Warning: Magical content ahead...
True love finds a way, is what people say. For eighteen year old Blake Anderson, the meaning of love is nothing but betrayal. He is too adamant to believe in the existence of true love, especially after experiencing...
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I glanced at Leah. There was a queer expression on her face which I could not read, and it terrified me.
"Maybe, I should just leave," I whispered.
I headed towards the exit, walking slowly. Slowly enough, for Leah to stop me from going.
Four steps away.
Three now.
C'mon Leah.
Two...
"Umm...Blake"
I turned to look at her with hope in my eyes. I knew it. I knew it that she would never choose anyone else's friendship over mine.
"You forgot your car keys," she said handing it to me.
A wave of disappointment hit me. I felt disgusted and belittled.
I took the keys, without uttering another word. I smiled at her, trying to conceal my expression that screamed dismayal.
******
I ran up the stairs and flung open the door of my room, fuming with a mixture of unexplained emotions. I promptly dug my hands in my pocket and took out my phone. Instagram was the only way I could find out more about Marc. I typed with shaky fingers,
Marc Willians.
I erased the last two letters again and rewrote the correct spelling.
Marc Williams.
There it was. The profile picture showed Marc's perfect face with his hands running through his hair and his eyes lowered towards the ground.
I stalked his profile like a Romeo searching maniacally for his Juliet. He lives in Los Angeles, California.He has a job which, I guess, keeps him forever glued to money. He owns a luxurious car and is atleast two-three years older than me. He is sturdily built and most of his pictures are captured in the gymnasium, showing off his six-pack abs. He has the charm. The charm to woo any beautiful girl in the whole wide world.
I sat at the edge of my bed and gazed cluelessly at the figure in the mirror.
I have the looks of a handsome boy. But I can never carry it off well.
I am super-rich. But the money isn't mine. It belongs to Dad.
I get good grades. But I am not intelligent at all.
I am just a dumb, immature teenager who knows nothing of what it takes to be a gentleman.
Look at his clothes. Chest-fitting shirts and trousers like a powerful personality.
Look at my clothes. Loose hoodies. I look like some kindergarten kid.
Now I know why Jennifer left me. Now I know why Dad left me. Now I know why Charlie left me. I am the reason. I am the damn reason. I am immature and I can't make decisions.
