❝ It's only a game. Calm down. ❞
What happens when an innocent game of "kiss, marry, kill" turns out to be not so innocent? In which 18 year old, Yasmin; soon realizes that when she'll have to bring the rules of the game to reality. There's no esc...
When I look into his eyes, I see the love, I see the pain. When I look into his eyes, I see the soul, I want to save. When I look into his soul, I see his past and his lost. They scream save me.
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The stuff said in this chapter is just for entertainment/ jokes. ( ex; the school shooting joke)
Rape and abusive relationships are serious topic. So, if you're triggered easily. See you on chapter 7 cause this ones not for you.
"Hey, where are you?" I spoke into the phone, crossing my hand over my chest.
"I'm stuck in traffic, baby" Zico said, his voice was fading in and out.
"So, what am I going to do?" I sigh, throwing my hands up.
"I sent Jahsesh to pick you up. He's the only on with an available car"
Are you serious? "How long?"
"20 minutes"
"Alright"
"I'll see you later. I lov-" I pressed the end call slipping my phone back into my pocket.
love you, too.
The wind began to pick up, tossing my hair wildly around. It was messing up the style I worked two hours on. I wrapped my hands wrapped around myself, trying to keep myself warm as I waiting on the curb for my ride. I rubbed my arms as I saw a black Bentley rolling up around the corner. I couldn't tell who was in it since the windows were tinted black. No. The car pulled up in front of me and the passenger seat swung open.
"Get in" Jashesh ordered. I keep my mouth shut and climb into the car. My warm heat encircling my whole body as I lean over to grab the seat belt pulling it on. I wasn't interested in starting a conversation with her nor was he. I felt the awkwardness rise in the car only causing me to have a mini panic attack. He's vibes, this doesn't feel right.
I play it off as much as I can, leaning forward to turn the radio on. Desiigner blasted through the speakers and I tried to change the song, but Jahseh's hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled it away. Cool shivers went down my back and I froze in my place.
"This song is stupid, though. Who the hell is Timmy" I asked lamely, and felt myself flushing the second I heard myself.
"Nah. You see Timmy Turner is a common white kid name, and he wishes for a gun to commit columbine. Now, his souls resides in eternal damnation for his actions. You're not listening. Desiigner is deep"
"Deep? He acts like he's on every since drug that ever existed"
"Drunken thoughts are sober ones" He replied, keeping his eyes on the road.
