P S Y C H E
- Reads 1,484
- Votes 95
- Parts 70
MatureOngoing4h 1m
Last published Sat, Oct 19, 2024
There is in fact some minor grammar errors and spelling from when I was 14-15. So I'm sorry lmao. Anyways enjoy‼️
The Actress
I'm good at making people feel for me. All though I may not be good socially, I can make people fall to their knees if they knew my story and everything I carry within of it. If people were in my mind, they'd cry.
The Director
I saw her walking in the school hallways, not a care in the world. Acting as if she was the toughest person in the room and knew I had to make her mine. Even if it was just for a minute. I wanted to recruit and let her meet my friends. I know someone whose broken like the back of my hand because quite frankly, aren't we all?
The Producer
She took my breath away. She was gorgeous, beautiful, stunning, amazing, cute, and overall generous. She was my world. She's in my head 24/7. However, I'm her best friends biggest enemy and she doesn't even know it yet.
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They say betrayal never comes from your enemies. I used to think that was just something people said to feel better about their broken hearts. Until mine shattered too. The night it happened, everything changed. I lost my best friend. I lost my boyfriend. But worst of all... I lost myself. It's funny how a single moment can split your life into before and after. Before, I was the girl who believed in love, in loyalty, in forever. After, I was the girl standing in the ruins of what used to be her world, gasping for air, screaming into the silence, wondering why. Why me? Why now? Why them? So, I ran. Packed what was left of me and left the pieces behind-what else could I do? I moved cities. Moved in with my cousin. I told myself I needed a break, a fresh start. I told myself I wasn't looking for anyone. I was here to rebuild, quietly, carefully. Just me and the pain that still lived under my skin. But then... I saw him. At the club. Dark suit. Brooding eyes. Hands in his pockets like the world bowed at his feet. He didn't just walk in; he owned the room. The kind of man who didn't need to speak to be heard. I didn't know his name. I didn't know his story. But I felt his eyes on me like a touch that burned. He was power. He was danger. He was everything I told myself to avoid. But as fate would have it, the man who never chased anyone... noticed the broken girl who stopped believing in love. And maybe-just maybe-he'd be the one to help me believe again. This is the story of how I broke... And how he found every shattered piece.
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