His Little French Badass

I Hope This New Hell is Tolerable | Ch. 1

Whenever you think of school, most of you think of hell.

I do too, but not for the most common reasons.

I think of it as forced. Something you can't just say no to. I like to be free. I don't want to be a caged animal, I want to ride on my 2018 reinforced Yahama YZF- R1 motorcycle with my long, blonde, waist length hair flying in the wind.

Where no one, and nothing, can make me stop.

Unless it's a stop sign, of course, but hey, I don't have to listen to those either, do I?

I never do anyways.

Moving to New York is like trying a new food from a first world country- it's horrible. Traffic, buildings closing you in everywhere you turn, people waiting at street corners, just patiently sitting there for someone to walk by with pockets full of cash.

And gangs.

Gangs are not exactly horrible. Of course, they do horrible things, but at least with gangs, your powerful. People aren't exactly lining up to step in your way.

Just how I like it.

Pure freedom.

I don't plan to get into any gangs however. I am just looking for a place where I can ride my bike anywhere I please. Of course, that's going to be difficult to find, but I'll manage on my own.

Especially on my own.

I'm not one to be... social, either. I keep to myself. I don't trust a lot of people.

It is me not being social that got me into technology. I got a fully paid scholarship to the University of New York for my hacking skills. The internet is also where I can have freedom.

My hacking allows me to get past any firewall I desire, any website, anything. I can do anything and no one can stop me, and that's how I like it.

As I pull up to the university, I make up to be quite a show off, revving my engine loudly, drawing attention. People's eyes widen as they realize the guy pulling up in an overly expensive and attended-to motorcycle is actually a girl.

That goes to show how badly people judge a book by a cover.

My hair is in long, natural, waist length curls, with highlights, and noticeable sketchy streaks of vibrant turquoise. My leather jacket has silver studs and many, many zippers, and a fashion that could only belong to a woman. My boots are knee high, high heeled, and black leather. I have at least 4 dog tag necklaces, and a couple thin, long brown leather ropes with charms. My shirt is black and tight, the same color as everything else I own, as well as the many bracelets wrapped around my wrists. More than I could ever count.

I send brief glances at the men sending unnecessarily loud wolf whistles in my direction, ignoring them.

Relationships aren't freedom.

I want a relationship where we can just be free, where I don't have to be tied down. I'm not afraid of anything. Not even commitment.

The only thing I'm afraid of is losing my freedom. The fear kind of defeats the purpose of being afraid of commitment, but hey, I'm a complicated person.

As I walk up to the large glass doors of the secretary office, people stop to stare at what seems to be the new carnival attraction- me. I glare back through my dark sunglasses, my chest rising and falling in silent frustration.

Groups of new students gather, clumping together in different sections of the large building. A young girl, about my age, steps up to me, smiling wide.