Author's Note: Short and bitter. Just. Like. Me.

Day One-Hundred Eighty-Three: The Honeymoon Stage by Carlie De Boer

She looked scornfully at the wilted rose on her dresser.

Once, it was full and perfect, but now it was wilted and ugly. It was just an ugly, old reminder of…the past. That was all she could call it without bile in the back of her mouth.

She hated the person she was a month ago. A month, thirty days, four weeks and two days…whatever the preferred term was.

Her hair was long and brown. She looked like such a wholesome, sweet girl with a dream. That was all she really had. That was all she ever really had.

And look at her now. Her hair was chopped off at right below the chin, dyed a dark black (to suit the mood of her soul). There were dark circles under her eyes, the windows of her soul. And her eyes were darker than they ever had been. And she looked so pale…so very pale…

She looked at the rose scornfully once more. She scorned those memories she still had of what felt like forever and a day ago, but still stung like they happened the day prior.

She had wanted to be famous. Wasn't that what every single stupid girl wanted? They wanted to be in pictures and talked about.

So she followed him. He was practically famous, right? Everyone knew who he was; that was like fame, right?

He needed a stupid girl to follow him and she did. She bent to his every need. Stupid, stupid girl.

But it was so easy to fall under his spell and fall under his perfect blue eyes. He looked like a harmless guy. He was like a serial killer; he murdered love and all hope of it.

He was a wolf in sheep's clothing, though. She had bought his image of being an all-American boy. What could she say? She found him attractive…hot, even. She, like so many other girls, would be willing to do anything for him (as aforementioned), which included meaningless sex…which he promised would mean something to him (though, of course, it never did). And just like that, she shared her body and her soul to the devil in sheep's clothing.

And away went all common sense, all rationality…she always turned a blind eye to all his wrongdoings. She told herself each time she was away from him that she would try to stay strong, but she never did; she convinced herself that they were perfect together. She meant something to him. She rallied for him. She told everyone to believe in him because she had believed that he believed in her. He gave her roses! He was the one! He was all she wanted.

But she didn't know that he was the last thing she ever needed. She didn't realize how her clinginess—which was simply adoration and admiration for him—was a turn-off for him. He didn't believe in love; he was too bold for it.

Those stupid roses beguiled her.

MilaMizz: GOOD. FOR. YOU. Really, good for you for being a consistent person. I'm not. Like, really. I'm awful at it. And when people actually ask me to review, I get annoyed when they're not like happy with it because I'm like, "Well...I don't do this and you asked me to, so..." That's horrible, I know, but I just...I can't. Unless usually right after I finish a really long story or a one-shot (because idk I feel like one-shots are just ignored too often, especially when they're really good like a lot on here are). I also hate when people PM me only to ask about an update. I just...I have other obligations. Anyway, sorry for unloading my crap all on you. Believe me, I did not think I'd make it to 182, either. Now, I just have 47 more. I can't believe that. Only 47 left. I have no idea what to do with myself when it's over. This is weird. I know a couple really big words (ostentatious, quandary, quintessential, some others along those lines) which fools people into thinking I have a great vocabulary, but really, I use the same fancy words over and over again. That reminds me of an Algebra test I took today. Girl, trust me, it's better to ask the teacher to slow down and actually get it instead of silently suffering like I do. Literally, I think I said one thing during math class last year (I think it was, "I want to cry" after seeing all the math our teacher was making us do) and everyone just started glaring at me. Like there were these two kids in the front row giving me these judgmental-ass looks. Ugh. You get used to it. Everyone always tells you what day it is. Literally, you can't go anywhere without seeing what day it is. And in the mornings, there are only four possible combos I can have: History then English, Latin then Prep, Math then Spanish, or Prep then Chemistry. So it's anyone's guess. And the teachers give you a little tiny laminated schedule you can keep with you. You just can't get lost in my school. It's really not as bad as it sounds. HPV is an STI/STD, right? Yeah, no worries for me contracting that. But surprisingly, I have been kissed before. So weird. 12 year-olds writing smut is the most disturbing thing to ever happen.

I still don't know when I'm updating my other stories. Oops.

Tomorrow's one-shot will be Serial Killer by Lana Del Rey. It's not going to be nice, Mizz. Not nice. Not nice. -Kayson (oops. I almost wrote my real name.)