You Can't Have it All || a.g

Prologue

I'm not really sure how life works. Life just seems like a slut, honestly. It fucks us all then for some of us, it leaves the next morning; right when it was getting good.

According to, well, mostly everyone, I'm not only the most hottest girl in school. I'm the most sluttiest.

I should be ashamed, to even say that without a stutter.

But I only am, what I am, because of one guy. Not that it matters, anyway.

But maybe it does, because that's what led me to become the prettiest girl on campus. In a way, I thank this guy, this one fantasical guy. I haven't seen him years and for some reason, I'm tempted to. I want him to see what he destroyed, yet what he created. But then again, even if this guy wanted me back, I would walk straight up to him, a proud smirk on my face, and say,

"You Can't Have it All."

➺

I try to not remember the egotistical guy in the eighth grade that I had a crush on. The word 'crush' is the most absurd thing I believe has ever been classified as a word.

Do you 'crush' the guy that you like, or does he 'crush' you when you realize he doesn't like you back? I guess that's even more terrifying than love itself. I've never been through it, nor do I want to.

But getting back to this guy, in the eighth grade. Graham Phillips, slender, charming, tidy, talented, and simply overall sweet; the perfect guy, that every girl wanted.

Every girl including myself. Long story short, we were in a relationship for about three years. I stopped counting the weeks and days after he began counting the beds he had slept in with other girls.

You could say that I was Virgin Mary or whatever, but I was between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. Being careful was an understatement.

I was being safe.

However, after Graham left me alone at Homecoming, with the implausible excuse that he had to use the restroom (which he spent a worrying amount of time in, I was forced to think that he had to let out a load), I went to check up on him, and I caught him once again, with who?

Jennette Mccurdy. Blonde, all smiles, faker than a silicon barbie doll on the inside. It was almost a movie.

I wasn't as heartbroken as I thought, but I was humilated by the rest of the student body.

But that's just one example.

But I don't have enough time. As I stepped out of the shower, I rush to put my clothes on, tripping over my own feet as I slip on my skirt, and top. My eyes darted towards my digital clock;

7:39 AM, it read. That triggered something in me, and I was in front of my bathroom sink and mirror before I could count to four. I begin my morning routine, the make up, and the shade of red lipstick. I decide to straighten my hair, but I have to work fast, so I go with it.

By the time I have finished straightening my hair, I check the clock again, and I realize I have no time to even ponytail it so I leave it down. I pull on my knee high white boots, masking the fact that I was only five feet tall.

My hand fumbles to find my handbag filled with my books, then I race down the stairs, and grab my keys.

Sadly, I didn't notice the five billion text messages from my best friend, Alexa.

Except one.

Hurry up and get here.