Malorie's POV:
My mother lives an hour and 45 minutes away from my dads house.
The ride is dreadful every single weekend. The same "bye, kiddo, I'll see you Monday after school" and "make sure you complete your homework while you're there!" Drains the life out of me.
When I pull up to my mom's house, it stands the same as always. My parents have more money than most. My mom's an anesthesiologist, my dad is a lawyer, and my other dad (daddy) runs a restaurant.
I don't let it boost my ego. I rarely ask for anything.
"Bye, kiddo! I love you! I'll see you Monday after school. K?" Dad says.
"Yeah. Love you," I say.
"Don't forget about your homework, honey. I love you," daddy says.
"Love you too. I won't." I walk out and go into my mom's. She's not home, but my step sister is. He and my mom got married, and then he died.
Tragic. I know.
"Hey, Mal. How are you?" She asks. I meet her eyes. Pale green. She got those from her dad.
"As good as Katniss Everdeen in Mockingjay."
"So.. ptsd ridden, depressed, and anxious?" She asks. I nod.
"Yes."
"Have you talked to your dads about starting therapy again, sweetheart?"
"Always too busy. Why'd you dye your hair grey? You're 21," I say.
"I got dumped. He always told me I couldn't dye my hair grey cause I'd look old. So." I nod.
"That's why I'm staying single. It looks good. Suits you, Lexi." I go upstairs and into my room when I notice that awful sound filling my ears.
Country music.
"Is that you, Lexi?! The music?!"
"No! We have new neighbors!" She shouts. I open my blinds and see a pretty girl dancing while singing into a perfume bottle.
Still. It's country. I fucking hate country music.
I watch her for a second to observe what she looks like. Light blonde, almost white hair. It's wavy and and a bit past mid length.
From what I can see of her face, she has blue eyes. Her skin is sunburnt. She's wearing pajama shorts and a teeshirt with some country singer on it.
I close my blinds and lay on my bed. Nope. I have to do it again.
I stand up, close my blinds, then lay on my bed.
Nope. Again.
And again.
Again.
The pretty girl notices. She furrows her eyebrows and tilts her head, watching me for a moment.
"Mal, what are you doing? I've been watching you for the past like- 3 minutes," Lexi says.
"It doesn't feel right. It needs to feel right before I can lay down."
"What?" She asks.
"It doesn't feel right! I'm not closing them right!" She comes and closes them.
"No stop! Now I have to do it all over!" I say, opening them.
"Malorie.. what the fuck, sweetheart? What- what is going on? I want you to talk to me."
YOU ARE READING
"Pretty Girl"
Lãng mạnMalorie Abbott hates everything. Life especially. She feels as if she's alive just to suffer. Nothing is going good. She just got diagnosed with her 6th mental illness, and she has no hope. Baylie Lionel loves life. An optimist at the surface, she...
