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Realistic or Modern ๐’ฏ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐‘”๐“๐‘’๐’น ๐ป๐‘’๐’ถ๐“‡๐“‰๐“ˆ & ๐ป๐’พ๐’น๐’น๐‘’๐“ƒ ๐’ž๐“๐“Š๐‘’๐“ˆ

Reader mode


















Perpetually unlucky...





She despised having to sit here and just wait for her husband to return.
It made her feel so useless, and it made every agonizing second that ticked by hurt that much more.

Having grown up the daughter of a police officer, Ash knew how important those first few hours were. And she knew that CK was likely retrieving Jay right now, and everything would be alright. Except that there was some deep feeling in the pit of her gut, a feeling that she hadn't felt in twenty years, but that felt just as sickening as the first time.

Something wasn't right, and all she had to go off of was a gut feeling.

She couldn't breathe in here.

Ash opened the door to the car, and she slammed it behind her as she unlocked her phone and pulled up her father's contact. With a deep, shaky breath, she pressed the call button and put the phone to her ear as she started to walk away from the cars. The heels she wore were much harder to walk in when one's vision was obscured by tears, so she kicked them off before she kept going.

The phone rang and rang, and there was no answer. So she dialed again. And again. And again. And again.

And finally, on the fifth call through, it was answered.

"Hello?" her father's groggy voice sounded through the phone. "Do you know what time it is--"

"Jace is missing, dad," she said, and those series of words having to leave her mouth again just felt so incredibly... god, it was just fucked up. It stung, and speaking it aloud made the tears that were pricking at the edge of her vision start to pour down her cheeks, and Ash angrily wiped at the tears with the back of her free hand.

Silence.

"Ashton, that's not funny," her dad started. "You know how hard this day is on your mother and I, and it's even worse since today's the anniv--"

"No, dad, no," Ash choked on her words, "not... not your Jace. My Jace. Jay. My Jay, he's..." her legs buckled, and she fell to her knees in the gravel, "my son is missing." She whispered and oh fuck, if she'd thought the first time saying it aloud hurt, this time hurt so much more.

Silence again.

"Did you call the police? Where's Donna? And Chelsea?"

"CK's getting Donna right now, and Chelsea is at home with the babysitter. I called to make sure she's alright," she shook her head. "They... I dunno, Mason just came up and told us he was missing, and he won't answer his phone and... and... I'm so scared, dad, I'm so scared. I don't know what to do. We're getting Donna, but if he doesn't know where Jay is, I just-- I don't-- I don't know what to do."

All she really wanted was for Jay to suddenly call her back, with some dumb excuse about where he'd been and why he hadn't answered his phone, and she'd forgive him for the fear that was choking her right now. She just--

"Get Donna and go home," her father said, and she could hear the sounds of movement. "Lock all your doors. I'll get ahold of the station and handle this, alright?"

She nodded her head.

"Ash, Ashton, did you hear me?"

"Yeah," her voice cracked.

"Alright... I'll call you later," he said, followed by a brief pause, before he added; "I love you, kid."

"Yeah, yeah, same," she mumbled, sniffling, before the call ended.

Blankly, she stared at her phone, before she dropped it to the gravel and covered her face in her hands, before letting herself cry.

























it's ok if you forget me








โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 



















  • Just getting by





    "No, no, no, dad please, just--"


    He tried to ignore Ariana as he dragged her back towards the gate and home, but she kept pulling against his grip. Finally, he stopped and spun towards her. "Ariana, just fuckin' stop." he snapped. "We're goin' home -- end of story."

    "But I... can't I just say bye? I just wanna--" she started.

    "No," Mason cut her off, although he did hesitate briefly as he glanced back at Freud and his annoying ass son -- and any kind of hesitation that Mason might've felt was burned to a crisp when his gaze landed on that fucker. "No," he said, his voice more grounded this time, and he yanked Ari after him once more. "And you're not allowed to fuckin' talk to him ever again." he dropped his voice down low as he leaned over so that he was at his daughter's level -- all so that the Freuds wouldn't hear him. "That whole family is not fuckin' safe, got it?" He straightened back up, his voice once again rising in volume. "And I'm taking your phone. And you're grounded. And I'm taking the-- where the fuck is your car?"

    "I dunno -- Miles has the keys."

    Mason let out another annoyed breath. "We'll deal with it tomorrow," he grumbled as they made it back to the gate -- and he watched as Ari slipped back between the small opening of the gate, before he hoisted himself up and dragged himself over the fence once again. He was breathing a bit heavy as he landed on the other side, but he did it with a lot more grace than he did last time (as in, he didn't fall on his ass) before heading towards the car.

    He popped open the back door, glaring at Ari as he watched her climb into the backseat and wedge herself in next to her sister. Before he closed the car door, he fumbled to find the small switch to flip on the child's lock.

    "Are you kidding me right now?" Ari spat.

    "Don't fuckin' test me," he snapped as he slammed the door shut before opening his own and climbing into the driver's seat. And for a moment, he just took in deep breaths, and then he glanced in the rearview mirror at the faces of his kids. Sure, they might've all been mad at him right now, but at least they were safe.

    More than he could say for Freud and his family.

    He turned on his car, his headlights briefly illuminating the figures of Freud and his son as they exited the scrapyard, and then Mason put his car into drive and took off.

























    superman








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 
Last edited:


















  • jealous much?





    There were no Dad, I can explains that Donna offered.
    As the immediate adrenaline of being caught subsided slightly, Donna shrunk under his fatherโ€™s cold gaze.

    Donnaโ€™s chest was tight. His mind was swirling with questions. How did you find me? Why did you go looking?

    What do you mean that Jay is missing?

    Donna wasnโ€™t concerned or anything. Jay had the tendency to slip away and slip back in. So did Donna. Jay was gone doing something stupid that he wanted to be anonymous, or maybe he just wanted some alone time for once. Donna didnโ€™t really understand what missing could even mean in reference to his brotherโ€”or why his father seemed so freaked.

    His father started off without a word, and the silence was enough; Donna knew what to do. Without a sound, Donna followed after his father, ducking his head, his shoulders sunken, his face defeated.

    โ€œDonโ€™t ever see that girl again,โ€ Dad commanded.

