Atelophobia
[A-tel-o-pho-bia]
The fear of imperfection, The Fear of never beeing good enough.
"Why do you keep following me?" I snapped turning around seeing the same boy from before. His Sleak Black hair pulled back with a slight blonde streak though it.
"Beacuse your so pretty and I like you" He smiled placing his hands behind his back and rocking forward on his feet.
"Really? but you havent even meet my friend she's prettier than me she's right behind you" He turned around to be faced with nothing, no body, no person or thing. He turned back around and faced me with a confused exprestion.
"Are you making fun of me?" He sounded hurt, I shook my head already feeling my Breath hitch.
"No" I shook my head walking away only to have his arm grab me back, Forcing me to look into his Bright brown eyes.
"What's your problem?"
"I have no problem!"
"I'm sure you don't" He rolled his eyes, still holding my arm.
"You don't even know me"
"But I can feel you crying"
