I walk into my room. Disappointed; Sad; Angry. I walk up to my mirror. All I see is ugly; ugly; ugly. Why can't I be like her? Why can't I be like Ashley? She's pretty, flawless. Of course he would date her. Not me. I have scars on my wrists. Ashley has a pound of makeup on. All guys fall in love with that slut. Not me. Not me. I feel my hands ball up into a fist. - Nice job, Y/N I think - I've made myself ugly; worthless. I can't take it anymore. I punch the mirror. There was blood on my hands; slowly dripping on to my ripped jeans. - Y/N? I hear a British accent - Thomas. Why is he here? I can hear footsteps, slowly coming into my room. I look behind me. Thomas.
- Why is there a Y/N shaped fist in the mirror? He asks -
- Because I did it. I don't want to see the ugly anymore. I say in response -
- You're not ugly, love. He says before pulling me into a passionate kiss -
It was amazing. His lips were soft. I could feel a smile creeping onto my face. A smile that I have never had ever. A kiss smile. After a while, he pulls away and smiles.
- Don't you have a girlfriend? I ask -
- Me and Ashley have never been dating, Y/N. We were just friends. With benefits. He winks and starts laughing -
Surprisingly, I laughed too. Thanks you, Thomas.
