Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
GET HIM BACK ! ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂
chapter one, fuck the patriarchy 'n all
Everyday she felt like a tangled mess of tiredness and laziness, hardly ever taking care of her appearance and instead doing the bare minimum, her own perception of herself so far from everybody else's that they were polar opposites, one underlining the girl in a brightened light, while the other casted her to the shadows.
To everyone else at Hartley High, Maeve was an intertwined enigma of unpredictability and careless beauty; she could tumble out of bed, still partly drunk from a reckless night and draw everyone's attention in, make them momentarily pause, taking in the natural allure she gave off.
There was a certain buzz of exuberance one could feel if they got close enough to her, as if she radiated pure energy, leaving the other person intoxicated with her spark and seemingly longing for more, to feel her touch, to explore her on deeper levels.
She was the rebel, infused on teenage rebellion and rash decisions which were likely to blow up, but consequently creating the most bewitching destruction in result, making the whole impulsive idea worth it.
Her shirt clung tightly onto her body, being left unbuttoned near the top. Her hair had been let down, still soaked from the shower she took earlier this morning.
The paramount reason for her lack of effort when it comes to her looks is her mother. To her mother, Kiara Winters, nobody can be pretty enough. Her ignoring her appearance even though there could be press knocking at her door at any time is all a big 'fuck you!' to Kiara who wants her daughter to present herself in a polite, elegant way.
Like she is a doll.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," at that sudden voice, Maeve jumped and faced her mother who leant on the doorframe. Her mother was prettier than her in every way — chiselled jawlines, high cheekbones and make-up perfectly sitting on her face. Not a single hair out of place, not a single bone moving insolently upon her perfect posture. "Oh, M, you look like a mess."
"Thank you, mum." Almost like that was the point, Maeve rolls her eyes and stares back at her disorganised and rough self in the mirror.
"Let me dry it for you," her mother — Kiara Winters — dashes into the room uninvited.
Kiara had taken to drying her daughter's hair, revealing the volume it held among its wavy layers. Her face was decorated with mascara, lipstick and glitter in the corner of her eyes. Her mother decides to stuff her with a bit of pink blush on her cheekbones.
