Three: Waiting For The Magazine

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Three: Waiting For The Magazine
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Song of the chapter:
No Such Thing by John Mayer
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"How was your last day of school?" Mark asked from across the dining room table. He wore a smile that showed he was genuine. He wanted to know how my day went.

"It was fine. I'm just glad it's over." I groaned, looking up at him from my dinner plate. He looked back down and took in a breath to say something else.

Without looking back up, he asked, "You going to miss your friends?"

Awkwardly, I looked down. I sometimes forgot that I lied to him about having friends. He thought I hung out with other people all the time when in reality, I only had about two friends. I never had a real boyfriend, but the guys at my old school in New York definitely took advantage of me. They would invite me to parties, get me wasted, then have their way with me. But the strange thing was that I didn't even care. I've come to the conclusion that that's all I'd ever be good enough for.

"Yeah, but I'll see them a lot over summer." I shrugged, sending out another lie.

For being a detective, he was kind of gullible when it came to my life. He thought everything was great, and I was recovering from my life back in New York miraculously. He had no idea about the fights outside of school that I would get into, the lack of friends I possessed, the self hating, and he definitely had no idea about the self harming. No one did because no one needed to know. It was my body, my life-- I could do whatever I wanted to with it.

"Have you seen that we have new neighbors?" He asked, wiping his mouth with his napkin. I remembered that I had seen a woman earlier this morning who was obviously moving in since she was carrying boxes. And then I saw the boy after school with the soft-spoken voice and chocolate brown eyes who saw me fall off my skateboard.

"No." I lied, looking down at my plate. I don't know why I lied about it, but obviously it didn't bother me. The whole conversation I'd been lying, so why tell the truth now?

"You should go over there. They're real nice people, you know." He declared.

I looked up at him, shooting a glare. "Yeah, you said the same thing about the Stilinski's."

A little after I moved in with Mark, he told me that the family down the street was really nice and I would get along well with their daughter, Rachel. Desperate to make at least one friend here, I went over there with him one night to meet them. I tried my hardest to be nice, regardless of my pre-judgment towards them about being stuck up like the rest of them. The first time I saw her, I knew she would be a problem. I remember thinking that Mark must have been high, thinking I would be friends with someone like her.

She had extremely long, straight bleach blond hair that looked almost white except for the dark roots peaking through at the top of her head and a bronzed skin tone that could easily be mistaken for a shade of orange. Her icy blue eyes scowled at me as if I was the most disgusting thing in the entire world, and her lips were painted a bubblegum pink as they formed into an unamused pout. I always thought she looked like a white trash Regina George from Mean Girls.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, covering up her pink sequined top. Her black skirt looked more like a belt since it was so short and her pink pumps elevated her about four inches.

Let's just say that no matter how hard I tried to be nice, she insisted on being a snooty bitch. I left the house later on without bashing her over the head with my dinner plate, but I was very close. It was when I saw her at school when I finally fulfilled my longing desire to beat the life out of her.

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