Pringles – The Opera

Act One: The Expectant Pringle

Summary: Peyton's hobbies: Elle, cleaning, writing poetry, cooking, ice cream, avoiding aspiring porn star stepbrother, and NOT being gay. Full summary inside. MxM

Full Summary: After Peyton’s Mom dies; his father marries a porn star. Yes. A porn star. Enter Julian, the sex-crazed new stepbrother. But Peyton is too busy writing stalker-ish love poems to a girl named Elle that couldn't give a shit about him. Said girl named Elle is in love with Peyton’s new stepbrother's best friend (Mattheus) and is using Julian to climb the social 'highschool' hierachy. Peyton's new stepbrother's best friend is quite the asexual mute who loves to hump walls. He's wall sexual. Oh, and when he does talk he talks in well...Shakespearian.

A/N: So. It’s here (insert sarcastic YAYs and WOOHOOs). And you all want to kill me right now. I kept saying..it's going to be up in a week, yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm insecure blah blah. And yeah. Yeah, it’s here alright. Anyways, I forgot what AN I had orginally typed so...k. Enjoy? Or not? Just don't tell me if you don't enjoy. But do tell me if you do.

--

Try 1:

“Come on,…come on. Read it, read it, READ IT! Don’t throw it away!”

“Is she reading it this time?” Andrew asks from behind me. Dang you!

“HUSH! No talking!” I hiss and…

...he laughs at me and I hear him walk away. Ignore ignore IGNORE.

Anyways, AS I was saying…I stare at the heavenly creature in front of me, taking the heart-shaped letter out of the crack of her locker and slowly…ever so slowly, opening it.

SUCCESS!

From where I’m standing, looking, whatever I can see her slowly mouthing the words that I so artfully wrote in memoriam of her. My sweet, sweet angel from heaven.

With dark brown hair that hangs in

ringlets down her succulent waist

I feel as if I touched her she would melt

and dissolve into a pile of glitter on the floor

AND I WOULD SCREAM!

I WOULD SCREAM, FOR THE FLOOR IS NOT

WORTHY TO HAVE HER ON IT

Eyes the color of night

Crisp and sparkling with mirth

when she laughs

oh, how my heart burns with longing

And such skin! Such skin of porcelain!

The curves of a Goddess!

The voice of a siren--..

“What a weirdo.” She says and flicks the note, which I created with such love and care, into the trashcan beside her locker.

Try 2:

“Dude, you’re in front of my locker.”

”LEAVE ME ALONE! CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BUSY RIGHT NOW?”

“Look, chill. I just need to get my History book out.” He says and does this..'calming motion' with his hands like..'settle down, freak. You mistake of social nature'.

“WELL, I’M NOT A FREAK!"

"Jeez, I never said you were." He says and gives me a strange look, "Can you just move for a sec? Then you can have all the time in the world with my locker.”

“..okay.” I say, “But hurry up! She’ll be here any minute!”

"Alright. Chill." He says when I step aside. He’s all muscle and...tallness. He’s in that jersey thing that football players wear and his dark brown hair is spiked. Don’t like spiked hair. Reminds me of porcupines. Bad experience with porcupines. Don’t want to talk about it.

“Alright, now you can have my locker. Okay?” He says like he’s talking to a 4-year-old.

“WELL, I’M NOT FOUR!”

“I never said you were!”

“OKAY! JUST GO! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“ALRIGHT, FINE!” He shouts at me. Don’t really like it when people shout at me. No bad experiences, just don’t like it.

He leaves me alone.

Finally.

I feel at peace.

My spirit is calm.

I resume clutching his locker and peaking from behind the wall, my looking wall, to see my Goddess standing in her uniform. The red and black plaid skirt, with the crisp white shirt and red tie. How I long to be the clothes that she wears!

She looks at my heart-shaped letter, I drew happy faces and hearts on it this time while also doing a sort of...fringe cut on the edges. She groans. My heart leaps.

She ties her perfect hair back with a scrunchie.

Oh, how I wish I was that scrunchie

And takes the letter in her hand, that perfect hand with perfect cuticles, and opens my homage to her beauty…

Oh, my sweet lily of Heaven’s gardens!