    โ€œOkay,โ€ Donna said, his eyes watching the ground blur as he followed his father. Of course, Donna didnโ€™t mean it, but he knew what to say.

    โ€œI mean it,โ€ his father said, stopping. Donna glanced up toward his face and found his fatherโ€™s eyes boring into him; ashamed, his eyes flickered down immediately, and his shoulders hunkered even more. โ€œDonโ€™t ever see that girl again.โ€

    There were a thousand threats in his fatherโ€™s voice, and the brief look that Donna had stomached of his fatherโ€™s expression told him that he would carry through on each of those threats to the fullest extent.

    โ€œYes, sir,โ€ Donna muttered meekly, meaning it more this time, his face turning a darker red color.

    His father paused, then started to walk again.

    It was almost silent; the fire crackled in the distance. It would die in half an hour.

    Their footsteps crunched on the ground.

    Donna felt as though he was a little boy again, like he had tried on his fatherโ€™s big shoes and went running down the hallway, only to trip and fall and leave the shoes far behind as he came crying to his mother.

    Why did he ever think something like that would work? That messing with a chick like that would actually turn out okay? It was fun, you know, and he liked the thrill, and he liked her, but, now that he was being honest, he always knew that it would come crashing down eventually. That was part of the fun, he guessedโ€”part of the thrill, you know, the build up to the comedown. But he knew it from the startโ€”nothing ever lasted forever. It seemed like it would last longer this time, butโ€ฆ

    You played with fire, you got burned.

    (Who was the fire, though?)

    They stopped when they reached the gate, and his fatherโ€™s feet turned toward him. Hesitantly, Donna lifted his head to look at him.

    His father raised an eyebrow.

    Donna shrugged.

    His fatherโ€™s face remained unchanged.

    Donna shrugged again, more emphatically.

    There was a pause.

    Finally, Donna relented, sighing deeply, and started in the direction of a hole he and Jay had cut with wire cutters, about two-hundred feet back toward the eastern side of the gate.

    How his father knew that he had another way out was beyond him. Donna never even used the hole he madeโ€”it was less fun than it seemed it would be.

    Donna couldnโ€™t help but get an uneasy feeling as he continued to walk in silence with his dad. There was a heavy pressing on his chest to do something or say somethingโ€”to fill the tense, disproving silence with some sort of idle noise. Why are you being so weird about Jay? he wanted to ask, or maybe, So am I grounded? But neither one of those felt like the right thing to say.

    So Donna, only lifting his head slightly to see the hole in the gate come into view, muttered, โ€œIโ€™m sorry.โ€

    His father had no response; he only remained in disapproving silence.

    Donna shrank.

    When they came to the hole, Donna ducked through and his father followed. His father immediately moved to stand in front of him again, his tall, broad figure now casting a shadow over Donna and his path as they made their way back around to the front.

    Donna noticed several dark smudges on his fatherโ€™s always pristine shirt, and his brows knit in confusion.

    As they passed the entrance, this time on the outside, his father stooped and picked up an article of clothing that was laying beside the gate. He tossed it over his forearm. Donna finally recognized that it was a suit jacket.

    It would have been funny to imagine what had occurred to make it be in the place where it was, but nothing was really funny right now.

    Donnaโ€™s face and ears were bright, angry, embarrassed red as his father opened the back door of his fatherโ€™s vehicle. Dejectedly, he crawled into the backseat, already realizing the lack of point in protesting this treatment.

    His mother got out as his father tossed her the keys and spoke a few short commands to her, and then, the door slammed and the car was entirely silent.

    The car was silent for several long moments.

    Donna waited with bated breath and tense muscles for what his father would say.

    It was silent.

    Donna lowered his eyes to the floor. โ€œIโ€™m sorry,โ€ he mumbled again.

    Silence, and then:

    โ€œYou always have to say something, donโ€™t you?โ€ his father said coldly, before turning on the vehicle, shifting the car into drive, and turning onto the road.

























    how bad can i be?








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 
THROWBACK TIME
  • Index


















    • i know you want me.





    Nicola Abrams was having a, like, really, really rough day.
    It wasnโ€™t easy being in cheer and at the top of her class and in the choir and in the chamber choir and being, like, really hot and having the boyfriend that everyone was very obviously so jealous of. Like, it was just really stressful, and then, on top of it, her boyfriendโ€™s crazy ex couldnโ€™t keep Nickieโ€™s name out of her whore mouth, and so it was everything that Nickie could do not to swing on a bitch.

    So, like, things were really, really hard.

    The stuff that the girl said kept coming into her mind all day, too. Like, it was some really fucking mean stuff that, likeโ€ฆNickie was totally not actually bothered byโ€”โ€ฆbut also, likeโ€ฆ

    It wasnโ€™t true, right?

    Even throughout cheer practice, Nickie found herself distracted. Which, like, she still fucking killed it because duh butโ€ฆwellโ€ฆ

    Basically, if Angeline had still been around to be the cheer captain, Nickie probably wouldnโ€™t have made it through alive.

    But also, Angie was a bitch and Nickie was glad sheโ€™d graduated.

    Speaking of graduated bitchesโ€ฆ

    Nickieโ€™s eyes scanned the bleachers. Secretly, she hoped that she wouldnโ€™t find her โ€œtotal bestieโ€ in the stands, butโ€ฆalas, the recent graduate Adriane Holloway was seated right where she always was, watching the football players practice like she always did, and Nickie felt her heart give a little self-conscious squeeze. Suddenly, Nickie was a little bit sick to her stomach. โ€œShit,โ€ she mumbled, ducking under the bleachers.

    She drew in a deep breath and did a smell test under her armpits, checking that the extra layers of deodorant sheโ€™d applied after her brief freshening up after practice were still doing their job. She brushed the sides of her hair in to make sure that there were no flyaway hairs. Did she look okay? I mean, sheโ€™d reviewed herself beforehand so that, you know, the boys got a good viewโ€”so that, you know, like, he got a good viewโ€”but, like, a stone cold bitchโ€™s eye was different than a horny teenaged boyโ€™s.

    Finally, she decided that she must look okay enough to step out, and, putting on a bright smile, she slipped out from underneath the bleachers as casually as she could and pretended to just be walking up from the gate, making her way properly to the front of the bleachers. Turning around to pull herself up through the front guards of the bleachers, Nickie pretended to just now notice Adriane, and she excitedly waved to her. โ€œAdriane!โ€ she called, hoping that it also caught the football playersโ€™ attentions.

