He lowered his head towards me, a cocky grin spreading across his lips as he raked his eyes across my body before landing them back on mine.
I clicked my tongue in annoyance before averting my eyes, ignoring the blush that threatened to run across...
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CHAPTER NINE FRIENDLY NIGHT TALKS!
WHY DO PEOPLE SAY THE THINGS THEY DO?
The question has been spinning around in my mind since Friday night. As soon as I left the party, all I could think about was what he said. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe I was slutting myself out, did I do too much? Did I lead him on? What did I do for him to believe I wanted anything more than to dance?
For what is not the first time tonight, I feel the overwhelming urge to throw up. I roll off the side of my bed, a small hiss leaving my lips as my bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor. I ignore the low hums my phone makes, I know that if I take it—open my lock screen, I'll be overwhelmed with an onslaught of messages. Messages of if I was okay, what really happened, more or less; the truth. The vibrations make me feel crazy, I think I'm going crazy, I must be because I take my phone off the nightstand beside my bed and slip it into my shorts pockets.
What's wrong with me?
I knew the short hugs I gave Fallon and Soleil as I got out of the taxi weren't enough to calm their racing minds. I could tell from the frown pulling at Fallon's lips and the intense way Soleil listened to each and every word leaving my lips. They offered to stay and keep me company the rest of the weekend but I knew the consequences that would come with saying yes.
I was already in trouble for sneaking out without permission. More so because Aaron didn't bother sneaking out with me. The disappointed look my father gave me hurt more than the punishment and scolding my mother drilled into my head. I couldn't bear looking at him—wouldn't bear seeing the disappointed look in his brown eyes; the eyes I inherited. It was still there, two days after the party, he still couldn't look at me the same.
Shaking my head in hopes of ridding myself of these thoughts, I quietly leave my room to enter the hallway bathroom. I don't bother turning on the light, especially with how bright it was, the entire household would know I was awake. Which is something I wholly object too. Midnight struck two hours ago, I was supposed to be sleeping, energizing myself for the rough day ahead of me.
I stared at myself through the mirror. It's impossible to see through the dark, yet as I stare at my reflection I see enough. I preach about how so much has changed—how I have changed. But I haven't. I'm still the same insecure fifteen year old seeking validation from people who will do nothing but bring me down. This entire plan, this entire hoax on how I want to have my first kiss is not for me it's for them.
I do it for the sake of proving a point. I'm not the same fifteen year old. I'm not the girl Azalea Jones tragically bullied to the point where she did homeschooling for four months before returning back to school. Because that's all what people remember me as.