How, just gazing upon your sweet face,

Cures the sick and revives the dead

Such beauty!

Such beauty!

Hark, the angels are singing!

They are singing with envy!

Envy of such a beautiful creature!

THEY SCREAM AT GOD

WHY CAN’T I BE HER

WHY CAN’T I?

AND IF

I CANNOT

BE HER

MAY I PLEASE TOUCH HER

JUST FOR A SECOND

AND THEN I SHALL BE COMPLETE!

Yes, this is what the angels are singing

With trumpets of gold and…

She throws it in the trash.

My life…

Is flashing before my eyes…

Try 3:

I arrive at my looking post after class. I put another note in her locker earlier. I said I was going to the, get this, ‘bathroom’.

Ha! Fools. All of them.

Ahem.

As I was saying, I arrive at my looking post and, to my horror, spikey hair guy that called me a freak is there!

“Look, dude, I’m just getting my books to take home. Chill. I’ll be outta your way in a few.”

I do not reply. I just wait for him to get his stuff. And leave.

But I do tap my foot against the tile to hurry him up, politely of course.

“’Kay, I’m gone. Have fun.” He says and salutes me.

SUCCESS!

I return to my favorite position: clutching his locker and peaking from behind my looking wall.

People usually give me odd looks. Like they are giving me right now as they pass by.

But they’re just jealous because Elle loves me and not them!

“Did she read it yet?” Andrew appears out of thin air.

Andrew is, in one word, my friend. That’s two words but I digress. Anyways, yes, he is my friend. Terrible poet, though. I asked him for some help and he gave me some poppycock about the fire of passion and the fountain of eternal youth or some such.

Terrible.

That and he simply does not take care of himself!

His clothes are always wrinkled (disgusting), you can’t see the floor in his room (barbaric), and you can see the brown roots in his dyed blonde hair (just animalistic).

Why I let him hang around me, I do not know.

He is Elle’s brother, though.

So that gives him a few points.

I repeat: a few.

“No, she isn’t here yet.”

“Figures.” He snorts, “I saw her flirting with Jordan on the way to my locker.”

“J-J-Jordan?!”

Jordan is in one word: a Neanderthal. Technically, there was an ‘a’ in front of Neanderthal so that may be considered two words. Anyways, enough beating around the bush, he is a Neanderthal. Why, you ask? He just is.

“Yeah, Jordan. To be fair, it was mainly Jordan just talking about his new car.” He says and takes off his red blazer. “Hate these things.” He mutters.

“New car? Was she interested in this miniscule piece of information!?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

I gasp. “Womenfolk are interested in cars!?”

“Sort of, yeah.” He says.

I gasp, once more. “Why did you not tell me this!?”

“What?” He laughs, “Why would I?”

“It is important to my studies of womenfolk so that I may successfully woo your sister!” I shout.

“Relax, Pey.” He says while laughing.

”Do not ‘Pey’ me! I demand an answer!”

He keeps laughing!

Why I—

Oh, Elle is here!

With..with…

“Jordan!” I shout out loud and then cover my mouth with my hand.

Andrew laughs at me.

Jordan looks around and says, “Did someone say my name?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Elle says, “Aww. Are you hearing voices again?” She teases.

“I don’t hear voices!”

“That’s what they all say, sweetie.” She laughs.

Why!

WHY DO YOU TORTURE ME SO?

WHY WON’T YOU LAUGH LIKE THAT AT ME?

WHY?

“It’s okay, babe.” She says and then ruffles his black ‘fohawk’. “I won’t tell anyone.”

He slaps her hand away, “Good. And don’t.touch.the.fo.” He hisses.

“Okay, okay.” She laughs and raises her hands up in defense. “Relax. You’ve been so pissy lately.”

“It’s just that I spend AN HOUR getting my fohawk just right.” He says and attempts to fix it with his fingers.

“This is boring, Pey.” Andrew yawns, “Let’s go.”

“Hush! I must study their interaction!” I say and push my black-rimmed glasses back onto my nose with a finger.

He laughs, “Whatever.”

“Oh, great.” Elle says, “Another note from that weirdo.” She takes my note from the crack of her locker. I drew a big heart within the heart this time.