    She pulled herself up and threw her legs over the guard rails, and then pranced up to where Adriane sat. โ€œDโ€™ya just get off from, likeโ€ฆโ€ What did Adriane do again? โ€œWork or something or whatever?โ€ Nickie smiled as sweetly as she could. โ€œYou are so pretty. Itโ€™s literally not even fair.โ€

    And it was trueโ€”Adriane was so pretty, as always, and it literally wasnโ€™t even fair.

    Nickie plopped down next to Adriane, throwing her cheer duffle bag and her backpack down as well. Nickie was long past the point of making up excuses as to why she came to the football practices. It was usually just her and Adriane at them besides the players and the coaches, so when Nickie first started coming to these practices after cheer a couple of months ago, she would explain to Adriane, unsolicited, in a very long-winded way, the reason for her being at the practice. Once, mother was late picking her up (Nickie walked to school, as she only lived a couple of blocks away); another time (for a couple of weeks, actually), she was observing for a school project, and then, for the next week, a passion project, butโ€ฆsheโ€™d given up on that eventually.

    Nickie paused at length. There was the sound of the boys in the background, and Nickie awkwardly eyed Adriane.

    The pressing question, prompted by the bitch who wouldnโ€™t shut up earlier, kept nagging at Nickieโ€™s mind.

    Nickie kept eyeing Adrianeโ€™s face, the question bursting at the seams of Nickieโ€™s mind, pressing up and up and up untilโ€”

    โ€œYou donโ€™t think Iโ€™m whiny, do you?โ€ Nickie asked. โ€œLikeโ€”like, some random bitch said I was earlier, but Iโ€™m so not. She said I was an ugly whiny bitch who was dating a cheater but, like, Saint would never do that to me and, like, Iโ€™m so tired of jealous people saying shit like thatโ€”like, itโ€™s crazy. Like, Iโ€™m not whiny, right?โ€

























    What Was I Made For?








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     
  • Index


















    • Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.





    Every day blurred into every other.
    Every class was the same as the next, and the next class was the same as three weeks beforeโ€”if Donahue even went to class, which he didnโ€™t most of the time. Whether he was โ€œin schoolโ€, whether it was the weekend, whether it was the summer or the winter or the fall, every day was so smudged together that it was all nonsense, all gibberish, all nonsensical.

    But it had never made sense, even when it โ€œmade senseโ€, even when there was an โ€œorderโ€, even when there was โ€œless crowdingโ€. It was always always-chaos, and never not-chaos. It was always signing his name and turning it in or not turning it in and either way knowing that the world arbitrarily who would succeed and who would fail by the arbitrary standards of success and failure.

    He was arbitrarily chosen to fail, from the very start, because his conception was accidental and the name choice was from the lack of creativity. His motherโ€™s maiden name was Donahue, so his name became Donahue Calvin, which became DC, which became Donna. And none of it mattered.

    The concoction of drugs that Donna had ingested was now eating his veins, pumping his heart itself. His faceโ€”inhumanโ€”felt like dough under his fingers.

    A girl sat down beside him. Donna blinked his heavy eyelids. He tried to search his mind for why she was here, beside him, when last he remembered school was over. โ€œWho are you?โ€ he asked dully, in his monotone way, his eyes struggling a bit to focus on her face.

























    hell is where i dreamt of u and woke up alone








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     


















    Nothing less than perfection...





    Trevor. Wanted. To. Rip. Out. His. Fecking. Hair.


    Ya know, when he was in Irelandโ€”what was it, three or four years ago now?โ€”he was jovial. Joyous, even. Happy as a clam. He had friends, ya know, happy company, lots of good and decent people to be around. But not in America.

    In America, there was no one fecking decent. No one knew anything, either. They all spouted bullshite and then would laugh at himโ€”himโ€”when he reacted to it. They never even fecking considered that they were the issues to begin with. They thought they owned everything, they thought that everything was theirs, and their grubby little hands were obsessed with poking in places where they did not belong.

    And even his lovely grandparents, though pure-blooded Irish, were corrupted by America. Trevor swore. Even though his grandmother insisted (very loudly) that he was far too young to remember the time before they moved, Trevor remembered them being so much kinder and more loving when they were in Ireland than they were now. Now, they were constantly up his arse and yelling at himโ€”and for fecking what?

    Feck this.

    โ€œFresh air, Sean,โ€ his grandmother had nagged at the end of a long speech of everything that was wrong with Trevorโ€™s life, โ€œfresh air will help ya witโ€™ your tension, ya know. Take yourself outside.โ€

    She didnโ€™t have to tell him twice; anyplace away from his grandmother was Heaven.

    After walking for a bit, Trevor found himself at an empty park and, figuring it as good of a place as any, he approached a swingset, surveyed the seats for which one appeared less germ-ridden, and lowered himself onto the seat very carefully. When he sat, his feet sat flat on the ground, his knees inclined up toward his chest.

    He heaved a deep sigh, closing his eyes, and he said aloud, โ€œLife. Fecking. Sucks.โ€

























    pick your poison








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     


















    smile





    He was waiting.
    Not for anything in particular-- well, it was for something, or someone, in particular, but with hours stretching ahead of him of waiting (or something like that -- he kinda lost track of what time he was), Nate found himself inexplicably bored.

    Well, not bored, 'cause he had something to keep him occupied. Except that he was pretty sure he'd just so happened to of lost his lighter somewhere in the park, although he definitely hadn't lost it today, 'cause he didn't regularly get high in the park (that was just a shitty thing to do, what with kids running all over the place).

    (Not that going along with societal norms and thinking about the children was something Nate really generally did -- he often, actually, did the total opposite.)

    Scratching his head with one hand, he tapped his unlit blunt against the side of his leg. Nothing. Nothing. With a frown, he lifted his head up, eyes kind of squinting as he glanced around for someone that looked like they might have a light, he found... nothing at this unbearable hour. Except for some dorky kid, sitting on the swingset.

    Did eight year olds generally have lighters?

    Well, he was 'bout to find out.

    Nate hid the blunt once again in his pocket, before approaching the kid.

