Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight; I don't.
But my words are mine.
EPOV
10.
Who am I kidding?
I won't look for her.
I can't.
I can't, because I won't.
And it's not because I don't want to.
I rarely even leave my house.
I just can't.
I'm paralyzed by whom I've become—a dysfunctional—one obsessed by social media.
I respond to the sun as if I were a vampire, not able to bring myself to do anything in daylight.
I'm so sickly and pale.
Trick-or-treaters were even surprised by my appearance, probably thinking I was actually wearing makeup and a costume when in reality, I needed sleep, a shave, and fresh clothes.
A/N:
What are your thoughts?
Thank you to my wonderful beta, Chayasara.
Thank you for reading.
PAD