Stained

Oxymorons

    Humans were living, breathing oxymorons. I didn't know how it took me fourteen years out of my life to realize that, but it did. And now two years later I leaned on that belief like a crutch, using it to justify why I could never fully understand other people; why I could never fully understand myself. Sometimes people seemed to embody a certain attribute, but then turned out to be completely different from what you thought. Sometimes their personalities could reflect one trait in a single moment, and then an opposite trait in the next. Sometimes I felt two different emotions at the same time that completely contradicted each other, and I couldn't even figure out what to do with myself. And instead of trying to analyze why my mind was so conflicted, I just continued to chant my favorite mantra: humans are living, breathing oxymorons.

    And then I'd leave it at that. I wouldn't let myself give the enigmatic inner-me any more thought. Because sometimes, trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle just wasn't worth the effort.

    Such as on the first day of seventh grade, when my stomach had turned with anxiety over having to return to a building full of kids who gave me weird looks and didn't want to be friends with me. And yet, my chest had been light with hope; hope that if I tried harder that year, maybe they'd like me. None of them did, except for one.

    Such as in the eighth grade when my best friend called me in tears, saying that her first boyfriend had been a complete fake: a dare to see if she was willing to give up what she was saving for marriage out of desperation. I'd been sickened and filled with sorrow for my first and only friend. But deep down, if only for a second or two, there'd been a flicker of shameful relief that her first boyfriend hadn't been real. That all the boys in our school still considered her as undesirable as they did me. It was a jealous feeling that I knew I'd never forgive myself for having, no matter how momentary.

    Such as in the ninth grade, when I'd heard the school track team was known for becoming like family to one another and joined with the prospect of finally being accepted and liked. I'd taken advantage of my Jamaican-bred speed and won the first slew of races, eager to be recognized as someone special. But one day when I walked off the track after the last dash and noticed the cold glances sent my way by both my competitors and my teammates, I'd wanted nothing more than to be invisible. Despite the protests of my coach, I quit track the next week- and before leaving their office, guiltily stole a tissue box off of the desk so I'd have something soft to dab my tears with when I got home.

    Or maybe even later that evening, when my mother asked me why I'd quit. I hated lying, but it would've pained me to tell the truth. I'd found myself complaining about the other negatives I'd seen in the track: the demanding schedule, the strenuous exercises that I'd secretly liked, etc. All so that I could avoid the biggest reason. I'd obnoxiously blathered about the shallow things so I wouldn't have to speak the deep truth. My brain had given an answer so that my heart could remain silent.

    But all of these examples faded in comparison to the eleventh grade, now, when two opposite feelings raged war inside my body so intensely that my mind wanted nothing more than to shut down. My body was recoiling stubbornly while my heart lurched forward with hope. I wanted as much to believe what I was hearing as I did to reject it wholeheartedly. Because when Kian Wilson looked at me with that breathtaking longing in his eyes and told me that he wanted me to be his gongju nim- his yeochin, deep down I knew he meant it. But a larger part of me refused to believe it, refused to set my heart up for destruction.

    Because to accept his offer would be to confirm my worst fear; that I was stupid enough to believe that anyone could ever want someone so faulty, so tainted...

    So stained.

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... Dear lord, I've made this story seem too serious, haven't I?
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    gongju nim- princess
yeochin- girlfriend

    Alrighty guys, there's your first glimpse!! Now what's become a common trend with stories nowadays- which I am VERY grateful for-, is for the first chapter to jump straight into the character's life without lengthy exposition or backstory. I will be doing that in the next chapter, but I felt like this blurb was necessary to give you a little bit of insight on the main character. However, I feel like this may've been a little confusing to read for some reason. Her viewpoint is one that I share, but I feel as though I can't translate it into words properly. Did my message come across at all? And if it did, did it make any sense?

    But anyway, welcome to Stained!!!! I've been really excited about this story for a while, because I feel that people with skin disease- besides cancer- are really underrepresented in the fictional world. This is my first story on Wattpad, and I'd really appreciate criticism or thoughtful reviews. My aim here is to please my audience, so apply your freedom of speech! :D Although flames won't be deleted for the most part (actually idek if comments can even be fully deleted), try your hardest to be considerate. That's all I ask!

    Additionally, don't let this prologue fool you; while this story will have some serious themes, it'll also have a surplus of humor. I'm too much of a dork for it not to. If cheesy puns, references, and plain foolish behavior aren't your cup of tea, you can either evacuate the premises at the nearest convenience, or tape a cushion to your forehead to soften the facepalms.

    All that being said, stars are like, follows are love, comments are life!! Give me any of the three and I will see you soon with another chapter~