Stella

Chapter 1

I think a lack of human interaction can fuck with anyone's mind. Then again, I think we all have something wrong with us. We're all only as fucked up as the people around us.

I don't know what I want with my life. I don't know if I want to move out of my mother's house. I'm not sure if I even want to be an art student any more. I don't know if I want to get married, or have kids. I also don't know if I want to live for that long.

Marriage seems too far away. It seems like too long of a time to wait for something that would only be an addition to all the problems I face on the daily.

I resent life. I resent the morning summer, the one people seem so fond of, the one that tends to make couples smile to one another under their covers, and children jump up in zeal for a potential day at the park or beach day.

I resent people. They aren't capable of meeting up to my expectations. They aren't capable of making smile, or laugh, or even slightly smirk. I'm not capable of doing the same for them.

"Ivy!" my mother calls.

Cynthia Cole, aka my mother, is a forty one year old accountant who's life is honestly more boring and just as miserable as mine. She doesn't hide it well either. If she's not drowning in alcohol, she's taunting me about everything I'm not and everything I should be. Horrible, but I can't live without her. Literally. She feeds and clothes me until I can find a job.

The woman in question bangs against my door.

"Wake up! You're gonna be late!" she yells.

I won't. My classes start at 2pm today. Sometimes she forgets I'm in college and not high school. Then again I doubt she knows. She never did come to my graduation.

If I were being honest, I resent myself. I'm repulsed by my body, I despise it with everything in me.

I get up like she wants me to because I don't want to start an argument about how I never listen to her.

I take a quick shower, and then get dressed into the usual sweatpants and hoodie look I have for everyday of the week and every week of the month.

I drive to campus, and sit under the tree next to the building, grabbing my book out of my back pack.

If there was anyone in the world that I didn't hate, it would be the anonymous author who wrote this book.

Stella.

I've read it about five times now, and this would be my sixth.

Reading makes me hate life a little less, maybe because it's the one time I'm actually not living it. I don't have feelings of my own, I have the character's feelings. If she's happy, I'm happy. And if she's sad, well, atleast she's not as sad as me.

This book is about a girl named Stella. She suffers from chronic mommy issues, atleast that's my way of putting it. She deals with them by sleeping with every woman past the age of thirty five.

What I like about Stella so much is her confidence. She is audacious, imprudent and honestly the most mentally ill person I know....i mean, I don't know her. She feigns confidence better than any actor can act. She fakes her smile better than any teenager with clinical depression.

It's not that she isn't sad, there are chapters where she cries about everything she goes through. But she wakes up the next day and does it all over again. It's boss behavior.

I run a hand through my loose, light brown hair to move it from blocking my vision as I continue to read.

"You're not supposed to be in here." Carolina says, trying to shoo Stella out of her home.