“Any idea who’s sending you these?” Jordan says and takes the note (GET YOUR NEANDERTHAL HANDS OFF MY CREATION OF LOVE!).

“No, but I wish they’d stop. It’s getting annoying.” Elle sighs.

WHY, ELLE?

WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?

“Oh my God!” Jordan giggles, “This is too funny!”

”With lips of silk,

the bosom of Gaea,

how I wish to press my lips to your sweet nipple

how I wish to drink your sweet nectar..” He reads in between giggles.

“Eww.” Elle says and wrinkles her nose. She takes the note from Jordan’s hand.

“I’ll tell you where this goes.” She says.

“Iiiinnn..” She sing-songs, “..the trash.” She crumbles it in her hand and throws it in the trash.

“Ouch.” Andrew whispers into my ear with a laugh.

“Five points!” She shouts.

Jordan laughs, “The next Kobe Bryant, ladies and gentleman, right here!”

“Yeah, I don’t rape, sorry.” She says to a random person passing by, that gives them strange looks. “However, I do sign autographs on your nether regions. Whether you be willing or not.”

“Don’t scare the little ones, Elle.” Jordan warns, playfully.

“Oh, sorry.” She laughs and they walk off after she gets her stuff out of her locker.

MY GODDESS!

HOW YOU STRIKE ME!

“Okay, can we go now? I wanted to go to the arcade because...” Andrew rambles away.

WELL, THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS AT HAND, MISTER!

MY GODDESS!

WANTS ME TO STOP SENDING HER LOVE IN THE FORM OF LITERARY ARTISTRY!

WHY?

WHY IS SHE DOING THIS TO ME?

WHY? WHY? WHYYYY?

“Earrrtttth to Peyton!” Andrew says and flicks my forehead with his fingers.

I slap his hand away, “No! I can’t go to the arcade. I didn’t cook dinner last night for today so I have to do that and I have tons of homework. Oh! I also have to clean the house.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s a real pigpen.” He laughs.

“It is!”

“Sure, whatever.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says and waves at me over his shoulder.

Barbarian.

Can’t even understand the pain I’m going through.

UNSENSITIVE BARBARIAN!

I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU GET REJECTED BY YOUR DREAM GIRL!

SEE HOW YOU’D REACT!

xXx

Hi, I’m Peyton.

I mentally talk to myself sometimes.

Not like…’oh, hey I forgot that’ but honest-to-god talking.

To myself.

Mentally.

Because I believe that there’s a ghost reading my thoughts sometimes. As personal entertainment. Because they’re dead.

And, really, what’s a dead person going to do BUT read my thoughts?

Well, I guess they could do ghostly things.

Like haunting and whatnot...

But that's besides the point!

Anyways, my daily routine consists of:

4:30 – Wake up, make my bed.

4:33 – Do some yoga, on Wednesdays I do Pilates. Fridays I do tai chi.

4:46 – Make my breakfast for myself. It must include the four food groups. So, I usually have toast, yogurt, cereal, and an apple. My beverage of choice is peppermint tea. I also make my lunch for school.

5:12 – I tidy up the house.

6:00 – I mop the kitchen floors and all the bathrooms.

6:30 – I take a shower.

6:45 – I make breakfast for Dad. He only likes homemade waffles, pancakes, and scrambled eggs. Unhealthy? Yes, I agree. But he insists. He’d even eat the frozen waffles and pancakes if I let him! Barbaric!

7:00 – Dad wakes up, I do the dishes.

7: 13 – I engage in trivial conversation with my father for ten minutes.

7:23 – I get my uniform on, I iron it if I didn’t have a chance the night before.

7: 45 – I’m out the door and ready for the bus with my homemade lunch.

8:00 to 4:00 - School.

4:15 – Come home, take a shower, put house clothes on (jeans and a t-shirt).

4:30 to 5:30 – Homework.

5:30 – I make dinner.

6:00 – I tidy up the house.

7:00 – Dad comes home from work. He owns a bookstore. We engage in trivial conversation about our day.

7:30 to 8:00 - We eat dinner.

