“I have nothing,” I sob, again and again, to no one. “I have nothing.”
Eventually, my body runs out of tears and energy, and mid-sob, I slip into a deep sleep that I hope never to wake up from.
Chapter 24
I am awoken by Dad knocking at my window. My eyes open slowly. They’re so dry it feels like my eyelids have sandpaper on the inside. I blink several times. My dad knocks again.
“Fern?” he calls out. “Are you okay? Mom and I are very worried about you. What’s going on?”
I snort, sitting up, rubbing my face. It’s not like I can talk to my parents about this. Not like I can talk to anyone about this. The thought strikes again: I have nothing. And just these three words are enough to make fresh tears spring into my eyes. I shake my head. Shake it off, Fern. It’s fine. Hah. Well, actually, it’s not fine. It’s never going to be fine. But for now, I need to tell my dad whatever he needs to hear so he’ll go away.
I climb out of the car, my shoulders rounded because I don’t know what I’d do if Dad decided to hug me right now. We’ve never been big into physical affection. I can count on one hand the number of times my parents have hugged me, and every time has been painfully awkward for both parties. He doesn’t, of course. His arms hang limply by his sides as he watches me with open concern.
“It’s fine,” I say.
Dad sighs. “I don’t know what’s happened between you and Haven, but I know it’s not fine, Fern. Why don’t you talk to me and Mom?”
Hearing Haven’s name come out of his mouth eats into me, searing me like a branding iron. Why does everything have to be about Haven?My bitterness multiplies until it spills out. “Don’t pretend like you give a shit about me.”
Dad’s eyes widen. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s shocked and hurt by this. “Fern, what do you mean? Of course we care about you. We’ve been so worried.”
“You don’t care about me,” I snap. “You and Mom are so ...” I gesture wildly for a bit, trying to find the right words. Damn it, I’m a writer. If there’s one thing I should be able to do, it’s to find the perfect words for every situation. “Sure, you’ve looked after me in the most basic way that a parent has to. You’ve fed me and clothed me and all that stuff to ensure I stay alive, but there’s always been this distance between us. It’s like you and Mom have been watching me behind a sheet of bulletproof glass, just observing me. You don’t know anything about my life. You never ask. You don’t care.”
Dad’s mouth opens and closes and opens again. He looks like a fish that’s jumped up too high and landed accidentally on land. Finally, he says, “You’re right. I—yes, we haven’t been—I—”
I watch him struggle to form a coherent sentence. After a while, it becomes clear to me that he’s not going to tell me anything of note. I scoff. “Yeah, you don’t even know how to talk to me about this stuff. The real stuff, not just the polite crap like ‘Have you eaten?’ ‘Did you sleep okay?’ Forget it.” I step around him and walk back into the house.
Inside, I find Mom standing in front of the window, where she’s obviously been spying on me and Dad. Her eyes go wide when she sees me too. “Fern—”
“Later, Mom. Dad can fill you in. I don’t really want to talk—” To my horror, my voice breaks then, because despite everything I’ve told myself about not needing my parents, about accepting that we’re just massively different people and so on and so forth, at the end of the day, it breaks my heart to know that I don’t have the kind of parents I can turn to at times like these. Parents like Haven’s. And again, that thought reappears: I have nothing. It plays on a loop as I walk up the stairs, in time to my steps. I. Have. Nothing.
I go to my bedroom and take a moment to calm myself. I don’t have the energy to cry again. What’s the point of crying now? Crying serves one purpose: to let out one’s emotions, to cleanse the soul and make room for new thoughts and feelings. I’ve done that, and I am all empty, and nothing has come to fill the void that now resides inside me. I have nothing.
And why do I have nothing? Most people don’t have nothing. The average person, even the mediocre ones, has something. Most people my age are married with kids, have some semblance of a career, and have a solid social life. Why do I have none of those things? The odds were stacked in my favor—a stable home, responsible parents, good schools, all in all a decent upbringing. What was it about me that was so broken that despite everything I’ve been given in life, I am now pushing thirty with no prospects in sight?
The answer appears in glittering, stark brilliance. Haven.
Haven happened to me. Before Haven, everything was okay. I had friends. I had a best friend. My grades hovered between average and above average. I wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence, but I wasn’t a doormat either. I was a happy, average kid. Then Haven set her sights on me, and that was it. When she was done with me, I had turned into a shell of a person, a shaky, cowardly introvert who doesn’t know how to handle social interactions, who is convinced that the entire world is full of people who hate her. And having my self-esteem shredded has had repercussions well into adulthood. I never was able to make friends in person. I never shone at any jobs because I was so bad at interpersonal relationships. I have never been on a single date, ever, because I didn’t think I was worthy of love. The only thing I had was my writing, and this, too, has been torn apart by Haven. Everything has happened because of Haven. I have nothing.
That’s right. I have nothing. And I realize, then, that having nothing comes with one upside: I have nothing, therefore I have nothing to lose.
The thought is thrilling. Liberating. I look at my reflection and see a pale, mousy woman. But there’s a fire that’s rekindling inside me.I watch my jaw setting, my shoulders turning back. What can I do? Actually, the question should be, What can’t I do? Now that I am free of the burden of having beautiful things like a book deal to give me hope, nothing. There’s nothing I can’t do.
And with this realization booming through my body, I pull out my chair and turn my laptop on. If I have nothing to lose, then what’s stopping me from telling the whole world the truth? My truth, the one I’ve kept hidden for so long. And the answer is: nothing.
BuzzFeed Op-Ed
How I Turned from Bully Victim into the Bad Guy
by Fern Huang
BuzzFeed Contributor
I was twelve the first time I met Haven Lee. I didn’t know it then, but Haven would end up being the most important person in my life, because with surgical precision and ruthless efficiency, she would eventually come to ruin it. People often say things like “So-and-so has ruined my life,” but in this case, Haven has truly destroyed my career, my social life, and my reputation. Perhaps what hurt me the most is the last bit. Because all this time I have been Haven’s quiet victim, tightening into a smaller ball whenever she decides to torment me, content to forever hide and never retaliate. But then I snapped, and one bad decision turned me from someone who has been bullied for years into, ironically, the villain.
Haven and I met in middle school. She joined us in the middle of the school year, and as the new kid, she was utterly enchanting. Everyone was enamored by her, including myself. And how could you not be? Even as a child, Haven was beautiful in a way that turned heads,and carried herself with a certain confidence and assurance that you would normally only find in grown adults. It was apparent from the very beginning that she was going to be our new queen bee. We all accepted it.
I was among the throng of people who crowded around her at recess, wanting to know more about her, wanting to be her friend. At the time I had Alana [name changed to protect privacy], someone I thought was my best friend. Alana and I talked about Haven excitedly at lunch, marveling over everything from Haven’s hair to the bracelets that she wore to the way she talked. We hatched a plan to make Haven be our friend.