    "Hey, hey, you-- kid, yeah, you," he called, his voice kind of a low whisper as he approached the kid. "Hey do you got a ah... you got a lighter on you?"

























    superman








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     


















    Sorry, wasn't listening





    It wasn't that Adriane didn't have better things to do,
    because she totally did. But watching Mason and his silly little team play on the football field made it happy for whatever reason, so... she was here. Plus, who was she kidding? She liked the attention from some of the other players on the team.

    She might've been "dating" Mason, but she was still only human.

    (And yeah, maybe she'd cheated on him once or twice. He didn't know, so no harm, no foul.)

    "Find a job yet?" Mason asked. He was standing in front of the bleachers, his arms crossed and resting on the bar that separated the players from the fans, with his head resting on his arms.

    Adriane sighed, rolling her eyes as she leaned back against the bleachers, and stretched her legs out in front of her. "No," she said, pulling her gaze away from him as a tight-lipped frown took over. "I wish you'd just trust me -- like, I'm gonna get that job in New York, you know? Or if not there, I'll go to, like, Chicago or California or something."

    "With what money?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes in response. "Just, for the time being, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to get a job, and maybe save up a little--"

    "I'll be fine." Adriane snapped. She glanced out towards the field, where the rest of his team was gathering. "Go do your stupid practice," she mumbled. "Before Freud kills you."

    He clearly wasn't pleased with her reaction, but he didn't argue as he turned and jogged out to the field, and Adriane was left alone on the bleachers to fume in silence. Just how she liked it.

    ... Until that annoying, nosey little bitch came up.

    โ€œDโ€™ya just get off from, likeโ€ฆ Work or something or whatever?โ€

    She glowered down at the little bitch. Mason totally sent her.

    โ€œYou are so pretty. Itโ€™s literally not even fair.โ€

    "I know," Adriane responded, and that was why she refused to get a job around here. No, she had her gaze set simply on the fame scene. Money, wealth, power, modeling. That had been her goal for years, and she wasn't going to let some boy who had braces until he was fifteen tell her what to do.

    Nickie sat down next to Adriane, and Adriane's glare intensified.

    โ€œYou donโ€™t think Iโ€™m whiny, do you?โ€ Nickie asked. โ€œLikeโ€”like, some random bitch said I was earlier, but Iโ€™m so not. She said I was an ugly whiny bitch who was dating a cheater but, like, Saint would never do that to me and, like, Iโ€™m so tired of jealous people saying shit like thatโ€”like, itโ€™s crazy. Like, Iโ€™m not whiny, right?โ€

    The name Saint rang no bells, but it would make sense since Nickie also rang zero bells.

    "Well," Adriane said, her previously soured mood having just soured all the more. "She wasn't wrong. A guy named Saint? No way he's actually a saint, and I wouldn't blame him for cheating on you. I mean, like, your voice is so grating and there's so many girls that are way prettier than you."

    What? She wasn't going to beat around the bush, because doing that might just encourage the little leech to keep sticking to her.

























    fast car








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     


















    Is there anyone?





    School had been absolutely hell,
    as it was every day of his life.

    He'd thought that by now, school would've turned over some kind of new leaf and he'd be having some kind of fun in what every adult around him impressed was supposed to be the "best year of his life." Except things had somehow gotten worse after Mike (literally his only friend) had graduated, and Jace had found himself fading even further into the distance.

    So was it really any surprise that, with his headphones on, and the blink-182 album that he'd been listening to on repeat placed in his CD player (which had to be held just right or it would begin to skip), that his wandering around town inevitably brought him to the gas station that Mike worked at.

    It was pretty much the same place he came... every day after school. The woman who worked here would always look at him kind of suspiciously when he'd show up, realize Mike wasn't there, and promptly turn around and walk right back out. She probably thought he was some kind of punk that was scoping the place out.

    (Jace thought he looked a lot cooler and more bad boy than he did in actual reality.)

    Today, however, was lucky. A smile was on Jace's face as he saw Mike behind the register, and he pulled the headphones off his head and dropped them around his neck. He turned off the CD player, before unzipping his bag and carefully slipping it inside.

    "Hey," he said to Mike, rather breathless as he walked up to the counter. "What's ahh... what's up?"

























    tik tok








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     


















    Nothing less than perfection...





    First, Trevor tried deep breathing.
    Ya know, the thing that the school counselor always preached whenever she did her unfortunately routine evaluation of his mental status.

    โ€œTrevor, you need to work on your stress management,โ€ she would say. โ€œHere, try this with me: Inโ€ฆoutโ€ฆinโ€ฆoutโ€ฆโ€

    Inโ€ฆoutโ€ฆinโ€ฆoutโ€ฆ

    This was sort of relaxing. Listening to the wind rustling through the trees, the soft squee of the swing sets chains as he shifted his feet on the ground, the cars driving by on the pavementโ€ฆ

    The cars, the grinding of the wheels against the groundโ€”and far off, a siren, and then another car speeding by, far above the speed limitโ€”

    Inoutโ€ฆinoutโ€ฆ

    He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and biting the inside of the cheek, mentally scolding himself for a moment before relaxing his body and trying again.

    Inโ€ฆoutโ€ฆinโ€ฆoutโ€ฆ

    โ€ฆ?

    The sound of footstepsโ€ฆ?

    Inoutโ€ฆinoutโ€ฆ

    "Hey, hey, youโ€”kid, yeah, you.โ€

    Inoutinoutinoutโ€”

    Feck itโ€”could he never fecking win?

    He tried to ignore the voice at first, squeezing his eyes tighter shut as his grating headache threatened to come back at the sound of another humanโ€™s voice, but by the time the fella said the second you, Trevor was so wound up that he just burst, opening his eyes and jerking his head up toward the voice, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth threatened to break.

    โ€œHey do you got a ahโ€ฆyou got a lighter on you?โ€ the fella asked.

    Trevor blinked, astounded and pissed that the fella was even talking to him. He looked over his shoulders to make sure that there wasnโ€™t some other โ€œkidโ€ that he was talking to, but the park was just as vacant as it had been the probably half hour before that heโ€™d arrived.

    His brows knitting together in almost offense, he asked, โ€œWell, whatโ€™re ya asking me for? I look like Iโ€™d have one?โ€

























    pick your poison








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     


















    Fuck off





    She'd missed a few days of school already,
    but her mother insisted that she was fine now and needed to get back to school. That there was no reason for her to keep moping around the house, mourning her cousin that had recently passed away.

