Book Four:
Audrey Sinclair:
The girl who couldn't accept love.
" You make falling in love seem so easy, so simple. You make me want to take that leap and fall."
Haze Black:
The boy with so much love to give.
" I just want to love you. From the mome...
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Hell was a teenage girl.
Growing up, I never considered myself beautiful, or pretty.
I was never the skinny girl or the girl who looked well put together. I was tall and always on the plus sized side. No matter how many times I went to the gym or tried to diet, I never noticed a difference. Maybe it was all in my head. Or maybe it was the consistent comments on my figure that had me doubting my progress. Either way, I never considered the fact that I could be beautiful.
And it all came down to one person.
Hell was a teenage girl named Quinn Beckett.
Quinn was every teenage girl's worst nightmare . A pure mean girl and my very one personal hell.
The little self esteem that I did have about myself, she made sure to rip to shreds and to make sure that I would never feel good about myself as long as she was around, she made sure to douse those poor little shreds and light them on fire. Quinn Beckett was a self-proclaimed queen bee. Jet black hair, eyes just as black as her fucking soul, the quaterback boyfriend, and the posse that allowed her to run all over them like they were plastic bags on the side of the road.
Oh how I daydreamed about Quinn Beckett getting the Regina George treatment and getting ran over by a bus, or preferably a Mac truck.
Because of Quinn Beckett, I found myself gaining the habit of body checking. Something that I never seemed to shake, even after slowly starting to gain the confidence that she and my rapist tried to diminish.
I stood in front of my full sized mirror in nothing but a bra and underwear, staring at my body and marking the new stretch marks that appeared. My thighs and ass were covered in cellulite, my breast in stretch marks.I didn't have washboard abs or a supermodel body. No, I had the stomach and rolls to prove it.
I had my good days and my bad days when it came to my body.
Somedays I would wear cute little tops that showed my stomach and think that I looked like hot shit, even though deep down, I was always conscious of the eyes that were on me. Other days I would drown my body in sweats and think that I looked like a whale that just washed up on Venice beach.
On those days, I would hear Ashanti's voice in my head, scolding me with disappointment because she didn't like when I put myself down. She was one of the first people to help me start gaining my confidence back after my assault. She never missed a moment to compliment me and remind me that I was beautiful, that I was more than just a body.
She hated when I called myself fat or anything close to the term.
I knew that what I was doing was unhealthy. It was such a bad habit to have. I just couldn't stop myself from doing it. If she could see me now, I'm sure that there would be a hugging session, followed by a long speech and affirmations that she would have me repeat, and then there would be threats about beating my ass.
