lesbian ↠ g.d

01.

➸ emma
my thoughts. they're making me feel different and uncomfortable, they're not like my regular thoughts. when i see a girl thats pretty, or shows off how smart she is, i can't help but feel so many different ways.

confused,
flustered,
and attracted.

i was telling my parents about this and they told me "its just a phase". but i knew, from the moment a girl has accidentally brushed hands with mine, i was not straight. i was not like the other seventh graders.

i was..gay.

"girls like girls like boys do, no –" my arm stretched out and i hit my alarm clock, it took a few tries, but i finally shut it off.

my blond hair was all in my face and i quickly moved it out. i hated when my hair was in my face, it made me feel discomfort. my hands gripped the black blanket covering my body and i tossed it off me.

i pushed myself up and slowly looked around my room. ugh, it looked so boring. i had only one poster, and it was a doctor who one. it was placed above my bed and its been there since the first week i moved to LA. which was two years ago.

i have to remind myself to buy some stuff to make my room a little more yay and a little less yikes. i mentally laugh at myself for no reason and get up, pulling my basketball shorts down a bit.

i had a wedgie, don't jude, we all get those. after i fixed myself i went to the bathroom and did my business, i took a shower last night so i didn't have to take one right now.

i walk myself to my walk-in closet and pick out my outfit (above). i change in my closet and after that, i grab my shoes and place them beside my backpack. i brush my hair and did my makeup, which was a natural look.

i reached for my phone that was charging by my mascara bag, and saw the time. 7:12am. hmm, i actually have time to eat breakfast. i brush my hair with my fingers a little and open my room door, instantly smelling my mothers famous blueberry pancakes.

i jog down the big, long white steps with my hand sliding down the railing and skip the second to last step, almost running into the butler, mark.

"oh, dear!" i let out a laugh, helping him pick up the white towels.

"i'm so sorry miss parker! i didn't mean t –"

"don't worry mark, its fine. it was my fault anyway." i gave him a sweet smile and he returned the favor.

"well, i should get going. your father ordered me to hurry with the towels!" he exclaimed.

"don't fret, mark, my dad will be fine if you're just a few seconds late with his towels. trust me." i reassured before walking into the big kitchen, my mom sitting at the long table with a whine glass filled with milk, and pancakes on her plate. "morning mom." i peck her cheek.

"morning, sweetie." she smiles.

we have two chefs in our house, but my mother, being the sweetheart she is, decided to give them a week off. and if you didn't know already, which i'm sure you do, i'm rich. and i'm not trying to sound "snobby" or like i'm bragging, but its true.

my mom is a lawyer and my dad is a teacher. but my dad works two jobs, which is – being a teacher, and an artist. my family is not the kind of rich family that brag and hate on poor people, we're not like trump.

see, my parents were poor at one point. they know how it feels to be poor and be hated on by the rich, so we're not like that. i actually have a friend who doesn't live on the "rich side", though he doesn't live on the "poor side" as well..