Waiting game (Book One of the far away series)

One: Dayna

Lines.
Lines.
Lines that build us and make us up our bodies, our buildings,                                                                      Drawing our picture. Curves and slants and zigzags all over,                                                                        we aren't human, we're not living,                                                                                                                                we're just somebodies masterpiece and we have to put on a show.                                                              My curves no longer out but in displaying my self for the world to see,                                                      a picture of beauty a song of joy.                                                                                                                              These lines control your happiness they say superficial things like money and looks can't buy it but I disagree                                                                                                                                                                      I'm on wall, I'm the masterpiece, I'm skinny and pretty, a breathe of fresh air, I've went up in the world won't look down .                                                                                                                                                 No longer one of Picasso's illusion of lines that build up shapes to make my figure, I'm like something Da Vinci has drawn perfect and flawless.                                                                                              So don't burn me down out of spite and jealously just because you miss in the gutter with you,     I've made it, I'm done, I'm above you, I rule, hold me on your pedestal, see me now, I'm here

Two years he had been gone, to boarding school he went, sent away to straighten out, to fix himself and to be good. He was a storm back then, he came with only destruction as intention and leaving everything broken. You would have never known from looking at him, he seemed so tidy and so good. He was the type to smile and make you feel as if you were being lifted by the angels. I used to think he was so beautiful, despite how maliciously he acted toward me, yes I was one of those girls who thought that being a jackass was so hot, the cruelty and brutality such a turn on. I thought darkness and being broken was beautiful and not the tragic mess it was. I should have known better, because all he ever did was play people, all he did was play me. I know him now though, I know how he plays people, manipulates them. He's a year older, and he's a manipulative bully who made me fear him. He got under my skin, I was his toy, he knew how to control me, to play me and now he was back. Except I was gone I was changed, he wouldn't be able to play me as he did before.

I sensed him straight away, without even looking. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, my pulse quickened and I knew he was walking through the doors. I hadn't known he was here earlier, so he must have been late but that was unlike him, being late meant he wasn't perfect and perfect was the image he created. I was so scared to turn around to see him, but I couldn't help it. Facing him, I saw he looked different but the same,  he was taller and more muscular, now then he was before, he's clearly been working out. And his short cut hair had been shaved down the sides and had grown long on top, it was slicked back and tousled as if he's been running his hand back threw it. Two years have done him the world of good, he used to be attractive but now he's a god, with his golden skin and hazel eyes to die for, if he threw me a smile or a wink I can't lie my knees may have just buckled out from under me. But no I can't let him have that power, he may have been attractive but he wouldn't be the puppet master. I'm done with him.