"Brad, this isn't going to work." I murmur, staring at the ground.
"W-was it something I did?" he asks in shock.
"No... It's just... I'm not ready for a serious relationship right now." I look up and gaze into his brown eyes, which are full of pain.
"Oh. Well, I guess I expected this."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" My soft tone grows more menacing with every word.
"I- Nevermind. Good bye Jenna. Have a nice life," he throws his hands in his jean pockets and stalks away.
"Oh yeah? Well, good riddance!" I call after him.
I expected this?! Is that supposed to be a crack on me? I attempt to shake it off as I toss my backpack into my old Volvo. It may be a crappy car, but it's my baby. The engine roars to life as I twist the keys in the ignition. I run my hands through my long, ginger hair and exhale frustrated. Why did I even go out with him in the first place? I shift gears and press my foot down on the accelerator. I turn left out of the parking lot and proceed down the road. I hit 50 mph fairly quickly, my foot inching closer to the ground. And to think I almost took pity on him!
How about I explain my story a bit. I'm Jenna. I am a senior in high school. Since I was a freshman I've had 15 or 16 boyfriends... And no, I don't go around shoving that fact in peoples' faces. Does it seem like it would be worth it for me to do that? Frankly, I'm ashamed of my reputation and everyone else hates me because of my history with boys. Maybe that’s what Brad meant earlier with his comment... I guess I'm always expected be the dump-er and not the dump-ee, if that makes sense. I just hate relationships and I plan on never getting married because, honestly, who wants to be tied to some guy your entire life? Not me, that's for sure.
Anyway, I live in Horwich, England. In comparison to Manchester it's to the northwest, not like that matters. I plan on moving to London the second the diploma reaches my hands. I hate this town, the big city life is more for me. My Mom disagrees with my plan, but she doesn't have a say in my life anymore. I'm not being mean, it's just that her choices aren't exactly the best... Look where her choices have landed her— knocked up and alone with me at age of 25. I don't know who my father is, other than that I look exactly like him. I've seen one picture of him, I had to sneak it out of Mom's room when I was 10. Other than that, I've never met him and I don't know anything personal about him. One thing that I am aware of is that he left my Mom right after I was born. And as she always puts it, "That asshole had my heart in his hand, and hejust chucked it out the window and let it fall. He let me take the fall." Sometimes, I still hear her cry at night because of him. I guess after listening to her sniffles for so long, I realized that love isn't worth it. You'll still end up with a broken heart.
I am so immersed in my thoughts that I nearly miss my driveway. I swerve in and jam on the brakes before putting my car through the garage. I grab my bag and run upstairs to my room, passing Mom without saying hello.
I rifle through my desk drawers until I find what I'm looking for. I pull out an old marble notebook, that has three words written on the cover: The Boyfriend Log. I grab a pen and on page 16 I etch in: "ended: June 7,2012."
I hold it up and look at what I've done, all but the reason is filled in:
Name: Brad Jones.
Relationship started: May 15, 2012
Ended: June 7, 2012.
Reason:
My hand flips through the other pages, pictures of my past boyfriends staring up at me. Seems hypocritical for me to keep a journal of my boyfriends, I know. But I don't keep it for the reasons that people think. I keep it to remind myself of the lame excuse my love life is. On days when I think I'm in love, and hope fills me, I pull this bad boy out and look through it. It's enough to remind me that love just doesn't exist. So why do I keep getting boyfriends, you may ask? Well, I'm not even sure. I guess it is nice to have someone around to talk with, other than my only friend, Maddie.
Oops,almost forgot the picture! I snatch my yearbook off my shelf and cut out Brad's picture. He looks semi-attractive here. I glue it next to his name.
I look at it, crying. You freaking fail at life and love. No wonder everyone hates you. Look at all of the boys you've used!
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I wipe away my tears and pull it out, it's a text from Maddie.
Her: Guess what?!
Me: What?
Her: I got tickets!!
Me: To what?
I plead internally, Please don't be One Direction! Please don't be One Direction! Please don't be One Direction!
Her: One Direction! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! :D
My grey eyes are glued to the screen, my stomach drops out my backside. Nooooooooooooooooo!
Me: When is it?
Her: This weekend! How great is that?! We get to go to London!
At seeing London I perk up a bit.
Me: Fantastic! I can't wait!
I don't exactly hate them, I'm just confused. Why are girls so obsessed with them? I've seen girls cry when their tweeted their album cover. How the hell can you cry over guys you don't even know? It boggles my mind when I see girls in hysterics over 5 blokes.
Her: They are going to be sooo much hotter in person! ;)
Me: ...No comment.
Her: What?! It's true! haha
Me: Can I stay at your house for the night? Last school-night ever!
Her: You're always welcome! But come soon if you want to join us for dinner!
Me: On my way! How could I miss out on a home cooked meal from the Walkers?
Her: Hurry! Or else the boys will get all of the food!
I grab some clothes and toiletries, stuff them into a bag, and then I sprint down the stairs. I call out to Mom, "I'm staying over at Maddie's if you need me!"
"Wait!" she yells, stumbling into the room.
I turn slowly, "Yes?"
"Y-you almosh-t forg-g-got to sh-ay g'bye to me!"
I'd recognize that incoherent speech anywhere, she's drunk. Which means that she will hit me if it comes down to that. I act extra nice, "Sorry Mum." I throw my arms around her neck, choking on the stench of alcohol and cigarettes surrounding her. Did she bathe in the stuff?
I suppose I made her sound all nice and sympathetic earlier because my father left me. Well I'm sorry if you got the wrong picture because she is anything but sympathetic. When she cries, is when she's sober- which isn't often. On the nights she's drunk, she takes out her misery by slapping me. When my Dad left Mom should've looked after me, cherished me, and loved me because what mom wouldn't be worried about their young daughter growing up without a father? Answer: My Mom. She loathes me because I am a reminder of my dad... I'm the spitting image of him: grey eyes and ginger hair. My looks will always haunt her.
Her voice snaps me back to reality, "You aren't sorry, you brat." That stings, but I manage to shake the insult off.
"Sorry, I have to go now."
"Tha's right! Leave me-e jus' like yer fa'sher did! You goo' fer nothin' bitch!" She slaps me right there.
I cover my cheek with my hand and run out of the house, determined not to lether see me cry. I manage to bite back the tears until I reach the car. Once I close the door I let them fall freely. I'm nothing like my father, am I?
I honestly don't know the answer to that anymore.
YOU ARE READING
The Boyfriend Log (A 1D Fan Fiction) - ON HOLD
Teen Fiction****ON HOLD**** Jenna has what many call "commitment issues" but she'd never admit that aloud. As a way to keep herself away from love and relationships she created a log, "The Boyfriend Log." Call her a hypocrite... she doesn't care. It's the only...
