Violet is anorexic. But she refuses to believe it. She spends most nights caring for her delusional mother and crying over her body. If only she was different. If only she could be like them. But with the help of Logan, the boy she's been texting and emailing for the past year, can she get over her illness and accept her beauty? Maybe even find love?


1. Prologue

I prod at my skin as I stand I front of the mirror. I pinch around my stomach and gag at all of the fat. I could literally fit a whole pinch of fat in between my thumb and finger. It was disgusting.
I was fat.
Fat. Fat. Fat.
I glance at my reflection, at my body. At the same body that was responsible for my depression and anger. Responsible for  the long harsh nights I spend crying. The days I shut myself away. The days I don't speak to anyone and the days I don't eat. 
The days I don't want to be here. 
I pull my oversized jumper on and frown one last time at the mirror before sitting down on my bed. I glance out at the gloomy weather of London. If only everything was different. If I was thin. If I was beautiful. If I was like them.

The only thing that I wanted as much as being thin was to be able to fit in. To have a group of friends. A real group of friends. Sure, I'd had a few friends in the past; bestfriends even. We were a group of normal teenage girls having fun and enjoying life. But then I got fat. They started to leave me out and gossip about me. It slowly got worse and worse until one morning I woke up and they had made a Facebook page about me. About how fat I am. Everyone in the school believed I was a huge fat monster. They would make jokes and step out of the way as I walked through the halls, hissing venom like 'wide load coming through'. It hurt at first. It hurt so much that I wouldn't come into school. But ever so slowly, I got used to it. I deserved it after all. The scales told me that. 

My dad used to beat my mum and me. He would hurt her all the time; even if she made him a meal he didn't like. Even if his favourite team were losing a football match. Even if he was bored. He was gone now; hopefully forever. But the scars remained. They would never leave.My mother was delusional now; she didn't even remember my name most nights. It was horrible. But I had to deal with it. I had no choice.

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