Nicole had always believed that nice guys finish last. She has always been surrounded by people who thought of nothing, but themselves and their own desires. In retrospect, these environmental factors from her tragic upbringings had turned her heart...
Every choice I've made only compensates for my last one...
..As if the future's never free to break from the past.
The future is forever set in stone, no matter what I do. It makes me sick.
I'm pathetic.
Worthless.
Waste of time.
Still can't believe I won the sperm race. Did I cheat? Obvi! Why wouldn't I? It's called strategy. Besides, I'm a visionary,unlike those sellouts clocking in their brainpower for minimum wage.
Still, I don't think anything could've prepared me for what high school would bring. Like, yeah, I've gotten pretty. But the gag? That's all I've got going for me. I'm popular for being easy on the eyes, period. It's a little bleak when you think about it.
Sure, I could sit here and monologue about how I've got this ten-out-of-ten libido, how I'm destined to land a rich husband who can't resist to fuck me, and how we'd christen every surface of the kitchen like some late-night romcom cliché. And let's not forget, I'd still totally be an independent woman on the side, sipping my Starbucks in my designer heels.
But it doesn't work like that, does it?
Dreaming about stuff you'll probably never touch is practically a sport. And, of course, some overly motivational pain in the ass would chime in with,'You've gotta work for it.' God, spare me the lecture, it's exhausting just hearing it.
Not that I've had to lift a finger so far. I mean, girls were all over me, guys sent me love letters every damn February like it was a religion, and if I wanted something? Someone else would buy it. And if someone wasn't cool enough for my vibe? Well... drop it like it's hot. Simple.
School started back up again. Dad's being overprotective of me again, and Mom is.. I don't wanna talk about her.
