A sweet girl who sees the good in everyone.
A grumpy guy who just wants everyone to fuck off.
A chocolate milk accident that's brings them together.
Secrets.
Lies.
A dark past.
What could possibly go wrong? Or right?
Maybe a love story.
Or s...
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1 Week Later
I feel like someone just told me I'd never be able to eat strawberries again. Or someone told me I'd never be able to ride my bike again. Or someone told me The Loud House was canceled.
Oh the horror!
My face hurts from laying face first on my bed, my nose squished up against my blankets and my arms and legs splayed out.
I could hear everyone moving around and talking loudly and getting ready for the funeral while I haven't left bed all week.
I've been rewatching the same Loud House episodes over and over again because no new episodes have been released. I haven't eaten a strawberry in days! Or drunken any Arizona green tea! I don't know how much more I can take of this torture!
I clutched Mrs. Rubis Willy to my chest. I love her with all my heart but I don't just need any stuffed animal right now. I need Mr. Pebbles. But the boy who shan't be named has him.
I run my fingers through Star's fur who currently lays next to me and has been laying next to me since I've started my prison sentence of never leaving my room until the death gods give back what they've tooken from me.
Star's fur feels a lot like Enzo's soft floppy hair. It's just as dark as it to. No. I shall not speak of him.
Even if I can't stop thinking about his floppy hair and his light splatter of freckles and his dark eyes and his pretty smile.
No, no, no!
Ugh.
He left you at the park late at night while it was cold and raining! Get a grip on yourself Althea!
But he had to have had a good reason right?
No excuses. He doesn't deserve excuses. No ma'm. I shook my head and sat up. This day is not for thinking about the boy who shall not be named because of his poor decisions and his lack of human feelings. This day is about Mrs. Peters who died of old age on that bench outside of that boutique.
I stood and started shuffling around my room, first going to my closet where I stood in front of it, noting that I didn't have not one black dress. Not one black shirt. Not one pair of black jeans or leggings or hoodies. Not even a pair of black socks. My closet, which was small but had clothes piled to the ceiling on the shelf and bending the rack most of my shirts and dresses hung from, was colorful. It was filled with pink, yellow, blue, white, orange, turquoise. You name it, any bright color that could be thought of was in my closet. Poka dotted dresses and strawberry covered hoodies. Graphic t-shirts and blue jeans.
