Chapter 1: Tomorrow

Coming up with a plot was one of the hardest things I'd ever done in my life. Writing a whole story was harder.

I'd never been very good with my words. I could only speak in full sentences by the time I was ten. My personality didn't help, but you would think that since most kids are blabber mouths, I'd have been a bit more like my peers.

Turns out, I wasn't like my peers at all. While they were all gallivanting off to Disney World with their parents and siblings, I was in my room reading a little kid book, or just thinking.

I know for a fact that at age five, kids are not thinking. They're hyper, playful, little things that do nothing but run around with chocolate stains all over their shirts, until they're so tired, they think they can never play with their friends again, because they've had too much fun, and will somehow be enemies the next day.

Although that does happen sometimes, they're back together again in no time, as if nothing happened in the first place.

That's why I never really had any friends. I knew the outcome of having them, so I never went out of my way to get any. If anyone came up to me at school, I'd be nice, but when they eventually understood I wasn't looking for someone to hang with, they politely extracted themselves from my life. The less people I dragged down with me, the better.

I wasn't depressed so to say, I just wasn't the happiest person either, so I stayed in my own world that revolved around books and plotting. Quietly seperated from everyone else. No harm done.

Before I lived with my dad, I felt ridiculously out of place. I was a pale skinned, frumpish little girl, living in the world of tanned legs, and Abercrombie&Fitch.

Not to mention the world of my mother. She was a buoyant, admirable woman that lightened anyone's day, wherever she went. She was born a happy person. Nothing could ruin her good moods... except for Charlie, my father, during the short time they were married, but she told me it all changed when she had me, and ran away from Forks.

Maybe that was why I shied away from relationships. I didn't grow up in an atmosphere with two parents that loved eachother, so I hid from all relationships, but I made up for it by giving my main characters the happy ending I wouldn't get.

In my stories, the main character got The Guy. She was just some girl living life the way she wanted to, with all the adventures like school and friend trouble, and then BAM, in walks Mr. Perfect. Right on time to save her from evil.

Okay, I had to admit, the main character was myself, but I would never use my actual name in one of my stories. It seemed kind of... odd. And when I actually thought about it, it was stupid to ever think I would do the stuff my main character did:

Have sex, go on adventures, make a million friends just by smiling at them, have a superhuman boyfriend... the list went on and on.

Those were definitely the opposite of me.

No, I wouldn't go into detail of the sex my characters had, but it was there. If I ever got anything published, my readers could make what they wanted to out of those scenes.

But it all started the same way for the most part. Non-existent. The two go on a date, they have an amazing time, they go home, they cuddle, they admit their love for eachother, they kiss passionately, it goes a bit further, dot dot dot.

THE END.

They live happily ever after. Maybe get married. Have some kids. Grow old together.

Yeah. The frickin' end.

Congratulations, readers. You've won a best seller that ends the exact same way as every other romance novel on the face of the planet.

FAKE.

Yes, true love is fake. Love at first sight is fake. That is why I keep it for my stories.

I don't expect it to loom up behind me, and knock me off my feet. It's not made for me, and I don't want it... anymore. My characters could experience it for me. I was only a little jealous, but I would get over myself. Eventually. I could let someone else live the life I wanted.

That's why I hide in my stories.