Hey everyone, this is my second Naomily story, and hopefully my best :) This is just the prologue, the actual chapters will be much longer. I just got this idea, like, now, so I decided to go with it. Depending on how much time I have on my hands in the next few days, updates should be fairly frequent. So, enjoy, and let me know what you think. Cheers!
What do you see when you look in the mirror? Hopefully a person, first and foremost, but is there anything more than that? I see years of spite, hatred, abuse, and, most of all, pain. These eyes hold so much pain; far too much pain for a sixteen-year-old girl. Only people who haven't experienced true pain can let go of their past, truly move on. What I've gone through cannot ever be forgotten.
My name is Naomi Campbell, no not the super model. Yes, the bottle-blonde, sharp-witted, closed-off girl. My story? Unimportant to anyone who isn't me. This story starts right here, right now, much like any other story does. The past will be told in fragments, throughout the story at weird times. Like in the middle of a-
My wrists ache from the chains. I'm disoriented and my vision is blurred. Not that I would be able to see anything if it wasn't. The room is pitch black, the floor cold and, unsurprisingly, hard. The walls are adorned with some sort of slime, which I'm sure has a greenish tint to it. My body aches. I don't know where I am or how I got here. I remember going to sleep, and waking up, well, here, wherever that is.
sentence. That will inevitably become annoying. It would be boring to just give you my whole story right off the bat, wouldn't it? No? Oh well, we'll do it my way anyways. I often stop whatever I'm doing and remember. Remember the events that consumed my existence for about ten months. Ten months that I will never get back nor forget.
Right, today's my first day of college at Roundview. I heard it's a real shithole. Well, I heard from myself that it's a real shithole, but that's beside the point. The kids will most likely be assholes, the teachers curious, but pitying. I hate pity. It reminds me that I'll always be that girl. The one everyone talks about, but never dares talk to. Even the ones who try to get through to me give up, despite my obvious cries for help. I give everyone all the signs, but at the first sign of friction, they run.
I sigh deeply and finally turn away from the mirror. What do I really see? Emptiness.