Dying Girl & Bad Boy

I confess

I don't want anyone to read this... for many reasons which I will explain as I go through my final year in high school. Even though my story at some point might lack the moral invested within a human being, I have to let go and this is how I plan to do it.

If you are reading this and wondering why in the world you are reading a story about some teenager's senior year in high school, I wouldn't blame you. The one thing I ask of you is to keep an open mind while reading my story.

Please don't let the temptation to judge lure you in. All these events are facts to me; they are moments in my life I held most sacred.  And moments I do not dare to visit ever even by accident.

It was not my choice to share this private yet most publicly displayed subject of my life. I was forced to make my point. Which is that Jackson Pitch was a man-whore and that I did not by any means liked or loved him.

I have a lot of confessions and many of them are best kept a secret but in order to make my point I have to let whole hell lose.

***


It was fair to say my hormones were rather too high the night I begged when I say beg I meant literally going on all four and begging, Jackson to have sex with me. Now don't think I didn't understand what I was asking, I knew what I was asking was not right.

For God's sake I was not even asking I was begging like a desperate slut I was not. I was raised better, but I had a reason for asking Jackson to be my first, which I have to tell you when I find fit.

I knew he was in no state to make any rational judgment, but that did not stop me. I knew he had a girlfriend waiting downstairs yet I couldn't stop. I couldn't bring myself to be the good girl I was deep inside.

That night I was possessed by fear and I wanted Jackson. He was the right, I take that back, he was the perfect victim. He was hot beyond my fragile understanding of man's anatomy. He had the perfect crooked smile that melts girls of any type.

I was not affected by his manly appeals before that first-day school party. Sitting alone in the corner of who's ever house I in was in, my eyes raked over the intoxicated girls and boys around me. If I was to count how many of us could drink, I don't have to be a math genius to say only two people out of approximately one hundred and fifty students are legal to drink.

I was not one of those who could drink, but I have lost count of how many I had. I don't dance or make out in this parties I go to, I simply absorb the life within these strange people. I wouldn't recall one-fourth of the girls the next morning, but everyone knows who goes to this sinner parties.

I must have zoned out because I didn't notice the figure blocking my free entertainment. I slowly looked up, meeting very disoriented green eyes.

That was when for the first time I saw Jackson through other girls point of view. He was disturbing to look at, in my case stare at from the position I was in. If I was to look straight ahead I would be ogling his manhood. Which believe me when I say easier to stare at than his hooded green eyes.

He was just standing there and talking to a girl beside me. I am not sure why he chose to be in my way than hers, but I felt as if he didn't trust himself to be standing in front of her. Maybe it was the other way around; maybe he didn't trust the girl to keep her hands off his limited paradise.

Everyone knew Jackson was only open for ogling rather than actual screwing, but I was not feeling like being oppressed by a society that night. He shouldn't have been blocking my way. I was not myself that day, and I proved to be not myself when I snapped at Jackson to move his sorry ass somewhere else.