The insults you spat today still sting the back of my eyes. I thought I got used to everything you do to me, but I guess today was enough to resurface the reality that I still can't.

I wore a dress, for the first time. It was the one I saved up for, I got it myself for my birthday this Friday.

You gave it one thorough skim, and said that I was slowly starting to actually become what you've been calling me. I do not suit nice things, because I'll still look trashy. That's what you said. After that, you tore it up with a blade you haphazardly borrowed from one of your friends.

You smiled and told me I looked better in it that way.

I didn't say anything, because I thought you were content with how I am for the first time. I felt my stomach clench, despite the fact that you gave me a smile.

I wanted to cry. But I didn't.

You gave me the blade after.

I know what you meant.