~THIS BOOK IS CURRENTLY BEING EDITED~
Highest Rankings:
#1 in Xanax
#8 in Parental Abuse
18+ This story does contain mature topics.
Some topics make be triggering.
Sierra Marks grew up sad and depressed while being raised by her drunk father after...
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Now I'm 18, in my last 5 months in this stupid school.
And it's the first day back after winter break.
I've always hated this place. Everyone is fake. And if you're like me and you pay attention to everything. You see all the sneaky shit that's going on around here.
Like the head cheer leader having a crush on the goth kid. Or that the principal's receptionist steals money from the school funds. Or how about one of the lunch ladies blows the geometry teacher behind the school after lunch.
Crazy. Right?
Right now I'm in the bathroom looking at myself in the mirror. My tattoo on my right arm of three pyramids, showing so everyone can see. My tanned skin peaking through the gray halter top I was wearing. Light finger print bruises showing on my neck.
I leaned into the mirror to wipe the eye liner from the corner of my eyes. My green hollow eyes staring back at me. Surrounded by dark bags under my eyes.
My long black curly hair cascading halfway down my back. Which I'm trying to use to cover my neck and face as much as possible today.
Just like I'm trying to use my makeup to cover a black eye and busted lip.
I looked down at my phone buzzing on the side of the sink.
My best friend Kenzie, has been texting and calling me since last night and by now I'm sure she realizes I'm trying to avoid her.
If she wants to find me, she knows when I ignore her I go straight to this bathroom after I get to school, to check my makeup and make sure none of my bruises are showing.
She is the complete opposite of me. She knows what she wants. She knows who she is.
She also knows almost everything about me. The good, bad and ugly.
She tries to help.
I don't want help. I don't need it.
I leaned back from the mirror to reach into my bag for my foundation again.
Just then the bathroom door slams open and there she is. Standing there, eyes boring into my reflection. Her freshly manicured hands on her hips, wearing a bright pink romper with an oversized jean jacket that has the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her straight brown hair in a high ponytail.
"I've been trying to call you." She says.
I made eye contact with her in the mirror as I leaned forward to dab foundation on my busted lip.
