༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.| LEATHER DREAMS
──── she was my little wicked
with wild in her eyes. - atticus
" they didn't associate with the same group of people. though they were both classified as delinquents; no-good kids; miscreants; hooligans. she w...
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- Monday -
My mother's shrilling voice was the first thing I heard this morning. Her fists were pounding against my bedroom door as I mumbled some profanities and rubbed my eyes with my hands.
"Wake the fuck up, Bailey! You got school! If your ass isn't downstairs in fifteen minutes, I'm leaving without you."
She yelled as I groaned in frustration. Can someone fucking shoot me already?
Slowly peeling off the blankets from my body, I stretched all of my limbs just to hear the satisfying pop! in my bones.
My bare feet hit the wooden floor of my bedroom, a shiver running down my spine because of how cold the floor is.
I made my way to my closet, silently debating whether or not I throw myself off the window just so I don't have to go to school.
I don't hate school.
I just hate people.
Meaning that I don't like interacting, looking or even breathing the same air as them. And I made that clear since freshman year, that's probably why everyone stays clear of me.
Or maybe it's the reputation I've created for myself. See, I'm not your average teenage girl.
That was the most cliché thing I've ever said.
But it's true. I don't spend hours in front of a mirror, or spend my time daydreaming about a boy, or try to act dumb so guys like me.
I'm brutally honest, a bit irrational at times and the best underground fighter.
"Get the fuck up Bailey!"
My mother screamed from downstairs as I rolled my eyes. Somedays she's the most caring woman and the next she's a complete pain in the ass. I guess that's what happens when you have seven rebellious kids.
That's a story for another times.
I grabbed a pair of blue washed jeans along with a black Aerosmith t-shirt, a red plaid flannel and my trusted leather jacket.
My older brother, Julian, has heavily influenced my choice in clothing. And I've stolen most of his t-shirts even if it annoys him.
When I finally got dressed, I rushed downstairs to grab my bag along with an apple before walking out of the house.
My mother was already backing up the driveway, and if I didn't speed up she was going to leave without me.
I've learned the hard way that I shouldn't take my mother's words lightly. If she says she'll leave without you, she will.
I didn't even get a chance to fix my hair or apply concealer on my bruised cheek from Friday's fight. I'll just have to keep my head down all day. I don't need people asking me how's life back at home.
