The Little Drawings

Romalo is just a sixteen year old girl trying to fit in. She's abused daily by her own thoughts and emotions. The little drawings on her hand are the only things keeping her from continuing her horrible addiction.

Why are the drawings on her arms and wrists there? Will anyone ever understand?


4. Concert

It was the day I was dreading, The SkyLight concert. 

I woke up early to get ready, I wanted to at least try to look nice. I put a cute flower headband across my head and did my make-up. I looked sweet and girly. 

I hated it. I hated pretending to be something I'm not. What I really wanted was to put on my black t-shirt and jeans, cover up with a hoodie and leave my house bare-faced. But I knew I couldn't because I didn't want to face the disappointment on Willow's face. Why couldn't I be more like her? 

Willow's dad came to pick me up early afternoon so he could take us both to the concert. I'd left the house in a flowing white shirt, black leggings and bow pumps. And of course my hoodie. I didn't have the strength to bare my arms. Simple but girly, which I despised.

"Hey! Oh my, I can barely contain myself I'm so excited! Wow, you look pretty, but you still have that hoodie. Oh well, I'm too excited to care." said Willow, all very quickly as I sat down in the car. You could tell she was so happy.

I put on my really hyper teenage girl act; "This is going to be, like, so amazing! I might just faint when their hot faces appear on the stage." It would be more likely I'd puke.



"Look, look, they're walking on stage!" said Willow, pointing outside the window of our boxOur box was really spectacular, we even had waiters. The view of the stage was so great and we even had a TV and a leather sofa. I sprung up off the sofa and rushed to the window in fake excitement.

"Wow, they look...they look perfect!" I replied, pretending to be slowly falling in love.

"Oh my god!" said Willow in shock, she suddenly had a scared look on her face. 

"What, what is it?" I spluttered, I really didn't know what she was suddenly so anxious about.

"Your arms!" she shouted, pointing to the hideous scars running up my fat arms.  


I looked down at my arms. Shit. I had left my hoodie screwed up in a ball on the sofa. What was I going to say? 

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