Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
As if this wasn’t already the worst month of my life, my mother won’t even answer my calls. It's her idea of tough love. Yeah, I know I fucked up. I don’t need to hear it again. It’s not like this is what I usually do. Like I went to college and suddenly became a horrible person. I was in all the honors classes in high school. I was a teacher’s pet.
I’ve gotten straight A's my entire life, except for that one C in Advanced Literature. Fuck English, I only took the class because I had to in order to fulfill my graduation requirements.
I've always been a brown-noser, as Cheryl calls me.
Fuck, Cheryl. It’s her fault!
I bite my lip and cross my arms over my chest to warm myself up. I shake my head, trying not to be bitter about it all. It’s not really Cheryl’s fault. She may have put the bottle in my hand, but she didn’t make me drink. She was only trying to help. After all, it’s not every day that your first real boyfriend, the man you gave your virginity to, dumps you for someone prettier.
Tears prick my eyes, but I’m sure as shit not going to cry over him. I’ll cry over my self-esteem though, because that shit hurt. When I asked him how he could just break up with me like our relationship meant nothing to him, he just shrugged and said her tits were bigger. Fucking asshole. How did I ever fall for him?
Daniel Croast is hot and athletic, and really knows how to lay on the charm.
But he’s a fucking dick. I knew this, yet I still fell for him. I still spread my legs for him and let him take every last piece of me that he wanted.
Curse my fucking hormones. Tall, with broad shoulders. He played on the rugby team and there's just something about men crashing into each other and taking those brutal hits; it makes my pussy pulse with desire. I’m not a biology major, but it was definitely my fucked-up hormones.
I fell in lust, not love.
I finally had a boyfriend and friends. Real friends who liked me for me. Cheryl may be a bad influence and not have a clue about how the real world works, but deep down I know she cares about me.
Drinking on campus in the dorms was stupid though.
Real fucking stupid. I just went there to cry to Audrey about everything, and instead we ended up drinking. I even thought, No, we should go to our apartment if we’re going to be drinking. Shit, that’s the entire reason we got the apartment off-campus.
But I felt horrible, and my friends were all around me, and I just wanted to feel better.
I fucking hate that RA prick that busted us. I swear he's got a stick shoved up his ass. He can go to hell for all I care.
I turn twenty-one in two months, and Cheryl in three. That RA's so fucking pretentious and likes to pretend he did this for the “right reasons” but seriously, he can go fuck himself. He’s never liked Audrey since she turned his scrawny ass down during freshman orientation. That’s really what it was about, his dumb fucking vendetta.
Luckily for Audrey, she left to go get more booze. And while she was walking to the liquor store, campus security showed up. She got a strike, and we got booted.
So now I’m at the lowest point in my life.
What kills me the most is that my parents aren’t talking to me, which I don’t understand. I know they’re disappointed and all, but the silent treatment is just not helpful. All it's doing is hurting me. I stop at the edge of the sidewalk and wait, standing in the chill of the fall night, hugging my arms tighter around myself. My legs are freezing since I wore a black A-line skirt to my interview, but at least I grabbed my cream chenille sweater.
I stare up at the red hand on the crosswalk sign and just wait.
There aren’t any cars this late at night. But the hand is red. And that means you can’t go, so I don’t. I'm not a fan of breaking the rules.
I huff a laugh at this train of thought. The one time in my entire life I break the rules, and of course I get caught. And now everything I’ve worked so damn hard for is crumbling all around me. Tears prick at my eyes again, and this time one escapes.
I breathe out slow and steady, calming myself. I wipe the stray tear with the cuff of my sweater and start walking as soon as I get the green signal to go. Mascara covers the end of my sleeve now, but I don’t care.
I feel like I'm balanced on the edge of a razor. One one side, I care entirely too much about everything, and my heart aches with all the disappointment I've caused, not to mention the disappointment I feel in myself. But on the other side, I don't give a fuck about any of this. I've hardened my heart with hate for everyone around me that doesn't care enough to try to help.