sixteen.

curse

hi it's syd

read n comment n drink water

okay bye bye

a smoldering fire of irritation has been growing in the depths of beyoncés mind for a little over a week now.

ever since last week where her favorite and well known court was taken, she's been a bit irritated.

even now, waking up in her king sized bed with her deep gold colored silk sheets she let out a deep sigh as if her day hadn't just started and the birds weren't chirping sweet songs outside of her window.

she was almost the definition of, "woke up on the wrong side of the bed". her spot being taken at the tennis court? annoying.  but other minor inconveniences that rolled into beyoncés life turned into one big headache for the blonde.

for one, she had to return back to UCLA for another year.

she enjoyed her summer break, it allowed her to do practically whatever she wanted and her fathers involvement in her life was limited. she was free during the summer, posted whatever she wanted, went where she wanted, and no objections were heard.

but as school starts back up, tennis practice begins to get a bit more serious, and her rising popularity online has as well.

which all just means more control being put into someone else's hands, that weren't beyoncés.

with beyonce being a college athlete, attractive, and planning to go pro after college she attracted the attention of a few. which gave her father the bright idea to create a social media image  to sell.

he was convinced that building herself online and in the tennis league would help her win the unofficial popularity contest that seemed to be a continuity online.

if you were conventallly attractive, rich and good at something you were almost guaranteed influencer status.

and since the beginning of her freshmen year of college her father hired her a publicist to help her  build her fame online—worked pretty well. her instagram has a few hundred thousand followers and she's big enough to pose in college sport magazines now, soon enough she'll have big brands reaching out to her,

now as much as beyonce enjoyed looking at herself and being popular, it was tiring.

having her father breathe down her neck for another year entirely to make sure she didnt screw up her career before it could really even get started was aggravating.

she let out a discontent sigh as she laid her head against her plush pillows.

she gently reached for her phone that laid on her nightstand, the first app she opened was twitter. most of her feed was just tweets about her, the occasional funny tweet or something sports related.

it was only about 7am, and beyoncés neutral expression turned into a deep frown with confusion as she scrolled.

a new trending tag appeared,

"#Doll"

she let out a quick huff, that nickname sounded familiar—it clicked for beyonce—remembering who the alleged girl was. she hadn't even really seen her, except for that glance she gave her as she walked away.

she decided to scroll and read the tweets, and as they progressed her comfortable position on her bed turned into her sitting upright, hunched over, with a pinched expression.