pretty face [ [ another bad boy story ] ]

✔o n e ✔

❌ d e l i l a h ❌

   The heat. It was one of the first thing I noticed stepping out of the California airport, and back into the original LA central. How different it had been compared to Paris, its lukewarm thermometer always satisfying me physically.

It immensely pushed from California ; here? I felt like I had freshly escaped from Satan's lower left ballsack.

          I mean, I wasn't used to it. Not anymore. I had after all fallen head over heels for the windy days. The windy days where the breeze would offer you a drift as well as a motion. A motion that would allow you to step from side to side, giving you a sway.

Lifting you up and off of your feet, there, you could actually be happy about the gesture given.

   And nobody would look at you differently for it either.

Because in reality without noticing, they are normally the ones doing it too.

As well as the fact being nothing was too odd in Paris. Not the people, the strips, not your appearance or weight.

Nothing at all.

Ill admit with no hesitation ; Cali is great and all but Paris in my personal opinion is better.

But

I am obsessed with the weather.

I am obsessed with the lovely people.

I am obsessed with the language and culture.

I am obsessed with the place in general.

It hurt my heart to leave the place behind ; especially when the place I was leaving it behind for involved here.

Out of everything. No, I had no free will in deciding whether i wanted to actually leave or stay. It was part of the deal I made with my father.

  Paris was temporary or at least it was for those four years. I had to spend at least one finishing out my senior year. Just like I began my years back in primary  school.

I knew it sucked in a way, how determined my parents were in bringing me back for at least one more year.

Because filling and transfering all my paper work to back to this school  was no piece of cake. It cost a shitload of cash, to even make the international call. Especially trying to speak actually French. He finally of course gave up and left it all for Aunt Lucy. ( she won't leave him alone about it either )

  My parents called it a sacrificed exception. Letting me go, to come back, and just to let me go all over again.

And in return mine was coming back home to them.

Hopefully here, nothing too drastic has changed -family wise. But as for the rest? God knows they need change.

Every single one.

"Where too Miss?" The driver, asked as soon as I stepped into the cab. Sliding my bags a seat over, I hadn't had much to take since the rest of my stuff had been shipped as cargo. ( thanks to Aunt Lucy again ). She shipped multiple things, big things, my vanity, my  comforters, throws. She had informed me she wanted my home to actually feel like home.