I feel like Ulani is watching through my window, judging what I write.
The law actually states that you must add my new story 'Ripped Jeans [hemmings au]' to your library and vote for it.
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"You talking to Soph?" Ashton, my boyfriend who I was currently half on top of for every reason that is non-sexual, asked me after my phone made the noise it liked to make once a message had been delivered. Ashton was right, I was messaging Sophia, texting her for ideas if how to handle the minor emergency I was currently facing.
Me: SOS
Sophia Smith: if you are pregnant then it's okay move to England with me and neither Ashton nor your parents will ever have to know. We can give her her up for adoption or I'll just keep her.
Me: How do you know it's a her?
Sophia Smith: IM RIGHT?
Sophia Smith: you did not tell me that you two did the whoop de doo
Me: no we didn't!!
Me: I'm not pregnant I was just saying if I was how would you know it's a girl
Sophia Smith: well I just like to think that every baby will be a girl and if it's a boy it's a let down
Me: okay weirdo
Sophia Smith: so what's the emergency then?
Me: home alone with Ashton, stuck on his bed.
Sophia Smith: handcuffs last night aye?
Me: wtf no, let me finish.
Me: I need to crap
Sophia Smith: then crap
Me: smell, not to mention sound effects
Sophia Smith: plop
Me: eww Soph
Me: I'm not sure what I should do, maybe I'll just have to go home
Sophia Smith: that would work best.
I bid Sophia goodbye, promising to call when I got home. She replied with too many smiley poo emojis.
I put my phone down, sat up on the bed and folded my arms on my stomach in the way that sick people always seemed to.
