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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing2h 0m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Aug 11, 2019
"Whats - going on - with you Izzy?" She asked. I could hear the pain in her voice. "I can tell you're weak. You're pale. You're breathing wrong. Izzy, just tell me. Maybe I can help," she continued. I couldn't. I shook my head, faced away from her and laid silently until a thought came to mind, "You can't help me Rayn. No one can. Don't hurt yourself trying to either. It'll only make things harder," I spoke weakly and sad. ***** Isabela Morgan fights to understand how she feels about a girl she just met. Meanwhile she finds out about something she'll constantly struggling with until her last breath. She's forced to find acceptance after learning this new information. But how will her friends take it? Will they give up and leave her? How will her life turn out after all of it is over? - I wrote the first couple of parts kind of immaturely. Bare with it. It gets better, I promise.
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It was supposed to be anonymous. Just some harmless, late-night messeges on a forum. No names. No photos. No real-life complications. She was GoldTrap-mysterious, sharp, and way too good with words. I was BlueInk-awkward, sarcastic, and definitely not looking for anything. But then she made me laugh. Then she made me think. Then... she made me feel things I really shouldn't be feeling for someone I've never met. I'm Quinn. Twenty-four. Screenwriter-in-training. Emotionally a little chaotic and basically there no reason an amazing woman like her would be falling for someone like me. I've played a lot of roles in my life. But never this one. ----------------------------------------------- Late at night, I started writing letters to a stranger on a private forum-just to feel something real. She calls herself BlueInk. She's young, clever, infuriatingly honest... and somehow, she sees right through me. She doesn't know I'm Juliette Delaney-Hollywood's favorite ice queen with a face on every magazine and a life that doesn't belong to me anymore. She doesn't know that when I type, my hands shake. That when I read her replies, I smile. That I'm craving her words more than I've ever craved the spotlight. And I don't know what will happen if she finds out who I am. Because if I tell her the truth, I might lose the one person who loves me for who I really am. Not the icon. Not the actress. Just... me. But if I don't? I'll never get to feel her say my name out loud.

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