this is not a sad story

chapter 1

I want to begin in saying that I don't want your pity. I don't want you to see me as a weak, scared little girl. And I'm going to tell you first and foremost: I die. At the end of this story, I die.

Now, I won't spoil anything for you. I'm not gonna tell you why, or how. I will tell you this, though: I'm a liar. You can't believe anything that I say. So, tread carefully.

*

I'm not very pretty. I used to have curls, but due to religious flat ironing they've mellowed out. I have split ends that people often mistake for eyelashes. Still, I make a wish every time I find one. I don't really have acne, but I wear a lot of makeup which means I have plenty of zits. My eyebrows are furry, I have round cheeks, and my lips are too small. I have dark skin, a courtesy of my Indian parents. I like watching a lot of movies, always under funded indie films. I listen to a variety of music. I have a good amount of friends. There's Summer, who has an issue with shoplifting obscure things like sweet potatoes and keychains. There's Gabby, who has been dating a sleazebag of a guy that gaslights her and probably cheats on her every week. Then there's Astrid, who's probably gonna cure cancer one day.

I'm 17, which means I have a year left of hell. Oh, sorry, I mean high school. When people see Indian, they automatically think that I'm smart. My parents think I'm smart. Everytime the wifi disconnects, they make me troubleshoot. I sometimes think that I'm smart, but I'm not in any honors classes. I like painting, even though they don't turn out good at all. I like singing old 2010 pop songs because that era is quite immaculate. I don't like spicy food and I have a bad habit of eating too many sweets.

I remember life as a kid and I often think back on how blissful it was. The world just seemed a little more saturated with color and I found joy in coloring books and seeing bunnies hop around our yard. I remember how my parents would cook me meals like mac n cheese and chicken nuggets while they ate their simple meal of rice and vegetable curry. Now, I have to make and buy my own meals and I usually eat it in my room with a bowl of weed that I keep hidden in a jewelry box that I hope nobody ever finds.

Weed is the only way that I'll eat. I just don't have an appetite and a good meal takes too long to cook. I'm fucking my plug, which means I get it for a discount and sometimes when he's asleep I'll take a few buds from his stash.

Fucking is good. I like the endorphins that my brain makes. I can shut off any thoughts, close my eyes, and let someone pull on my hair, whisper how much of a slut I am, and choke me until I can't really breathe.

Yes, I know that sounds bad. But once you've tried it, you'll probably like it, too. I swear, it's therapeutic. And I don't have some weird sub/dom kink, it just gets me off, okay?

I have a pretty normal teenage life. I have friends, I like getting crossed on Friday nights in the abandoned orchard with my friends and whatever guys that want a good fuck. Sometimes I try in school, but it all seems pretty pointless. What am I trying for? My parents own a grocery store a few towns away, which primarily stocks Indian products. It's a cool niche, I guess. It keeps them busy and pays the bills. I'm not smart enough to become a doctor or a lawyer or an engineer. In fact, doing a job like that sounds pretty shitty. You become a slave to the people, or you become a slave to your job. Then, to attempt to add some humanity to your life, you meet someone and get married, then have two kids and a job. Hey, that's fulfillment to some. It just sounds awful to me. I can't really see what type of future I have for myself. When I was little, I always thought I would die young, or that something would happen to my parents which meant I had to grow up too fast. Neither of those has happened at that point, so I just chose to continue living and trying to adjust with every year I grew older.

I'm gonna set the scene: it's Friday night, maybe 10:30, and I'm with my friends. Gabby's driving, and Nick is in the front seat because he has a superiority complex (this is from my own research). Summer, Astrid, and I are in the back of her dad's truck. Summer is wearing a bunch of bulky necklaces, some are made of paperclips and the rest are from her collection of Forever 21 lifts. She's wearing shorts that have a rip on her ass because it's tasteful. Astrid is trying to finish up memorizing terms for AP french before she gets sloppy. I'm rolling a blunt for all of us to share. I'm wearing a mid-length dress with my mom's ratty Skechers because apparently that's the look now. Plus, dresses make it easier to fuck. Some guys from the baseball team are gonna meet up with us at the orchard, but we made them swear not to bring anybody else.