    Ava strongly disagreed with her mom -- she thought that she still needed some time, because turning her back into the general populace of a group of students that she already disliked when she was already upset would really just turn out badly for everyone involved. And sure enough, she'd already been threatened several times with detention or suspension.

    The only thing keeping her record clean was her stellar grades, and the whole cousin passing away.

    Speaking of those grades, she'd spent the last part of the day trying to hunt down DC or Donna or Hugh or whatever the hell his name was, so they could discuss their project for history. Which she was sure would find her doing all the work, but maybe she could squeeze a paragraph or two out of him.

    As she dropped into the seat next to him, placing their classroom books on the desk in front of them, his response just further soured her mood.

    "Seriously?" she asked, clearly irritated as she spoke. "Ava. Sanders. We've got the history paper together and you-- we've literally gone to school together for years."

    Unfortunately, this wasn't her first time having to work with him as a project partner.

    Hopefully it would be the last, though.

























    fast car








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     
    Last edited:


















    i know you want me.





    Nickie frowned deeply at Adrianeโ€™s comments,
    her heart giving a hurt squeeze. For a moment, there was a flitting expression on her face like she was about to cry, but then she remembered that Adrianeโ€™s sense of humor (as best as Nickie could tell) was being mean to people and usually didnโ€™t involve, like, the actual truth about the person, you know. Like, Nickie didnโ€™t know Adriane that well, but she knew Angie, and Angie and Adriane were basically the same, so, likeโ€ฆanyway, Nickie decided that she wouldnโ€™t take it personally this time.

    (She would definitely cry about it later.)

    Nickie forced a laugh, brushing Adriane on the arm. โ€œYouโ€™re such, like, a bitch. But, like, in a good way.โ€

    She pointed toward the field at number 92, who removed his helmet to reveal his gorgeous face. โ€œLook at him!โ€ Nickie gushed, looking at Adriane. โ€œLike, total hottie.โ€ And then, very quickly, โ€œDonโ€™t say anything, because thatโ€™s weird because heโ€™s, likeโ€ฆmy boyfriend and also youโ€™re old, but likeโ€”โ€œ Her dreamy smile resumed, and she put her hand in her palms. โ€œLook at himโ€ฆ,โ€ she repeated dreamily; her eyes drifted to number 12, and her smile became even sappier. โ€œIsnโ€™t he so hot?โ€

    She stared for a moment at the boys on the field, completely absorbed in her daydreams. If she was in a cartoon, sheโ€™d have big gigantic hearts growing out of her headโ€”

    But they popped as she remembered that she was with Adriane.

    She straightened up, turning her head back toward Adriane. โ€œAnyway, it was that bitch, likeโ€ฆโ€ Nickieโ€™s brows knit together as she recalled her name, and then she crossed her arms and, bold-faced lying, said, โ€œI donโ€™t even remember her name. But likeโ€ฆโ€ She rolled her eyes. โ€œCame up to me acting like she was gonna slap me because her man cheated on her with me, apparently? Before we got together? And now sheโ€™s saying that my man is cheating on me with someone.โ€ She shrugged, pretending to be unbothered.. โ€œAll of those are lies, though, soโ€ฆshe can go, like, suckโ€ฆit. A dick, I mean.โ€

    She couldnโ€™t think of anything more creative to say.

    Nickie sighed. โ€œBut whatever. Everyoneโ€™s always fucking jealous of me, and, likeโ€ฆitโ€™s whatever.โ€

    Her eyes wandered to the field and caught on number 11, who was removing his helmet for a drink of water. She sighed. โ€œCK would literally be so hot if he didnโ€™t have a womanโ€™s name. Like, not that I wouldnโ€™t, like, kiss him or whatever but likeโ€ฆI mean, heโ€™s still hot. But, likeโ€”Ash?โ€ Her total bestie. โ€œLike, I donโ€™t understand why she would ever even, like, be caught dead, like, dating that guy. I mean, he is rich or whatever, butโ€”his name is Chelsea.โ€

























    What Was I Made For?








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     
    Last edited:


















    if i could, i would feel nothing.





    Normally, Michael Reid liked to start things out by complaining
    about women, vehicles, assorted assholes, a lack of alcohol, or any number of things, but, if he was being honest, he wasnโ€™t feeling much like complaining today.

    He knew, he knewโ€”the world had to be ending, right?

    But there was nothing particularly noticeable today that was anymore hellish than the day before had been.

    Heโ€™d sort of accepted his life at this point. Once you get over the initial shock and mount the curve of accepting that youโ€™re going to be a gas station attendant for the foreseeable futureโ€ฆya know, you accepted that life was hell and drank copious amounts of beer to drown out the misery. Hey, it was what it was.

    At least he and Woods got to live together. That was really the only highlight.

    Well, that, the beer, and the girls who would stay over a couple of nights, ya know. Mike was still irresistibly fucking sexy, so women came fairly easily (especially those who didnโ€™t know his occupation).

    Anyway, it was another slow day, and Mike had just finished his pack of cigarettes in his smoke break ten minutes ago but was itching to take another, when the doorbell rang with the entrance of a customer.

    Chewing on a toothpick, Mike sat his chair back on all fours from its leaning position and took his feet off of the counter, though he didnโ€™t really try to appear professional.

    Good thing he didnโ€™t go through all of the professional effort, either, because it was just West.

    โ€œHey,โ€ West said. โ€œWhatโ€™s ahhโ€ฆwhatโ€™s up?โ€

    โ€œHey, Pisser,โ€ Mike said casually, leaning back in his seat and looking away disinterestedly. โ€œIโ€™m just doing my job, West. Do you need gas or something? You can prepay here. We donโ€™t do the whole โ€™service up your assโ€™ thing, youโ€™ve got to pump it yourself.โ€

























    double








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     


















    Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.





    The longer he looked at the girlโ€™s sort-of-swimming face,
    the more familiar it looked, but he couldnโ€™t quite place where from.

    โ€œSeriously?โ€ she asked.

    Donna blinked. โ€œIโ€™m clearly serious,โ€ he said bluntly.

    โ€œAva.โ€

    โ€œI donโ€™t know an Ava,โ€ Donna said.

