AN: ok I am trying this new story but it might not get far so right now I write as I go and I will see where it goes from there.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight and I make no money off it.
Review !
Bella POV
You could tell me your name and everything about you. You could tell me your birthday, your favorite color, book, movie and food. You could tell me about your parents, hobbies and brag on and on about your friends. In return I could tell you my name. Only my name, maybe not even that. I couldn't describe my personality or my identity because I don't fucking know. Yea I could give you my whole life's story but it wouldn't mean shit. Most of it will be lies. Even though I am weird you'll want to be my friend and talk to me but I won't let you in. Sure I will joke around and smile but it will be a lie, just like everything else. You won't even notice because of how good I am at hiding it. Hiding the fact that I cut myself and enjoy it, or that I cry myself to sleep and then the cryptic nightmares that are so complex I can't even begin to explain it all. That's just a few of many more. No you won't notice. Shit for awhile I didn't notice but it was always there. I'm so multifaceted that I don't know myself. How screwed up is that? But in the end I am me. Bella. Complete with crude language and a dirty mind. I know I'm a sick freak. Not like the cyco's you see on TV that stalk people or fantasize about blowing up a major office building. No I am very different. In my head so many things go on, I hear myself speak various things in my mind that I don't even think about. I'm greatly aware of what I am capable of. Homicide, suicide, and the list continues. No, I haven't killed anyone. Yet. But just the thought haunt my everyday life.
I may not look like it, but I can do some major damage. I hurt myself and everyone around me. You'd think that by the aura I give off that people would stay away from me but yet my fake smile and personality invite you in. I am a perfectly screwed up being and I advise you to stay away from me but I won't tell you that because I ain't your damn mother and your choices are yours to make. So when you get hurt don't bitch at me because you had it coming. Because you just had to befriend the weird girl because you thought she was cool. In all reality you think you know me but here's a reality check, you don't. You like me because I am interesting. Because I do drugs and get wasted every night. But that's it so don't tell your friends you know me because you can't. I have no identity. I move with the rest of you because that's what's expected of me. Trust me if I had the choice I would turn my back on everything and go somewhere where I could sit with my own demented thoughts and not be. Not be who I am. Not be who you want me to be. Not be who you think I am. Not be anyone, more like an 'it'. The thing. The thing that can't define what it is. But still know that it's different. Not a new thing more like an experiment gone wrong. A failed attempt at reproduction. A mistake. A degenerative disease slowly destroying everything and enjoying it. A freak. Meant to be shunned and disregarded. Better yet destroyed. Tortured in every way possible. This is me. This is my mind. And I'm not even done yet.
After knowing this do you still want to be "friends"? Didn't think so.