Post by MITCHIE MORGAN on Aug 6, 2010 17:26:50 GMT -5
Mitchie was pissed.
Like, royally.
Her knee high black combat boots murderously trampled on the tiny blades of grass that were unfortunate to be in her path as she headed for the tranquility of the forest. Her hair, that she had tied up in a ponytail no more than seven times for the morning before giving it up as a lost cause, was whipping along behind her as she walked, heavy and oppressive in the muggy July air.
The only thing that was going for her was her outfit, which was made of a thin material cut into a super mini dress that had holes slashed into it in random places, letting the little bit of breeze she was creating slip in and waft across her skin.
But she was still pissed.
She had been, really, for the better part of a week.
And it was all because of Lane.
Well, Carly too, but thinking about that girl was like drinking acid. Bad for your brain, and all that.
Lane, who had schemed on her, played with her emotions, set her up over and over again with his insensitivity.......Lane with his perfect hair and perfect eyes and those perfect, perfect arms........Lane, who she thought had been hers, who she floated around on cloud nine thinking about for weeks, even though she couldn't get into contact with him, even though he refused to answer her phone calls, text messages, emails, EVERYTHING! Lane who she'd caught with the sleaziest piece of trash probably in the Hollywood district, Lane who had the balls to say nothing had happened...... She swiped furiously at her leaking eyes, mad all over again that they had the audacity to produce tears over him, that her heart still throbbed painfully everytime she thought about him, that every head of hazelly brown curls somehow always looked like him in the split second before she forced herself to remember.....remember.....
It took a minute to realize her vision was so blurry she couldn't see where she was walking, and when she blinked to clear them, two fat globs of tears gaily slid down her cheeks. Mitchie sighed. Was there any use fighting this? What would happen would happen, right? She slid to the ground, not caring if little leaf bits attached themselves to her clothes, and pulled her knees up to her chest. Eyebrows and forehead wrinkled up and slowly, painfully, a soft sob wound its way out of her throat. One deep breath, then another, and a sister-sob to the first found release. Soon Mitchie was crying softly into her knees, her thin fingers digging into the grooves of her boots. It felt as if she were dying, being peeled apart inch by inch from the inside, and there was nothing anyone could do and it would never stop, ever, ever, ever and all she would know for the rest of her life was pain, and all because of him.
Mitchie wasn't so mad anymore.
Like, royally.
Her knee high black combat boots murderously trampled on the tiny blades of grass that were unfortunate to be in her path as she headed for the tranquility of the forest. Her hair, that she had tied up in a ponytail no more than seven times for the morning before giving it up as a lost cause, was whipping along behind her as she walked, heavy and oppressive in the muggy July air.
The only thing that was going for her was her outfit, which was made of a thin material cut into a super mini dress that had holes slashed into it in random places, letting the little bit of breeze she was creating slip in and waft across her skin.
But she was still pissed.
She had been, really, for the better part of a week.
And it was all because of Lane.
Well, Carly too, but thinking about that girl was like drinking acid. Bad for your brain, and all that.
Lane, who had schemed on her, played with her emotions, set her up over and over again with his insensitivity.......Lane with his perfect hair and perfect eyes and those perfect, perfect arms........Lane, who she thought had been hers, who she floated around on cloud nine thinking about for weeks, even though she couldn't get into contact with him, even though he refused to answer her phone calls, text messages, emails, EVERYTHING! Lane who she'd caught with the sleaziest piece of trash probably in the Hollywood district, Lane who had the balls to say nothing had happened...... She swiped furiously at her leaking eyes, mad all over again that they had the audacity to produce tears over him, that her heart still throbbed painfully everytime she thought about him, that every head of hazelly brown curls somehow always looked like him in the split second before she forced herself to remember.....remember.....
It took a minute to realize her vision was so blurry she couldn't see where she was walking, and when she blinked to clear them, two fat globs of tears gaily slid down her cheeks. Mitchie sighed. Was there any use fighting this? What would happen would happen, right? She slid to the ground, not caring if little leaf bits attached themselves to her clothes, and pulled her knees up to her chest. Eyebrows and forehead wrinkled up and slowly, painfully, a soft sob wound its way out of her throat. One deep breath, then another, and a sister-sob to the first found release. Soon Mitchie was crying softly into her knees, her thin fingers digging into the grooves of her boots. It felt as if she were dying, being peeled apart inch by inch from the inside, and there was nothing anyone could do and it would never stop, ever, ever, ever and all she would know for the rest of her life was pain, and all because of him.
Mitchie wasn't so mad anymore.