    โ€œSanders.โ€

    He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. The sensation sent shivers down his spine, so he did it again, very slowly, smiling very slightly for a fleeting moment before drawling, โ€œI thought it was Avaโ€ฆโ€ He sighed deeply, leaning back in his seat. He noted a stray pencil on the ground. โ€œAm I supposed to know who you areโ€ฆ? You say your name like itโ€™s some important thingโ€ฆโ€

    โ€œWeโ€™ve got the history paper together and youโ€”weโ€™ve literally gone to school together for years,โ€ (the one who was apparently name) Ava said.

    Disinterested, Donnaโ€™s eyes remained focused on the pencil. Could he move it with his mind? For some reason, he felt like he could. โ€œThat just shows how unimportant you must be, then. I donโ€™t remember you,โ€ he said. The pencil, he willed, would move toward him once he touched his tongue to his teeth. He touched his tongue to his teeth; nothing happened. โ€œWhat is this...history paperโ€ฆ? I thought this was the science classroomโ€ฆโ€

























    hell is where i dreamt of u and woke up alone








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     


















    smile





    At the kid's comment, Nate straightened up.


    "Yeah, he commented blandly, "dorks never had lights. You're right."

    Only the cool loser potheads like himself and Mike ever did, or occasionally the jocks on the football team who were really only there to catch the eye of some girls. And, of course, there were always a creep or two who carried lighters just to make themselves look cool -- and this kid just about hit that target, although he clearly fell a few inches short. For now, anyway. If he tried hard, he'd surely reach it.

    (Creep status, that was.)

    "Seen a lighter 'round here?' Nate asked instead, as he started kicking around in the sand of the kids' playground. As if his lighter would still be here. And no, he hadn't even left it in the playground, but who knew where the wind had blown it since his last visit?

    It was a miracle that he'd graduated with his diploma at all.

    "Lost mine," he explained. "Need it." he added, as a sad hand patted his pocket.

    He glanced back in the direction of the swing set kid.

    "Aren't you kinda old to be swinging?"

























    superman








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     


















    Sorry, wasn't listening





    Nickie was the stereotype that you thought of when you thought of young high school girl,
    with how she was gushing over the guys on the football field. Adriane simply rolled her eyes, and she was glad that she had never been that... annoying.

    And then Nickie called her old, and Adriane's eyes narrowed down at the girl. Her gaze followed Nickie's, although clearly Nickie's had drifted from their original target since 92 was on one side of the field, and Nickie's eyes were focused on the further end. She raised a curious eyebrow, wondering which one of the boys Nickie had her eye on -- mostly because now all that Adriane really wanted to do was go find the guy and convince that Nickie was, like, a weird stalker bitch.

    (Or make out with him -- whichever was easiest.)

    "He's okay," her tone still tense with annoyance. "But I guess I'm partial to 12. Maybe because, I dunno, I'm sleeping with him or... whatever." The whatever meant dating, although Adriane had never been one that was super good with labels. She really only used the b-word (you know, boyfriend) when she was intent on getting someone to leave her alone.

    And even then, it rarely worked -- unless she tossed out his name, and then it occasionally worked better.

    โ€œAnyway, it was that bitch, likeโ€ฆโ€ Nickie started her story, and Adriane groaned, โ€œI donโ€™t even remember her name. But likeโ€ฆโ€ She rolled her eyes. โ€œCame up to me acting like she was gonna slap me because her man cheated on me with her, apparently? Before we got together? And now sheโ€™s saying that my man is cheating on me with someone... All of those are lies, though, soโ€ฆshe can go, like, suckโ€ฆit. A dick, I mean.โ€

    "She's probably going to suck your boyfriend's," Adriane answered blatantly, as she examined her nails -- you know, to try and look more disinterested so the girl would leave her the fuck alone. "His dick, I mean." She added on. "You know what they say -- once a cheater, always a cheater."

    She was, of course, speaking from her experience of, well, being a bit of a cheater.

    โ€œCK would literally be so hot if he didnโ€™t have a womanโ€™s name. Like, not that I wouldnโ€™t, like, kiss him or whatever but likeโ€ฆI mean, heโ€™s still hot. But, likeโ€”Ash? Like, I donโ€™t understand why she would ever even, like, be caught dead, like, dating that guy. I mean, he is rich or whatever, butโ€”his name is Chelsea.โ€

    Ash rang zero bells, but Chelsea rang several because he was hot, and Adriane wasn't blind.

    She dropped her hand, so that she could look out at the field and, more importantly, at CK.

    "Your name is literally Nick -- which you don't pull off. But like, he totally pulls off Chelsea." Kind of -- it did remind her of this annoying blonde bitch from a different school who'd definitely had a boob job before she'd even graduated. "Plus, like you said, he's rich. I'd date a rich guy no matter what his name was."

    She frowned.

    "Sucks that he's taken."

    You know, forgetting that, again, she was technically with someone.

























    fast car








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     


















    Just getting by





    Girlfriends could be real bitches,
    but Mason was over it. He'd press Adriane about the whole getting her life together thing later, when he wasn't busy with getting his life together. Because obviously, his only real chance of getting out of this godforsaken hell hole of a city was if he managed to get a scholarship out of here.

    And no one was going to stand in the way of that -- least of all fucking Freud, who'd thrown such a fit about Mason rightfully being team captain that they'd been made co-captains. Which wasn't a fucking thing, but whatever appeased the dickhead, whiny asshole.

    (That wasn't at all how things had happened, of course, but Mason had his own take on it.)

    He picked up his helmet, and jogged out to the center of the field where everyone was gathering -- without him, because Freud just loved to try and push him out of this kind of shit.

    Or... everything, really.

    "What's the plan?" he asked Freud as he pushed his way to the front. He hated having to ask the fucker that, but--

    Listen, he'd had a lot on his mind recently.

























    superman








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     


















    Nothing less than perfection...





    Trevor was confused as to why he was being ridiculed by a random adult man.


    He was fourteen years old.

    This man was decidedly not fourteen years old.

    For a moment, Trevor considered pulling the, Back away, Iโ€™ll sic the cops on you, card to get his alone time back, but then he realized that he didnโ€™t have any money to pay for a phone booth and also, he guessed it wasnโ€™t really a crime to be standing in a public park, so that idea lost steam pretty quickly.

