Anastasia *on hold*

Chapter 2-Sex Symbols

(Thank you to Kayla for the art! :P)

Anastasia:

After I left Mr. Hood's class, I trudged my way back to my dorm room. I wasn't keen on returning to it anytime soon, because that would mean that I would rip up all of my hard work, based on some bullshit that Hitler was a "bad guy."

What was it about him that inflamed so many people? Was committing mass genocide really that bad!? Especially to a college professor who's probably thought about murdering a couple of students himself? Either way, I'm not going to rewrite my paper, but if I go home now, I will.

That's just how my brain works.  

Besides, there was way more important stuff to be doing. For instance, there was a mixer night for all of the incoming students, and I'm not opposed to cheap, food-truck tacos.

I wasn't dressed up like all the other girls were however, they were in short dresses that showed off their nice legs while mine were part-sausage and covered by sweatpants. I'm not the “type” of girl to get self-conscious over her body, considering all these girls could easily be raped. But I would sometimes feel uncomfortable if I had to change in front of other girls in PE, or if I was wearing shorts around—frankly anyone.

I was hungry though, that was for certain. And I'll be damned if I don't eat something.

Eating wasn't even going to be the problem at this point: the problem would be some of my friend's finding me and trying to hook me up with someone they just met. They weren't the type of girls who understood what social anxiety actually meant, and they didn't get the whole gist of demisexuality. Which clearly states that I need a strong, emotional bond with someone before I could possibly even considering having sex with them. That's what is fucked up with this world: Women are sex symbols. It's just assumed that we will spread our legs for the male population just because they tell us to. We are believed to be weaker then men when the reality is that we are much more stronger than they can ever hope to imagine. We are not sex symbols. If I want to do something like buy a nice smelling body wash, or curl my hair—it should not be taken as a seductive move. It should not be taken as me liking someone. Even if I did, I can do stuff for myself and have it just be for me. Why men assume that everything we do is for them, I have no clue.

Eventually, I found a food truck that was serving tacos and happily scarfed down a few. I love tacos. Tacos don't judge me for what I wear. Tacos go straight to the heart—some people say they go to the heart to clog your arteries and give you a heart attack—but clearly they are just jealous of the happy relationship tacos and I share.

The 'mixer' started playing some dancing music which didn't make me throw up...entirely, that is. I just wasn't someone who gawked over Eminem. He was fine, great, whatever. Just not my personal music taste, and I would get chastised for having a “hipster” opinion. I decided that it was best to at least get some amount of social interaction for the year before I returned to my hobbit hole, so I found a plastic yard chair to sit in and just—watched.

It was times like this when I felt lonely. When everyone had a date and was dancing around having a good time. While, typical me was on the sidelines just watching. Because no one ever found me attractive. No one ever deemed me the “most gorgeous girl in the world.” It was just that—no one cared. And from a different viewpoint—I think that that's what made me such a loner, no one bothered with me, so I learned not to bother with them.

Unfortunately for me, my silent contemplation was interrupted by my easily over-drunken friend Clarise. The thing about Clarise is that she was a hoe, but she was a fun hoe. So, in a way, she was worth my while.