Going Under Cover

Chapter 1

1

It was a Saturday. Just another ordinary Saturday evening in just another ordinary town.

And that was just how I liked it.

I've heard of girls going out and seeking adventures and being incredibly turned on by 'bad-boys' and their oh-so-charming ways. I mean, that verbal abuse though. Just thinking about it gets me all hot under the collar. Someone please crack a window before I suffocate.

Well maybe it really would if I was one of these pathetic, fawning girls who seemed to be desperate to die. And that was their life so go for it, is what I say. Just don't expect me to go all mushy at the sight of a cigarette sticking out of  man's mouth. I am more of the mind that that cigarette is cancer,heart and lung problems on a stick and I for one, don't want that second hand shit going down my throat. I don't want to die, I am only twenty three and about three-quarters after all. I don't own a death warrant, definitely not on my watch.

And that alcohol stuff? Way over rated. Just give me some cool OJ and be on your way thank you very much.

Sex? Who needs it? I have been happily single for all of my life and that was OK. I can say to anyone honestly, that no guy has ever made me look twice. Or woman for that matter. And that's the way I liked it. You could be sure that there are no complications here anyway.

That's the way I liked it.

Solitude was definitely my thing because by now, I am convinced that I just don't like people in general. They got on my nerve with all their... words. You know, when they just open their mouth and all this bull-crap comes spewing out? Yeah, that's what I don't like.

Sometimes I am ashamed to be part of the human race. I often lose faith in it really.

And that was OK because while I didn't like people, I'm also pretty sure they felt the same way back.

Clearly that is because I've got this super, awesome personality that just radiates and shines and people everywhere are just like 'wow that personality though,' and are like well 'jell' and stuff. Clearly...

And that's what I like to tell myself sometimes but honestly because I've got a shite personality. My mother even asked me if I had a good trait in those bones of mine once when I was fourteen. I had no reply. My father told me that I should compliment myself because no one else would surely do it. Then again, he also told me that I was adopted and from Albania. I don't particularly believe everything that man says.

I didn't cry when he told me that though and I still don't flinch when I think of it. Honestly, I find the whole thing slightly amusing. Those two poor parents wondering what went wrong with their youngest child. Maybe I'm the reason they decided not to reproduce again.

That's a good thing though too. Really, it is. My sisters have no brain cell count, like at all. We're polar opposites, me and them.

I read books, they watch 'Keeping up with the Kardashians'.

I cook, they eat out in fancy restaurants.

I'm honest, they're about as fake as their orange spray-tan and their hair colour.

I wear normal clothes that cover my body, they wear small pieces of cloth.

I swear like a sailor, they're as posh as the Queen of England.

I like the plain, old countryside where nothing happens, ever while they like the drama of the city.

I didn't go to college, my sisters did and then got married to big, rich douches. All of them.