    โ€œSeen a lighter โ€˜round here?โ€ the guy asked, kicking around in the sand.

    โ€œWhy would I have seen a lighter around here?โ€ Trevor asked, his face contorted in genuine confusion.

    โ€œLost mine,โ€ the man offered as an explanation. โ€œNeed it.โ€

    Trevorโ€™s lip lifted up in a scowl. โ€œYou smoke?โ€ Cigarettes were fecking revolting.

    The man looked back in his direction. โ€œArenโ€™t you kinda old to be swinging?โ€

    โ€œSays the grown man in a childrenโ€™s park,โ€ Trevor said bluntly, his brows knitting in frustration as he watched the fella kick around some of the rocky sand. But because he had nothing better to doโ€”mostly to get the guy away so he could resume his peace and quietโ€”Trevor stood up from his seat on the swing and began to search the sand with the man.

    โ€œWhere did you lose it?โ€ Trevor asked, kicking around in the sand. His eye caught on a used bandage, a toy soldier, an ancient gummy bear. He got nauseated for a moment by the absolute filth and had to look away, blindly nudging sand around with his feet.

    The toe of his worn tennis shoe touched on something hard. When he looked down, Trevor found crusty looking rectangle of plastic. Trying to keep his disgust off of his face, he looked at the fella. โ€œI think I found yourโ€ฆโ€™lightโ€™ or whatever.โ€ Weirdo.

























    pick your poison








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     


















    i know you want me.





    Nickie blinked in confusion.
    Adriane wasnโ€™t really, like, smart, was she. Or maybe she was joking againโ€”Nickie genuinely couldnโ€™t tell. Assuming the latter, she forced a little laugh and smile. โ€œMy name is Nicola. Nickieโ€™s, like, a nickname?โ€ she explained. โ€œBecause, like, Nicolaโ€™s, likeโ€ฆthree syllables so Nickieโ€™s a shorter version of that, you know.โ€

    โ€œBut like, he totally pulls off Chelsea,โ€ Adriane continued.

    Nickie puckered up her lips, looking back at CK on the field, where he stood, now saying something to the coach. โ€œUhmโ€ฆ,โ€ she said, squinting her eyes and considering Adrianeโ€™s claim. CK was, like, super hot, soโ€ฆ โ€œI guess he does, maybe?โ€

    โ€œPlus, like you said, heโ€™s rich,โ€ Adriane said. โ€œIโ€™d date a rich guy no matter what his name was. Sucks that heโ€™s taken.โ€

    โ€œYou like rich guys? But you date Mason?โ€ Nickie blurted, but she brushed past it immediately with a huff, propping her elbow up on her knee and her head up on her hand. โ€œBut yeah, it, like, sucks that heโ€™s taken. Likeโ€ฆโ€ She sighed deeply, frowning, and then, realizing how it all looked, she clarified (rather too defensively), โ€œN-Not that Iโ€™m, like, looking at him like that or anything. Like, Iโ€™m, like, super dedicated to Saint. But likeโ€ฆI mean, I do have eyes.โ€

    A scrawny kid ran across the field, tripping over his own feet as he carried a case of green water bottles over to some football players at the far corner.

    Nickie snickered and pointed to him. โ€œYou know thatโ€™s Ian Hansen. Like, Roryโ€™s brother. You know Rory, right? Like, wasnโ€™t she in something with you? Anyway, he runs like a freaking chicken with its head cut offโ€”itโ€™s hilarious. And he looks like heโ€™s seven, even though heโ€™s, likeโ€ฆtwelve or something. I canโ€™t believe they let him be the water boy.โ€

























    What Was I Made For?








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     


















    day by day...





    There were two types of people in the world: the conquerors and the conquered.
    The conquerors woke up every morning and took the day by its throat, forcing it into submission by sheer force of will, and the conquered trembled under their feet. Sometimes, the conquered would try and ascend, and they would claw and scratch and play dirty, but the conquerors, effortless, would crush them down easily, grinding them to dust.

    Chelsea Kader Freud was a born conqueror; it was in his blood. His golden pedigree was comprised solely of cunning, formidable forefathers. His great-great-great-grandfather, Wilhelm Freud emigrated from Germany in the year 1816, eighteen years of age, penniless, carrying with him only his fatherโ€™s pistol, a couple of rounds for it, and true grit and determination. He managed to make enough to found Freud Bank in the year 1846; he was killed in an illegal duel eight years later and succeeded by his eldest son, Samson Freud. With each generation, Freud Bank (later, Freud Bank and Trust) grew in prestige, and its owners (later, its CEOs) accumulated more and more wealth with the passing time. Samson Freud was succeeded by his eldest son, Chelsea Freud; Chelsea Freud was succeeded by his eldest son, Amory Freud; Amory Freud was succeeded by his eldest son, Dominic Freud.

    And Dominic Freud would be succeeded by his eldest son, Chelsea Freud. That was what was to be; it was indisputable.

    The conqueredโ€”especially the conquered pig-headed fucking assholesโ€”tended to not like the fact that Chelsea was a conqueror. A prime example of this in the wild was that of Mason Rivera, who bitched at the fucking coach so much about not being team captain that the coach suddenly fucking invented the term co-captain.

    CK Freud didnโ€™t fucking share with anyone; this co-captain shit, he was determined, wouldnโ€™t last long.

    โ€œThanks, Coach,โ€ CK said, finishing his conversation with his coach and reaching down for a water bottle before running to the center of the field. Putting two fingers between his teeth and curling up his tongue, he let out a reverberating whistle, calling the other guys to gather around.

    The other players quickly huddled up. โ€œAlright, so weโ€™re going to be doingโ€”โ€œ

    โ€œWhatโ€™s the plan?โ€ Rivera fucking rudely interrupted, shoving his way into the center of the circle with CK.

    โ€œYou decided to show up,โ€ CK said flatly, and he brushed him off, addressing the boys around them again. โ€œForm Tackling Drill,โ€ he commanded. โ€œPair up. Work on tacklesโ€”proper form and execution, thatโ€™s your focus. You remember what Coach said last timeโ€”weโ€™re too sloppy with it. Drive through the ball carrier with your shoulderโ€”your head up. Wrap up securely.โ€ He looked at Rivera. โ€œWhatโ€™re you doing standing there? Get in line, Rivera,โ€ he said snidely to him in his monotone voice, low enough for the others not to hear. โ€œPick your partner. Coachโ€™ll be out here in a second, and you donโ€™t want him to catch you slacking like usual.โ€

























    this fffire








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     


















    smile





    His face lit up (kind of),
    when the kid commented that he'd found it. Nate rushed over, one hand going to push the kid out of the way as he crouched down to pick it up, and--

    Well, he was pretty sure it wasn't his lighter, but it would do.

