Bad Boy Playground (h.s)

eighteen

breathe

There's soft music humming.

I've pressed the fifth floor elevator button like ten times but that doesn't seem to make a difference.

I'm standing alone in my white homecoming dress, the sweetheart neckline decorated in beads and jewels. It falls just above my knees making my legs look long in my white red bottom stilettos.

My hair pined back with braids accenting the curls that fall down my back. My makeup perfectly painted on with a wing of eyeliner that shapes my eyes more beautifully.

I've always wanted to be the pretty girl.

My whole life, that's the one thing I wanted. I wanted to be considered beautiful. It's the only thing that's ever mattered to me. It's shallow I know. Self centered, egotistical, vain; but people love beautiful things.

It comes from a place of insecurity. People didn't like me because I was ugly and a little heavy, it had nothing to do with my personality. At least that's what I told myself.

It was true for a while. Growing up kids are mean and unfiltered. They care about looks.

But after a while, once everyone grows up, people tend to focus more on the core of a person.

My core is rotten.

So I over compensate with beauty. I'm not naturally beautiful, it took a lot to look how I am now.

Beautiful shells are always hallow.

My hair is bleached, my skin covered in serums and moisturizers, my eyebrows waxed and my lashes dyed.

I look like the perfect Barbie doll.

Everything about me screams perfection. My body, my beauty, my reputation, my boyfriend. I'm the perfect American teenager.

That's all been so important to me until tonight. The night I'm supposed to be crowned homecoming queen, one of my lifelong dreams. I've never wanted anything more; but tonight I realized I was wrong.

A stupid crown doesn't mean shit. Being popular doesn't mean shit, having people you don't even like, like you doesn't mean shit, wanting other peoples approve doesn't mean shit.

My whole life's a lie because everything that's mattered to me is worthless when it comes to him.

I was slipping on my shoes when I got the call.

Sitting in front of my vanity to see how perfect I was able to make myself, waiting for Braeden to pull up with a limo.

My friends scattered around my room all trying to get ready for dinner than the dance.

I remember talking to myself in my head. Actually giving myself a pep talk if any of this couldn't get more embarrassing. Telling myself I'm beautiful, everyone loves me, the crowns already mine.

A stupid piece of plastic stopped me from being beside him tonight. From protecting him. From dragging him away so we could makeout behind the bleachers. From not being the one to hold him while he suffered. A stupid piece of plastic has ruined my life.

That phone call sent shivers down my spine.

Harry's mom speaking hysterically about the ambulance that brought him to the hospital from the homecoming game. I don't know how she got my number but I'm glad she found it. She was crying, saying that the security guard found Harry behind the restrooms unconscious and beaten to hell. That his clothes were torn and his face bloody. A hole in his chest where someone stabbed him.