One Kiss Left
- Reads 82,005
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- Parts 39
MatureOngoing5h 3m
Last published Mon, Oct 28, 2024
"Don't you think that skirt is short for you?" She says, changing the subject and taking another long hit from her blunt.
Since when does she care about my clothing? Besides it's not like it's affecting anyone, so why does it matter?
"Um, no. Why do you care anyways?" I ask suspiciously, while looking down at my skirt. It's not even short.
"People are looking at you in there, and maybe it's because of what you're wearing," She throws her blunt on the ashtray that she has, and turns her attention on me staring fiercely into my eyes.
"Why does it matter? It's not like it's a bad thing." I say, now worried at this point. I don't know what's going through her mind as she comes closer to me, again my back is against the wall beside the balcony railing.
"It is a bad thing because it seems everyone in there wants to fuck you, and for some damn reason it's bothering me." Heaven says lowly, barely audible.
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Hatred. Despite. Mixed feelings. Read to find out about Valentina and Heavens relationship, which starts off as despiteful, then turns into something pure.
*Contains mature content and violence. Please don't read if you're not comfortable with that.* Thank you!
*Discontinued*
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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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