𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆....
𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 a kook princess and
a dirty pogue have history but both
ignored the feelings and stayed
in their safe little bubble...
DAYS SEEM TO always drift and fade to the enigma of Outer Banks. Days and routines bleed into each other and eventually lose meaning after time. Life seemed to pass before her eyes, days fading into the night with nothing, no change. The same pit in her stomach was there when she woke up and when she went to bed, with each day it was slowly but surely getting bigger. While constant change washed around her, Kennedy's life remained the same. Still stuck, locked, in a life she didn't want, without a key to escape.
Her days were filled with interacting with people she didn't care about, her smile getting more and more forced, more plastic, with each passing second. The facade was becoming too big of a burden to bear. Life seemed so short, it was always passing, ticking by, her expiration date coming closer and closer, and all she had to remember it was the sinking defeat pooling in her stomach. And each day it was getting easier to accept things that would help her forget her worries. Drinks, drugs, sex, you name it, she would do anything to just forget the disappointed aches that buzz through her body at any given moment.
Constantly hiding the scowl that wanted to be stretched across her face with a cheap smile is getting harder and harder to do. Showing people affection who don't deserve it is getting harder and harder to do. Being unforgivingly nice to people who instantly turn and stab her in her back is getting harder and harder to do. Constantly taking the harsh blows of her mother's words with no reaction is getting harder and harder to do. Waking up in the morning with the same pit in her stomach is getting harder and harder to do. Every single thing is getting harder and harder to do. It's only a matter of time before the enigma of Outer Banks snaps.
The downside of days passing by is that each day Kennedy Thornton is getting closer and closer to her inevitable downfall. It's like a clock ticking in the background, the impending day is coming, but she just doesn't know when. But when it does, it'll be like a hurricane washing away everything she's ever known. She knows once this is all over, she'll feel relief, she just wants to feel a calmness surrounding her body as if she's floating on water. She just wanted to feel the eyes disappear. She wants to be able to do things without the fear of judgment. She just wants to be free.
Being confined to the fictitious narrative she's painted herself is torture. She feels as if it's a hand wrapped around her throat, with each breath, each day, it's getting tighter and tighter. Her throat aches to let out a scream that leaves her throat raw, to feel physical pain, to feel something. She wants something more than designer clothes, handbags, jewelry. She wants something more than fake smiles, manipulative notions of affection, and privileged rich people falling all over her. She wants something real. And the figure eight was never able to give that to her.
