•= Pure =•

One.

Gasp! New story without even finishing the other one?! How dare i!
Anyways;

I would say 'enjoy' however, this isn't going to be a feel good story.
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"I'M SO FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF YOUR BULLSHIT, Y/N."

Y/n heard her mother say, pure rage dripping from the woman's tone as she slammed the door behind herself putting her headphones on and turning the volume of her music as high as it could get.

I'm sick of you, Y/n.

That's all she ever heard these days. Anger. From her parents, siblings, friends—people all around her.

Everyone hated her. She was no different with herself. They had a right to, too. She's so bloody messed up, she doesn't know what she wants with life. What she wants to do, how she wants to act, how she wants to feel.

Happiness sounded nice.

What was that even like. Like, actually? Of course she'd felt happiness in slivers in her life, but what about long term—permanent happiness?

Would there be a time in my life where she could look in a mirror and think yes. This isn't so bad. I like her.
I love my body, my marks, scars, hairs, fat, dark circles, face, height—everything?

She couldn't help but let out a humourless laugh; hugging onto her waist in anger. She didn't know where she was going in the dead of night in her pajamas, but anywhere was better than home.

More like house. Place she'd live in, for now. Until they finally decide to kick her out and be happy. Rid of a burden like herself. This was not self pity. It was the honest truth.

A slight shiver ran down Y/n's spine, most likely from the chilly night air though she knew her thoughts has some effect too.

She should have thought this through. Where was she planning on sleeping tonight? After her dramatic exit there's no way she'd go back now. Yeah, because of her pride.

She didn't have friends—not the kind's house she could just show up at at this hour and expect them to let her stay over.

She used to. About a month ago. When she was still putting up with her two friends' constant side remarks and fake attitudes. She had thought it was classic friendships. That she wouldn't be able to find anyone else that cared more than that.
But being around the pretty and popular girls had this amazing effect, where when I stood next to them, showed up, went places with them, it'd automatically make me the perfect vessel of 'I'm just here to make them look good.'

And they agreed. They never really admitted it, but it was so damn obvious. When I did confront them about how I felt they simply laughed in my face and waved me off like it was the most hilarious thing they'd ever heard.

I got sick of sitting around and acting like it was okay to feel this way. So I left. I still see them around in classes and places but it's not bad. They tend to just ignore me, as I do them.

But as toxic and awful as they were, it was the only thing keeping me together. At least we used to go to parties and hung out, helping me forget about everything.

For a short period of time.

I plopped myself on a sidewalk, not minding if anyone would see me, and started crying like the stupid little girl I am.
Why am I even crying? What's the point? It's not going to change anything other then make my face puffy and ugly—uglier the next day.