Killing Purple

"Dylan," My mother held out a brown-sack lunch, "Remember to eat today." She looked sickened. She looked sickened every time she had to make me lunch because she knew it wouldn't be consumed.
I was a waste, they'd say. I was a waste of air, a waste of space, a waste of life. 'What happened to my little girl?' they'd whisper, like it was supposed to strip me. They couldn't strip me. I was too broken to show through.
I counted my steps out the door and down the sidewalk; thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven. Colin's house was coming up. I wondered if he was ever going to talk to me again. It'd been two and a half weeks and still nothing. I knew he couldn't live without me; he'd be back begging me to eat and then pretending everything's okay.
He was the epitome of the human race. He could feel every emotion in one second and then act as if nothing had happened the next. I think that's why I was so hopelessly in love with him. I wanted to feel like him, to actually feel feelings as I was intended to. I wanted to feel him.
Leaving myself behind was the easy part, falling in love with someone whole while I was broken was the hard part.