I escaped my reality by reading fanfictions. They escaped their fanfictions to become my reality.

Don't you call her baby. We're not talking lately. Don't you call her what you used to call me... A story in which a girl who writes songs falls in love with the boy who sings them. "Color...What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams." - Paul Gauguin. DO NOT PRINT MY BOOKS! *TW: story contains mature topics such as mental abuse, PTSD, minor drug usage, and minor sexual content.*

***completed*** NOW PUBLISHED ON AMAZON Harry Styles. The strange one. The freak. The one who was too kind for his own good, trapped in a world where his job was to bring people pain. Sophia 'Spice' Winters. The dancer. The stripper. The one who who trapped in a world where her job was to provide men with nothing but pleasure. -- "What don't you understand?" Harry seethed, his hands gripping the roots of his hair. "I'm not the good guy here, Sophia. I'm bad, everything about me is fucking bad." Harry looked as if he was about to rip his hair out, his wild eyes shinning with madness. He looked unhinged, raw and angry. It should of frightened me. That look alone should of been enough to send me running. He didn't look like the shy man I first met. He looked...crazy. His fingers were coated in red, stained with the blood of another. He didn't seem to care though. "If I was you Sophia, I would run away. Run as far away as you possibly can, because I promise you...An evil part of me won't let you go, and I hate myself for that. I want you to run away, to a place that I can't ever find you. You'll be safe that way."