Plastic Taste { Joji a.u. }

the one where its over thought

She knew she shouldn't do it.

God fucking damn it, she knew she shouldn't.

But she did.

She sat on her bed, crying, as she compared herself to the types of girls that George was into.

She compared.

She thought about it so hard.

The profile photo of the girl on his phone.

Skinny. Tall. Fit. Long black hair.

Emi wrenched out a sob.

The girl was gorgeous.

Emi was short. Almost George's height but not quite.

He probably enjoyed someone with long legs.

Someone who wore make up.

Someone who was hot or sexy, certainly not pastel and quiet.

Emi just thought of your hot model in the movies and magazines.

Emi couldn't look like them, she didn't know how.

Oh god, and the bars.

George thought he was slick, but she knew he liked to drink.

Women at bars, Emi had never stepped a single boot covered foot in a bar.

Nor had her lips ever touched a cigarette.

She didn't like that.

She didn't find it appealing in any way.