My Perfect Fairy Fail #Wattys2017

4.

It was only when I got home later that night, and the pounding in my brain had subsided somewhat, that I realized my bag- and all my books- were scattered at my unfortunate crash site. And what was worse than that, a million times worse, was that my diary just happened to be in my bag as well. Right now, someone probably had it and was reading it out loud and laughing at the top of their lungs. 

I cringed at the thought. It wasn't exactly my diary, per say, not in a traditional sense anyway. It was the place I wrote down my all initial reviews- with some private thoughts thrown in too. I'd been book blogging for years now; sometimes it felt like my only real interaction with the world outside of my house- besides college. 

Books and Roses- yeah, yeah, the name was kind of cheesy, but I'd chose it when I was sixteen and it was a romance blog after all. 

Ironic, I probably knew more about romance and good kisses and mind-blowing sex on tropical beaches than anyone around- and yet- I hadn't experienced it. Not even once. I can tell you, within the first page of meeting the hero, whether he is worthy and deserving of the heroines love! The perfect romantic lead has to be the perfect, and precise mixture of all the right ingredients; charm, good looks, just the right amount of mischevious and preferably well- endowed. Not that I knew anything about that either, but that always did seem preferable in romance novels.  I'd never heard any of the heroines ever refer to that specific part as 'cute as a button' or 'soft and squishy'. They usually used other words that inspired images of steel skyscrapers and anacondas and wild jungle beasts that couldn't be tamed even if you tried.

And right now, someone was probably reading my diary (and my various private thoughts on certain things that should remain private if possible) as I sat here and stared out the window of my second story bedroom. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't upload my latest review, since I'd lost all my notes. 

A sound in the garden made me look down. Another rat probably. They had all moved in two years ago when my father had let the garden go to ruin. It had been my mother's garden, her favorite place in the world, and after she, well, after she 'went away' my father wouldn't let anyone touch it again. Over the years her rose bushes had grown so big that they had completely blocked all the downstairs windows- no light penetrated those dark, gloomy halls anymore. The ivy had climbed up all the walls of the house and was now snaking its way across the roof. (The rats liked to use this as a kind of ratty motorway- running up and down it all night long) The grass was knee high, once neat daisies bushes were now more like unruly hedges and the fountain in the middle of the garden had grown moss and slime and was not just a breeding ground for mosquitos and other revolting things that bit you in the night. 

I climbed onto my bed and stared up at my ceiling. My thoughts drifted off to Ethan for a while. Once his beer buzz had worn off and he'd woken up in the morning, he'd probably look back on the night with a totally different perspective. He'd probably see me just as everyone else did, that quiet freak. The girl that never spoke to anyone. The girl that spent all her spare time reading in the library and writing reviews about romances she would never, ever have. The girl who lived in the house with the overgrown garden, and the girl with the tragic past she could never escape. 

**Thanks for reading, let me know if you are liking it

JOX