WHEN IT ENDS || Jason McCann Fictional Story||

14.~|Antisocial Sputtering Hoochie|~

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Writer's Note:

Okay, a heads up- this chapter was the most lengthy one I'd written and as I went on editing, I was having second thoughts seeing that the other chapters after editing became much larger. But, ah, how things like to remain unchanged! This chapter had easily passed 15,000 words. So, I had to split this in two, continuing the incidents on next chapter, and still end up with more than 10,000 >_< sorry to all those eager ones for a short chapter. I guess, it'll be a long time before that happens. But-but, the scenes and incidents have changed majorly;)

Happy reading, everyone!

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Songs for this chapter:

She will be loved
by Maroon 5

You're Beautiful
by James Blunt

Hold My Hand
by Jess Glynne

Beautiful Day
by U2

Rain
by Lucy Park

Old Friends
by Jasmine Thompson

Helium
by Sia

Redemption
by Besomorph, Coopex, RIELL

For The Lover That I Lost
by Sam Smith

I Hate You So Much
by Alexander 23

Lonesome
by SHAED

Gravity
by Sara Bareilles

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For the life of me, I can't stop smiling as I step out of the shower booth and apply all sorts of cosmetics kept inside the cabinets, even if I don't know how to use them. Or, where to use them, for that matter. I think that spray kind of thing is not meant for my body.

And I'm certain now as I read the label at the back.

So, why the heck do people use a damn hairspray? Doesn't a shampoo wash away all the bad smell from a person's hair?!

Why am I applying everything again?

Right. You are just so darn elegant

I stop for a moment in front of the mirror- a queer thing for me to do at present. It used to be usual before going to school, but now it's just plain weird. I don't have any reason to review my reflection. There's nothing to see, anyways, other than the wonted bags beneath my eyes, and the chiseled jaw, and the two black spots I have. Mother used to say that the one, right next to my left eye was inherited, and the one on my left cheek became more prominent after hitting puberty.

Elevating my chin, I poke the area with my index, trying to look closer to the blackhead marks I once had. And I can only come to a single conclusion.