8:00 to 9:00 – I get ready for the next day of school, write Elle's letter of love for the next day, maybe read a little. On weekends, I watch a movie with my dad.

9:00 – Nighty night. And then the cycle continues

I just thought you’d like to know.

Oh, I live alone with my Dad.

I’m an only child and my mother..she...doesn’t live in this world anymore.

Anyway, I’m doing homework now but the ring of the phone pulls me out of my arithmetic thoughts.

"Hello?"

“Peyton?” Dad asks when I answer.

“Yeah?”

”Have you already started making dinner yet?”

“No, why?”

“Well,…do you remember that I went out with that lady friend last week?”

“Yeah, you’ve been seeing her for a while now.”

“Uh-huh.” I can practically hear him nod through the telephone. “Well, she wants to meet you and the only time she’s available is tonight. Do you think you could make dinner for four?”

“Yeah, sure. But f-…”

”She’s bringing her son. He’s about your age. You’ll love him.”

“Oh. Well...okay.”

”Alright, I’ll see you at 7:30.”

“7:30? But you come home at 7..”

“Yes, well, she wants me to pick her up.”

“Oh..”

“Okay, son, I’ll see you! Oh, and wear those nice jeans I got you!”

“Yeah, okay..”

-click-

….he’s…

..suppose…to…

COME HOME AT 7:00! NOT GOSHDANGITT 7:30!

xXx

I wrinkle my nose at the mirror.

I hate these jeans.

They’re black.

I dislike black jeans.

Immensely.

They’re not even a color! They’re the absence of color!

I’m also wearing that crisp long-sleeved white dress shirt with the collar and everything.

Which makes me look smaller and shorter than I actually am because it’s too big for me.

Dad usually tells me to wear it with the black jeans so I figured I would.

I pull up a lock of my light brown hair.

Great.

It’s falling in all sorts of strange directions.

The last time I got a haircut the hairdresser didn’t speak English and decided to cut my hair...in layers or some such.

Which looks barbaric.

Or like Shaggy from the live action Scooby Doo movie.

Either way, it’s barbaric.

xXx

It’s 7:32.

I made the pasta, the salad, my special sauce, the chicken, and the lasagna already.

It’s on the table. Perfectly spaced and everything.

And they’re not here.

I cross my legs on the black leather sofa.

I hate black leather sofas too.

My black kitten, Minx, passes by.

I hate Minx too.

She mews. I crease my forehead at her. She scurries away.

Hmm.

The pie is taking a bit longer than I expected.

The oven has yet to beep.

However, my Dad walks in with his ‘lady friend’.

Her overly tan skinny arm is wrapped around my Dad's equally skinny, almost anorexic waist (how he manages that and eats all the wrong foods, I do not know), and she's practically...hanging off of him, her chin resting on his shoulder.

And...they’re laughing!

Without me!

JUST LIKE ELLE!

WITH JORDAN!

“Oh, Brian! He’s absolutely adorable! He looks like a younger you!” She coos and untangles herself from my father and ruffles my light brown hair, “Same hair too! And those black-rimmed glasses! You two match! How cute.”

She’s…well…I don’t like judging people.

But she looks, how do you say...cheap.

Fake blonde hair (you can see the roots, animalistic!), fake..everything. Her teeth are too white as well. That irks me.

Oh, and she has long red nails.

That irks me too.

“Oh, Brian, that reminds me! We have to keep him away from my son!" She giggles, "He has a bit of a glasses fetish and your son seems about his type.” Eww. His type? I’m a boy! How can I be his type? “Hi, I’m Candy!” She says and sticks out her hand with those long red nails. I’m trying to suppress a shudder here.

I suppose she wants me..to..take it.

“Hi, I’m Peyton.” I say and shake her hand,...albeit gingerly.

“Ohh, Brian! He has the cutest voice! He’s just so CUTE!” She squeals and then hugs me..which makes me land in her rather large...bosom..

Which may be fake as well.

“I just want to huggle him and snuggle him and eat him all up with some mashed potatoes!”

Dad chuckles, “Please, Candy, let him go. The boy can’t breathe.”

I really can’t.

I’m gagging on her bosom.

Eww!

