Confessions of the Popular Girl

Confessions of the Popular Girl Chapter One

Chapter 1 of Confessions of the Popular Girl

Chapter One

Fake tans. Fake eyelashes. Fake toenails. That's what they always say I have. The people who are jealous backstabbers. I didn't know why they can't just keep their mouth shut. To stop the nasty rumors. Even though they spread them around like the yellow fever, they would never be above me. I was better than that, to let them knock my walls down and drown me in pools of humiliation.

Walls of a grayish color surrounded me. There was a mirror that reflected the truth in front of me. My shadows danced around the room as I walked around. The tears dripped down my face every night, the makeup running down, it made me look as if I was a psycho path all those nights. Especially tonight. I had stopped to look. Bloodshot, red eyes was in my reflection. It was me. The real me. The traumatizing me. I felt disgusting with that baby oil slathered on my leather, tan legs and arms from the night before. Trying to tan, obviously. I longed for some water. To wash away the oil and separate it from me, into the drain. It was a mask for my body. And I wanted to take that mask off. But that wasn't the rest of what disgusted me. Knotted hair and blood stains covered my hands. The body lie in the corner of the attic. His legs slightly bended and popped out a little as he laid on his back. The blood was gushing out of his chest. I could heart his heart beat stop. No ticking at all. His liver and organs was caved in by the blood. The blood trickled off my fingertips, and landed onto the wood. I hoped it didn't seep down. I don't want anyone to find the blood. No, I'm not a cutter. I'm a murderer. That's what disgusted me most.

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I stalked the halls as I went down them. As my black heels clicked with each step, I observed everyone's face, their identity, trying to find my next victim. Lucky them, whoever I chose. I wasn't high maintenance, pretty much any boy Was worth murdering.

My jean skirt lapped onto me. Wearing a red tube top, red standing for blood. But no one knew that. It was my own representation. A silver cross laid at my collar bone. Hoping the people died in peace, but we all know they didn't. I killed them, and they probably went to hell. And so would I, but I guess their dying wasn't in peace at all. So I don't know why I wore this necklace.

Grabbing it by the cross, yanking it off, I tossed it into the trash that I had walked by. I didn't stop moving. The necklace meant nothing to me. I don't even know why I bought it in the first place.

I looked from side to side of the halls. Trying to find the "bad boy" of the hood. Because they were juicy. Tons of blood would pour out, not fat. And he was about to get a taste of his own medicine for being the idiot jock. The popular guy was always a jock in some type of sport.

Something caught my eye, a guy leaning against a locker, looking down at his phone with a smirk platted on his face. Rips and holes were found at the knees of his jeans. Grass stains painted on the ends. His hands trembling, and I got a whiff of axe. Scrunching up my nose and coughing in the opposite direction, the toxic fumes were going to kill me before I get to kill him.

He wore a red t-shirt. Like me. He looked up and around, then realized I was starring at him. I flashed a sly smile, but at the same time, I had to cough. It climbed up my throat, but I had to stay strong and not look pity. Forcing the cough down, he didn't know what was coming. Replying with a confused face, I just waved him off.

I had made the first move. Typical seducing for now-a-days. But in my way, I had to seduce first, because it would take too long for the victim to do it.

He didn't look like one of those bad boys, but he was stunning. And something tells me he likes the color red. Perfect.

I started moving foreword again, I had stopped in my tracks without realizing it. Looking straight ahead, the first thing to do, was get into the popular crowd. Even though they were idiots and utterly stupid, speaking Ebonics and such, the popular girl always got the guy. And I wanted him. To murder.

Searching in my thoughts on how to surprise him, there were a million options. But there was the one that was the cruelest one of them all. Fake a kissing scene, and then stab him. Him looking straight into my eyes, seeing my devilish smile. Me whispering the last words, smooth as silk, he will ever hear "I'll miss you."

No body has ever found out about my kills. I didn't record any of them, either. And I had hidden my tracks well. Using laytex gloves helped. Moping up the blood was the crucial thing. The blood overtasking the life of the mop, drenching it to where I couldn't move it any longer. I remembered the blood sliding around the wood. Painting it with a red tint. There was so much more to cleaning the murder scene up; but I'll spare you the gruesome detailed information. I didn't have to write the kills down, it was on a special date, at a certain time each year. Only one kill per year. One.

The date was on somewhat of a holiday. Every Valentines day. A pleasant day to be killed. All of their love ones would be mourning on that day as soon as they find out that he was missing. At 11:11pm, I tell them to make a wish first. But their wish would never happen. Because they were dead. It was their determination if they went to this so called "Heaven" or if they went to Hell.

I had to do research first on this boy. The one with the red t-shirt. He was stunning, and built well, but how hard will he fight to keep alive when that day comes?