sadistic [m.c]

one - punk rock much?

I waltzed into my group therapy session of the week with a smirk on my face. I was prepared to make lives miserable. After all, I was sadistic, and I enjoy making people cry. Sitting down, I looked around for someone to torture... My eyes landed on a punk-rock looking boy; he must have been new. I began my analysis... The boy wore skinny jeans, vans, Black Sabbath tee, and had a red flannel tied around his waist. He looked like he was trying way too hard to look all punk-rock. Issue number one: he was insecure. I noticed because every so often he would cross his arms and awkwardly glance around. He looked as though he was about to piss himself. I was still scrutinizing him when our group therapist trudged into the room. In all honesty, he hated his job. He thought all of our disorders were in our heads; we were just looking for attention. He sat down and blathered on about medication, self-pity, and how pathetic we were. He's one hell of a therapist...I rolled my eyes and zoned out until he called someone's name. "Michael Clifford, please introduce yourself." With a classic smirk on my face, I looked up. Clifford was punk-rock boy's name, and the poor boy was already in for a world of self-hate before he had even said one word. Already I knew I'd enjoy this one. Michael Clifford just sealed his fate as my next victim.

Aye,
Sorry this was super short and terrible... I typed it on my phone so excuse any errors until I can edit... Erm, vote and comment if you want another chapter! :) I promise the next one will be very long and better written! Thanks.
- Sarah x