I'm good," I finally managed to tell her.
"Are you sure, you've eaten your last burger as it is your first," Zira retorted.
A great feeling of sadness swept over me. I reached down for a napkin wiping the remainder of the food from my mouth.
I had problems eating too much, I knew I did. Caging my feelings inside, at the age of ten I learned I would often eat sweets or crave food whenever I feel down. Thanks to my weird and strong metabolism what I eat didn't seem to show on me.
"I'm going up to my room now," I pulled back my chair.
I felt mortified that I was eating like I was alone in my room, not realizing that I wasn't. I guess when you always eat alone, it feels like you always are.
"Was it something I said that offends you?" Zira asked.
As I was about to say no, I burst into tears.
"I'm sorry," I immediately ran upstairs to my room.
"Freya," Grandma called.
I went to my room and locked myself in. My back turned against the closed door, and I slid down onto the floor, weeping.
I thought my mom would care knowing I knew she blamed me for dad leaving her. I knew she heard it on the phone but, she didn't care to call.
"Freya" I heard Grandma outside my bedroom.
"I need to be alone now," I told her.
"Just know that your grand aunt and I are here for you," she told me before heading back downstairs.
My head turned to my mom's old study desk and I spotted a red lighter. I leered at it as a sinful thought to burn myself with it, pressured me. I turned my head aside refusing to, but the thought of doing so never left me. I eventually rushed for it and sat back down on the floor examining its red bottom and the blacktop of it in my hands. My thumb ran over it as I create flame three times. I pulled up the long sleeve of my sweater and positioned the lighter under the left wrist of my hand, while all care of rejecting to hurt myself had vanished. I lit the lighter. The yellow flames under my skin became hot and hotter until I couldn't bear it anymore. It dropped from my hand and I held my hand tightly scared viewing the scar I gave myself. A scar I'll never forget. I angrily pulled down the sleeve, concealing it, now blaming my mom for my action. What I did to myself was her fault. She made me burnt myself.