ripped jeans | hes

one

**I just want to remind people that this is a MATURE FANFIC w MATURE TOPICS such as sex & sexual or 'raunchy' related themes and discussions, drug use / alcohol use, foul language, and violence. I highly recommend that if anybody is sensitive or uneasy with those topics, they should not read this fic !! I will try my best to write 'smut' or 'extreme drug/alcohol use' or 'violence' etc... on the beginning of the chapters to warn people, but I still would be cautious!**

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metanoia (noun) - the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life

"This is stupid. I feel stupid."

"No, it's not. You're not."

"Yes, it is. I am." I remarked with a clipped tone, beginning to deeply wonder if I was intoxicated when I agreed to this stupid blind date.

"Sam's a really nice kid, Addison. He got a full lacrosse scholarship and he was even class president-"

"Class president? Ugh." I gagged at how perfectly flawless he sounded.

"Give him a chance."

Give him a chance. Give him a chance. Give him a chance. Four simple words that I had heard all too much in the past few years.

I licked my bottom lip and watched the people walking inside the restaurant. "Well, Mr. Perfect Class President Lacrosse Douchebag is late. Ten minutes late."

"Like you're never late."

"It's just common curtesy to be on time for your date."

"Give him five more minutes, I swear he'll be there." Aria swore. "Sam promised me that he would be there soon."

It took me everything to not just get up and leave the restaurant, saving me of my pride and dignity. There was nothing more I wanted to do than sleep right now.

Ah, sleep.

"Five minutes," I eyed a group of rowdy boys sitting in the booth across from me. "Fuck it. Fine. All he gets is five minutes and I'm out."

"Thank you!"

"I'm going to kill you!" I mocked my best friend's chirpy and delightful voice before hanging up the phone.

I combed a hand through my blonde hair and leaned my chin on my palm. I kept my eyes casted down on my phone, aimlessly scrolling, trying damn hard not to look like the biggest loser in the entire universe.

I never noticed how big a restaurant booth seemed when there was only one person in it. I swung my legs under the table like a small child, secretly pleased with all the space I had to myself.

Here I am.

Sitting alone at a depressingly dim-lit Bone Fish Grille, dawning a powder pink shift dress, tan stilettos that made my feet ache like hell, and my hair mildly straightened.

Who was I trying to impress? Oh yeah, my date who's already 10 minutes late.

Exciting, huh?

I felt sad just thinking about how sad I must look.

"I will fuck you up, you fucker!"

I whipped my head up, half-excitedly expecting there to be a fight busting out in the middle of the restaurant. Instead, I noticed the group of rambunctious boys in the booth across from me all turn to stare at me.

"Punks." I whispered spitefully under my breath, secretly wishing they had heard me.

Once they noticed I had caught them staring, they quickly looked away and burst out into bubbled laughter, bouncing on their seats gleefully.