Cold. Heartless. Reckless.
That was how they saw her.
And that was how she saw them.
After slamming her locker shut, she was greeted by a blonde boy, the one you would see in a typical high school chick flick, leaning on the locker next to hers.
He's not Bryan.
"Hey." He unfolds his arms as he turns to face Paisley.
Paisley smirks and wraps her arms around his neck before crashing her red lips unto the blonde-haired boy's dry ones.
But he'll do for now.
A meaningless fling. That was all this was for Paisley.
She throws herself around to boys that devour her lips hungrily and try to get in her pants, in hopes that it would fill the empty void in her, and avoided the ones that would take her out on dates, open doors for her, and make sure she got back home safe, because nice guys like them made bad girls like her eventually fall; thinking that they could actually be worthy to be loved.
Paisley didn't want to fall.
She kisses the boy harder.
Because falling would mean breaking, and she was broken enough.
The boy grips her hips tightly.
She was tired of getting hurt. Tired of getting used to it.
Her fingers tangled on the boy's hair.
Tired of it all, but no one really cared about how she felt.
Then the bell rang.
And nobody did until she put on a mask.
YOU ARE READING
Paisley | ✔️
Historia CortaPaisley Roux. She wasn't the type of girl your parents warned you about; she was the type of girl your parents forgot to warn you about. Exclude smoking, drinking, and partying-the typical things you do to be branded as a bad girl. Paisley was far...
