People often say I have a good sense of style. But then again most people I know dress like their basic Pinterest boards. I mostly thrift. I'm not sure if it's even fair of me to thrift considering how rich my family is. I'm not going to pretend like we're not or try to be the girl who paints her nails black and talks about how she doesn't even like the money and wants to stay away from her family's privilege. Anyone who acts like they don't care about money is a liar. Our entire society is based off of money so I'm just gonna say it: I love my money and I love living the life I live. Now having money and actually keeping the money are two very different things. And I'm not going to be the spoiled trust fund baby who spent it all on drugs, plastic surgeries and clothes. I consider myself good enough looking that I don't need to change myself. Although I do love to try. When it's 3 a.m and no one sees me I put green eyeshadow on and draw rainbows on my face. I'm pretty good at it too. I'm basically good at everything I do. My parents worked hard, now they're millionaires. I'll work twice as hard and be twice as rich.
Now I'm aware you're probably thinking I'm a bit of a bitch. I'd like to point out the fact that subconsciously insulting a woman the second you realise she's self confident and knows her worth, is misogynistic. You should probably do some serious work on yourself.
Ah yes, the wonderful society we live in. Any excuse to bring women down. Speaking of women being fucked over, you should probably meet my best friend.
I picked up my keys from the counter and left my house. It was a windy day. My heels clicked as they hit the ground. I had paired them with wide pants and a corset top. I swear I'm too much for this town. That's why I'm getting out of here the second I finish school. I clicked open my car and got behind the wheel. The drive was kind of a long one. The closest rehabilitation centre to Shit-Town. I parked my car and walked up to the building. I knew I was about ten minutes early. They didn't open for visitation until four. I leaned against the wall and pulled out my cigarettes. I scrolled through my Instagram feed as I smoked, minding my own business. Eventually, I saw a man with keys walk towards the entrance. I put my phone away, excited to finally see Emily. Of course he had to look me up and down. I took my phone back out, reluctant to worry about middle aged white men. "You know it's a shame an attractive girl like you has to smoke." I rolled my eyes. Men don't ever just do their job do they? "Please don't worry about me sir." I told him sarcastically. Thank god he didn't say anything else after that and just opened the fucking door. I went inside, got my visitor badge and went to sit at me and Emily's usual table. Minutes later she showed up. She smiled when she saw me and I smiled back. Her silver hair was up in some sort of bun. There was colour in her cheeks and she overall looked more alive. Emily used to walk around looking like a corpse. Drugs do that to a person. So does Bulimia. Emily really got the full package of struggles. I stood up and hugged her. I couldn't tell if she had gotten less boney since last week or not because of the ginormous hoodie she was wearing. "How have you been doing girly?" I asked her. She smiled as we sat back down and took my hand. "My best I guess, the same as last week." She said.
"Are you not to bored in here?" I asked her. "Say the word and I will literally bring you anything you need. Do you want an iPhone 11 to keep you company?" I said. She laughed quietly. "I'm fine." She said. "You've already done way too much for me." She told me. I was the one who convinced my parents to pay for Emily's rehab. When really it should have been Damian. My hate for that boy has no limits. It's like he targets my friends' hearts and then breaks them. And now I'm sitting here on the news that he's back together with Derek with the moral obligation to tell Emily and no clue how she will react. "Kristen." Emily waved her hand in front of me. "You kinda dozed off there." She said. "I have good news and bad news." I blurted out. "Spill." Emily said.
"Which news do you want to hear first?" I asked her. "The bad." She said. I shook my head. "Nope, the news don't work like that." I said. "Why'd you ask then?" Emily said. I took a deep breath. "The good news is Derek is back from the military." I said. Emily looked unimpressed. It was stupid of me to try to soften the blow. "Let me guess the bad news, he's back with Damian." Emily said. I nodded. I was trying to figure out how exactly the news had affected her so I waited for her to say something. "It was to be expected." Emily said. The smile left her face but at least she didn't look like she was about to fall apart. "I never want to see him ever again anyway so it doesn't really matter anyway." She said. "Yeah." I said. "But if you ever want to talk about it give me a call and we will bash him together." I told her. She nodded and smirked. "I also made new friends last week." I said to change the subject. "Oh yeah?" She said. "Yeah." I said "Two Junior girls. One's a redhead called Meghan, I think. Super nice." I was saying as Emily interrupted me: "I love redheads. I've never met a mean redhead in my life." She said. "I know right? The other girl I met is Emily Davidson." I said. "The girl who's brother died right?" Emily said. "She's arguably the only person in this town with a sadder life than me." She continued to say as she twirled around one of her silver hair strands. "You'll be better in no time." I said. "And then I'll come get you and we'll go to Europe together. Far away from everything and everyone." I told her and took her hand into mine again. "I sure hope so." Emily said. Then we talked for a while longer, until it was one and I had to go. "Same time, same place." I told Emily as I hugged her goodbye.