    He shook it out, before blowing on it to try and dislodge any sand that might be gunking up the contraption. "Thanks," he said, "I owe you one." He added before Nate took a seat on the very swings that he'd previously been teasing Trevor about being on -- except that it was cool when Nate did, 'cause he was gonna smoke.

    Nate also had no intention on ever paying back this favor to some snot-nosed toddler.

    After a few flicks of the thumb, the lighter successfully flickered to life. Satisfied, he produced the man of the hour -- aka, the blunt, which he lit up before tossing the lighter back to the ground.

    "What're you doing here?" he asked, taking a hit off the joint and exhaling the thick smoke slowly. "I'm waiting for my girlfriend. I think."

    Yeah, he couldn't remember if he was supposed to be waiting here. So what?

























    superman








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     


















    Fuck off





    She wanted to strangle him,
    although that was a fairly normal feeling for her when it came to dealing with the dim-witted rich boys whose daddies would toss money at all their problems. Still, it took everything in her to keep her cool, and reminding herself that being behind bars for assault wouldn't do much good in the long run.

    Three more years, she reminded herself, as she let out a shaky exhale to calm her boiling anger. Her fingers were pressed into the book, as she forced her muscles to relax.

    Three more years, and she would be done dealing with these assholes. Of course, there would be a whole new world of assholes that she would be pitted against, but alas.

    "Listen..." she started, and flipped open the notebook she'd placed in front of him. She tapped her finger on the page, trying to keep her voice as light and easy as she could -- which for Ava, just came off as more menacing. "All I need you to do is sign your name... right here," she said, tapping at the top of the paper where they were supposed to print both of their names. "And I'll take care of everything else, because I am not letting some strung out dopehead tank my grade because he can't even remember how to count how many fingers her has, alright?"

    Without good grades, she wasn't getting out of here. And there was no way that she was going to let a Freud stand between her and freedom.

























    fast car








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     


















    Nothing less than perfection...





    Trevor watched the fella incredulously.
    This whole experience wasโ€ฆsurreal, and very unwelcome. He just wanted to be alone, and here this guy wasโ€”this grown man, suddenly up his arse asking him so many questions and lighting up a hand-rolled cigarette. Nothing about this was normal.

    The fella dropped the lighter back to the ground, which caused Trevor to grit his teeth in agitation (because this was all apparently a giant waste of his fecking time), and then, taking a puff of the thing in his hand, the stranger asked, โ€œWhatโ€™re you doing here? Iโ€™m waiting for my girlfriend, I think.โ€

    โ€œGirlfriendโ€ฆ?โ€ Trevor asked, looking the weirdo up and down. If a guy who hung out in playgrounds as an adult could get a girl, then maybe Trevor actually stood a fecking chance, huh. He shook his head, realizing he was distracted from the actual point, becauseโ€”โ€œWaitโ€”why are you still talking to me?โ€

    Trevor paused, waiting for the manโ€™s answer, and he accidentally inhaled some of the smoke. It choked him up, and he began dramatically hacking, clutching at his throat and pounding on his chest. The smoke was foul and heavy, but definitely not cigarette smoke. He covered his nose once his โ€œcoughing fitโ€ was over, and, with a scowl and a strained voice, he asked, โ€œIs that feckingโ€ฆwhat is that?โ€

























    pick your poison








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     


















    Is there anyone?





    "No, no, no,"
    he said, shaking his head. "I ah... I walked-- to school, today, that is-- ya know, I just... fresh air... and... umm... stuff." Jace mumbled, trailing off as he pretended to be very interested in the display of gum.

    "Is it... better?" he asked. "Being... graduated, ya know?"

    That didn't--

    Jace knew what he meant, but couldn't put into words exactly what he was trying to say. He frowned, picking up a pack of overly minty gum that always made his mouth taste like it was on icy fire.

    "Do you ah... have you listened to blink-182's album? It's not-- I mean, it's new, but it's not like... new new. Came out over the summer, but umm..." he shrugged. "I dunno, I've been ahh... I've been listening to it-- a lot, actually."

    If Jace wasn't listening to music, he was writing music, and if he wasn't writing music, he was playing music. He'd just been getting better and better on the guitar.

    "Do... girls... like boys that play guitar?" he asked, even if girls weren't exactly his target audience. "Do umm... like-- I thought they were supposed to, but..."

    He was still, well, alone. Talking to a fuck up in a gas station.

























    tik tok








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
     


















    Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.





    Donna looked down at the paper in front of him.
    The image was unstableโ€”sort of blurry, almost unreal. His head buzzed; his veins buzzed. He felt nothing, really, just nothing in particular. Perhaps slight irritation at this random chickโ€”Eva?โ€”telling him what to do; mostly nothing.

    "All I need you to do is sign your nameโ€ฆright here,โ€ she said, tapping the paper.

    โ€œWhy would I sign my nameโ€ฆ?โ€ Donna asked in his slow drawl, though his tone didnโ€™t change any to indicate that it was a question.

    โ€œAnd Iโ€™ll take care of everything else, because I am not letting some strung out dopehead tank my grade because he canโ€™t even remember how to count how many fingers he has, alright?โ€ she said.

    Donna blinked slowly. โ€œIs that what you thinkโ€ฆ?โ€ he asked, his tone almost haunting, somewhat ominous. In his eyes, a small, angry fire kindled. โ€œIโ€™m not some sort of fucking idiot. Iโ€™m smarter than youโ€™ll ever beโ€ฆโ€ He reached forward and picked up her pencil, and then slowly began to gnaw on the end, an angry yet strangely dull expression in Donnaโ€™s zombie-like eyes. โ€œDo you think that berating me is going to accomplish yourโ€ฆgoal, whatever it isโ€ฆ? Youโ€™re fucking stupid if thatโ€™s what you think.โ€

























    hell is where i dreamt of u and woke up alone








    โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

     
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