Project Fuckboy (girlxgirl)

Fuck everything

**AN- Picture is Scarlete**AN**

I woke up with an aching pain all over my body, and memories from last nights beating overwhelm me. Tears would probably fall, but I'm literally all out of tears. Last night I spent hours upon hours bawling, because of emotional trauma and physical pain.

By now, I probably would have called Ryan, but that wasn't much of an option. Gah, Ryan! Wake up from your damn coma (AN- he's not in an actual coma) and let me cry on your shoulder!

I glance at my broken door and cringed, no way I'm going downstairs where sharks are prowling. My eyes move down to my alarm clock.

6:30

I'm up pretty early, and that means I have some time figure out what the fuck I'm going to do. I rub my face frustratedly, and groan.

There's no reason to not get ready now, because I'm not going to be able to go back to bed.

I slowly edge myself off the bed, pain shooting through me every second. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I slowly walk over to my closet. My hand slowly pulls open my closet door, and I try to ignore the agony my whole body is currently in.

My eyes roam the closet, filled with my "dreaded boy clothes." A smile creeps onto my face, despite what happened last night. Seeing all these clothes, and picking from them, and putting them on makes me feel good about myself. Why can't my family understand that? Why?

My head shakes in confusion, sorrow, and anger. I quickly get rid of the fusion of feelings and choose a few articles of clothing from my closet.

Since I'm in excruciating pain today, I chose a pair of blue joggers and a plain black Shirt. I also chose a pair of simple grey low rise vans.

My hands slowly slip off my pajamas, and I'm left in my binder and underwear. Splotches of black, blue, yellow are scattered all over my body. It looked like I was a canvas, and someone splashed paint all over my bare body.

My dainty fingers trace across the biggest bruise that is running across the middle of my stomach. Barely touching the thing, and it hurts like a damn bitch.

My hands grab the clothes I picked out, and I slip them on. I looked nice, but also comfortable. Boy clothes always looked nicer on me, and I don't think my family can deny that.

I take one last glance in the mirror and I see how noticeable the bruises on my face are. Anger starts to bubble up in me, and all this pent up anger for my parents swells up into me.

"Fuck them, fuck their stupid evangelical opinions. Fuck my perverted dad and brother. Fuck my terrible excuse for a mother." My hands fumble with my closet door, and start to grab handfuls of clothes.

"Fuck the bruises my shitty dad left on me. Fuck Ryan for not being there, and being in his stupid hospital bed. Fuck me for being the reasons he's in there" I fumble through my closet looking for a big suitcase able to fit a whole wardrobe in its depths.

"Fuck God for giving me terrible fucking parents. Fuck me for not fighting back. Fuck those damn girl clothes I've been forced to wear for so many god damn years." My hands start to quickly un-hang my clothes and fold them neatly into my suitcase.

"Fuck my damn brother for never being the big brother he's supposed to be. Fuck the homophobia my whole damn family partakes in." Once my whole closet was securely placed into my big ass suitcase, I pull out my drawers grabbing handfuls of underwear, making sure to get the cute sexy ones.

"Fuck Ryan's dad for being a fucking asshole to him. Fuck whoever hurt Ryan so damn badly. Fuck Derek for putting me in this situation." I take a look at my precious display of converse and vans, and then I look down at my suitcase. I'm going to have to compromise aren't I?