“Umm..I understand you have a son.” I say when she lets go of me and I catch my breath.

“Ooo. Eager to meet him are we?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Well, no, not if he’s anything like you.”

CRUD! CRUD! CRUD!

I DIDN’T MEAN TO SAY THAT OUT LOUD!

Candy giggles, “Feisty! I like him already.”

Dad gives me a strange look.

“SO,” Candy says and claps her hands together. What kind of name is Candy anyways? “…what’s on the menu today? I’m starving!”

I, internally, roll my eyes at this walking phlegm. “Pasta, chicken, salad, and lasagna. There’s also an apple pie in the oven. It’s taking a bit long, though. Not sure why. I think the oven’s breaking.” Dad nods.

Candy giggles, “Well, aren’t you just the little chef of the house!”

I blush. I can’t help it. Compliments make me giddy. Like breaded fish and soft tacos.

I recover from my moment of weakness and clear my throat. “Dad, can you close the door? Bugs will come in.”

“You live on the fourth floor of the building.” Candy says all matter-of-factly like: Hey, I’m Candy. I own the place. Look at me.

“BUGS LIVE ON THE FOURTH FLOOR OF THE BUILDING!”

“PEYTON! DO NOT RAISE YOUR VOICE IN THIS HOUSE!” He gives me a strange look.

I HATE THIS WOMAN!

Candy looks a bit confused; she cocks her head to the side like an imbecile and scratches her chin.

“Was it something I said?” She asks. Again, like an imbecile.

“Now, dear, let me show you around the flat.” Dad says after he’s closed the door, he throws me a questioning look and then…then…HE PUTS HIS ARM AROUND HER!

AROUND HER FUR COAT!

FUR.

WE’RE ANTI-FUR!

I start pacing from the kitchen to the living room; back and forth, back and forth.

I accidentally bump into the dining room table.

CRUD!

Someone knocks on the door.

I hop over to the door and answer it.

…Dad didn’t lock the door.

DOES HE WANT ME TO GET RAPED AND KILLED?

I look up at the person at the door.

He’s…

He’s….good looking.

I mean, in the platonic, totally not gay way.

I mean, I’m not gay.

I’m in love with Elle.

My Goddess.

Why is being gay even coming up?

I just met this guy.

There’s tons of good-looking guys out there!

I mean…Brad Pitt’s good looking but I don’t want to have relations with him.

Well. may-..no, I don’t.

I don’t want to have relations with this guy either!

Stop looking at me like that, you ghost you!

I don’t!

I look up at his hazel eyes. They’re…amazing. I mean, in the platonic, totally not gay way of course. And…he’s so tall and he looks so strong; broad shoulders and that black hair that looks so soft and…it curls around his ears.

My heart leaps when he grins down at me. “Cute. Didn’t expect you to be so cute. You look a bit like Bri. Son?” It takes a while for me to realize that he’s asking me a question.

“Oh, yeah…”

He nods.

“I’m Julian. You?”

“I…” My mouth’s dry and I suddenly can’t speak. I lick my lips and say, “I-I’m Peyton.”

”Cute name.” His grin gets a bit wider. “Gonna let me in?”

“I-..oh, yeah.” I stutter and move to the side. All pain in my foot suddenly gone.

“Yeah, thanks.” He says when he comes in.

“It’s fucking freezing out there!” Julian exclaims and takes off his black leather jacket, covered in specks of snow. “It’s like 100 degrees below zero or some shit.”

I’m not aware that I’m staring until he says, “You’re staring.”

He grins at me and kicks off his shoes; which I vaguely notice are converse boots.

“Oh.” I say, recovering, and close the door. He flops onto the black leather sofa like he owns the place. Minx comes over and jumps onto his black shirt-clad stomach.

“She likes me.” He says with a genuine smile and scratches her forehead with a finger. Yeah, well she does have bad taste.

She’s so small, though. It’s disgusting. One of these days I’m going to accidentally step on her.

I repeat: accidentally.

“SO,” He says much like Candy, I forgot about her, “…what’s for dinner? Or do I get dinner and a show? Maybe a lap dance?” He asks with a grin.

Crude humor!

Distasteful!

Peyton...can’t...

