Your pants look better on my floor ;)

Your pants look better on my floor ;) CH1!

"You can easily find a billion things wrong with a person, but it takes faith to find one, that is right."

- i like that quote :) you do too?

we have so much in common.

It was winter. If you're anywhere close to civilized you should know I hate winter. It's a season of love and lost hearts entwining. It's Santa cookies and Christmas shopping. It's kisses under the mistletoe and the occasional family reunions.

But for me it's the complete opposite. It's roaming the streets of Chicago without a dad, it's waking up disappointed on Christmas morning with no presents - yet alone a tree. It's cold lonely apartments with no one in sight. It's Christmas Eve alone, with a cheeseburger from McDonalds and stash from your idiotic boyfriend. It's everything /but/ joy.

You know those days where you wake up and instantly everything seems to be going off hand? That's how I feel this bitter Tuesday morning. My hair is frizzy, the only clean clothes I have is my mini skirt, and we have no food in the fridge.

I live off of my own paycheck. This seems quite inequitable for a six teen year old junior, especially who should have more problems to worry about rather than if the electricity bill is paid for. But that's how I live. That's how I was raised.

Actually no. I'm lying. I was raised in a much more blissful time, when my dad was still roaming the earth and my mom wasn't a prostitute for fun. It was miraculous to be part of such an inviting family. I was ecstatic and very much delighted to have friendly hearts supporting me along the way. Some part of me, until the age of twelve that is - believed that it would be this way forever. So simple, so endearing, so treasonable. Than my father vanished; he was found four days later by a seven eleven worker, stuffed in a trash can.

I think that's a pretty cruel way to die, but it's not like I had time to worry about that. Within days my crazy mother was threatening to burn me alive with her straight iron, cussing at me with her sharp tongue, and constantly beating me with her hair brushes. Until one day, she got too tired to threaten - took a knife from the pantry drawer that I bought with /my/ money and cut open a little whole in my right cheek.

There was a lot of blood. My cheek sizzled, throbbing with anguish and ache. I didn't have time to capture the moment so well, most likely due to the fact because I was so focused on my mother's shimmering eyes. They showed danger and yielding excitement, they provoked comedy and risk.

I wasn't terrified of dying, mostly because I had nothing to lose. It's not like the boys at school thought I was pretty, it's not like I had any friends to rely on, and no teachers were fond of me - I was completely alone in a world full of strangers.

It was inhumane of my very own mother to complete such a bloodcurdling task and I hope she regrets it deeply - but what she accompanied that day only inspired me to become my own person, to stop relying on others and begin to grow my own spine, to help me stand strong.

Afterwards, we hardly talked. I left a paycheck every Sunday morning on the dusty kitchen table that had a wobbling leg, before I left to take my shift at the nursing home. My mother slept until noon, than somewhere in between calling a guy over and throwing up from her last hangover, she would get ready to work at the night club. As an exotic dancer.

I hardly remember living in peace, in harmony. Maybe it was too long of a time go to recall, or maybe it was just unreal overall and my imagination playing tricks with me. It was always known to have a reputation to be mischievous. I must say, I do reflect on it than.

I steal. I do drugs. I drink and drive. I have sex for fun. I make other lives miserable. I dress like a slut.

Many would believe that I'm a horrible person. My ego is too big and I'm way too modest. And I must agree on some terms, but never to the genuine fact of /being/ a bad person. It's my character, you see. I like to pretend I'm someone I'm not. My theory is that I just don't know who I happen to be. But I'm working on it. Slowly and gradually, it's taking an elongated period of time - but one day I'll get there. Just wait and see.

My boyfriend, Austin picks me up for school. He has a beat up truck which odor represents sweat and a lousy license plate which spells 'nigger'. He's a white mama's boy, who's daddy happens to be in prison for rapping our fellow classmate, Joanna. Who moved to Washington State and got an abortion - or so, rumor has it.

I don't know why I'm with Austin. He's always high and you can never gossip with him about anything useful, but he keeps me company. And even though, he sometimes calls me by the wrong name, slaps my ass more than he is privileged to do, and let's other guys fuck me for fun - he's my companion. I guess that's one way of putting it.

As you know by now, I'm really fucked up. My grades however reflect on an honor student's GPA. Austin asked me one time why I give a fuck about school. I went into an entire scenario about how one day I want to be a lawyer - to solve mystery crimes and help little girls who lost their fathers in a crime scene. So they wouldn't be afraid to fall asleep at night. Austin puked as I finished and I knew he didn't know a single word that came out of my mouth. But the fact that he took interest in me, even for a second, gave me hope and the courage I needed in order to recall on my very own mistakes. It was a beautiful feeling that should be captured in history to retell to broken hearts twisted with aching misery.

After an intense make-out session, I headed off to class. Nudging at my books and trying to cover my overexposed stomach with my hand, I was greeted by six policemen in homeroom. They were awaiting me for a while, I could tell with their bored postures - half slouched over, foot tapping rapidly against the worn out carpet. I was always known for reading people instantly and it sure comes in handy, like now.

Especially when you know what's coming. So I ran out, letting my books scatter across the floor and not slowing down when hearing their nasty hisses calling my name.

I let myself fly as I ran, my longs legs stretched until I was numb. But I continued to run, ignoring the harsh slaps of the silenced wind as it smacked my face brusquely and not paying close attention to the whine my bear arms shrieked in the cold December air - thick and moist. Just the way I hate it.

The wind howled at me, ordering to turn around but I didn't listen, didn't even consider it. The sirens pierced as I ran through traffic, not giving a care about the world. The police were after me only for one reason - to take me away somewhere clogged, somewhere where I had no encounter with the outer world. I didn't even get to finish my malicious thought - I was too busy bumping my lazy ass into a steady figure with the most attractive sparkling sea glass eyes. That belonged to one of the most /ravishing/ boys known to the human race. His features echoed walking perfection so gracefully, it almost seemed as if he was cheating us humans.