Chapter 1
Tick Tock...
The thing about the whole tick-tocking thing is that it's not even happening. What we have here is a digital clock and my overactive imagination, the bi-product of which is keeping me from getting any sleep.
Tick Tock...
Sometimes you wish your own mind would shut up.
Veronica Mars with her psuedo-punk, flippy hair and her Nancy Drew 'tude, she has a way of making you dislike her.
Look at me with my natural highlights and my fucking hero complex.
Veronica Mars. What the hell kind of a name is that anyway?
Bitch.
My last name is Mars and I live in Neptune!
Isn't that cute? Her damn astronomy themed life.
Tick Tock...
Five-two with an avalanche of baggage. Why am I even thinking about her?
She could pass for relatively cute if she didn't talk so damn much.
Flashback
Lily laughed. The way she laughed was always complete, and always true. She was what you'd call genuine. Simple. She lived her life to amuse herself and made mistakes without conviction.
Lily was complete.
When she laughed, it was deep from her gut and tears would spring from her scrunched eyes.
"Have you ever kissed another girl?"
I used to love 'Truth or Dare'.
"Dude!" cried Duncan "Come on…there are some things I don't wanna know about my sister..."
"Well do you mean besides mine and Veronica's late night experimentations?" she retorted. The tease. She never really answered a question.
"Dude!"
"Sorry Duncan..." Veronica conceded with a smirkingly fake apologetic look plastered on her face "It's seems that in a very soap opera-esque turn of events my adolescent identity crisis has led me to the considerably less hairy arms of your sister."
She shrugged, all cute-like "Oops."
Veronica Mars.
She could pass for relatively clever if she wasn't so damn annoying.
With her flippy hair. Dammit.
Tick Tock...
What I would very much like right now, is to get some sleep, a luxury that's coming to be increasingly scarce for me.
Late at night, I remember my mother.
I remember Lily.
Late at night, I hate my father and I hate my life.
Late at night, I think about what I did to her and I smile like the sick little dog I am.
Late at night, sometimes, I'm even sorry.
Sometimes I almost cry.
And when I do, I think, I remember, that I hate her.