...handle...going…

...EXPLODE!

“Okay, I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave. It seems there was a mistake in my father’s choice of lady friend’s and her respective descendants.” I say and grab his arm; Minx jumps off of his stomach and scurries away. He’s heavy but this moment hasn’t registered in his miniscule brain so he’s too shocked to resist. The point is, good looking or not, he’s leaving. Now. “So, out you go.” I say when I’ve pulled him over to the door.

“Wha-…” He says and then I shove him out. His jacket and shoes are still inside. I don’t care.

I do not tolerate crude humor in my house.

Or vulgarity in speech.

I lock the door.

Hopefully, the hall of our apartment complex is warm.

“Peyton? What are you doing?” Dad asks when he comes back out from..showing Candy whatever it is he was showing her. Eww. That sounds suggestive.

EWW!

Dad looks mussed.

Julian is banging on the door.

He cocks his eyebrow at me and asks, “Peyton? Who’s banging on the door? Where’d that leather jacket come from? And those boots?” WHAT IS THIS?

THE SPANISH INQUISITION?

THE NAZI REGIME?

OH MY GOD.

Candy comes out...FIXING HER SKIRT!

OH MYGOD!

“I THINK THE MORE IMPORTANT QUESTION IS: WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING WITH THAT…THAT WOMAN!?” OHMYGOD. I SAID HELL!

“PEYTON! LOWER YOUR VOICE!”

“NO!”

“PEYTON! What’s wrong with you? You’re such a good kid, you never raise your voice. Ever.” Dad says in a heartbreaking tone.

“I JUST…I DON’T LIKE YOU DATING…TROLLOPS!” OHMYGOD. I SAID TROLLOP!

Candy gasps and rushes up to me and…slaps me. “Why…never in my life has anyone called me that! I may be a lot of things but I am NOT a trollop!” Wow. Slaps do sting.

“Candy! Please settle down! Peyton’s just not use to me dating anyone.”

“YEAH, I’M NOT USE TO YOU DATING TROLLOPS!” She slaps me again.

“STOP USING THAT WORD!”

”TROLLOP! TROLLOP!” Slap. Slap.

“TROLLOP!” SLAP.

“PEYTON!” Dad roars. “YOU WILL STOP THIS, THIS INSTANT!”

I bite my lips and cross my arms over my chest. “Tro-..” She gets ready to slap me again. She looks fierce and her lips, covered in red lipstick, are pursed.

”Troll.” I finish.

“Much better.” She says and a smile breaks out on her face. Candy pulls me into another bosom hug.

“Can you get the door, Brian? Julian’s easily cold.” She says and let’s go of me.

“Oh, right.”

I think I’m in big…big trouble.

Dad opens the door to an…angry-looking Julian. Angry is too sweet a word. He has the facial expression of well…Satan enraged.

That is still too nice a metaphor but that’s all I can think of right now.

“I’m sorry about that, Julian. I don’t know what’s possessed Peyton. He’s never like this.” Dad apologizes.

DON'T APOLOGIZE TO HIM!

HE’S VULGAR AND CRUDE!

CRUDE AND VULGAR!

“It’s okay, Bri.” Julian says and Bria-..DAD pats him on the shoulder.

“Candy, can you help me set the table so we can have a nice, pleasant dinner?”

”Sure!” She chirps. She doesn’t look angry at all. However…

Julian looks pissed.

I try to focus my gaze on a spot on the hardwood floor. Emphasis on the try.

Especially when someone is glaring at you like you murdered their pet piranha.

…people do have pet piranhas, right?

Right?

Before I know it, Julian’s lips are against my ear and he’s whispering into it in that silky, silky voice and I try…hard to focus on what he’s saying but I believe in personal space and no one’s ever been this close to me I mean this is a little, you know…too close for comfort if you know what I mean. Is this a run-on mental sentence? If so, crud. Hate run-on mental sentences. No bad experiences, just hate them.

I focus on what he’s saying, “You’re a fucking bitch.” Yeah, I don’t like what he’s saying.

OHMYGOD!

He..he..he grabs my butt!! PRACTICALLY TWO FEET AWAY FROM MY DAD AND HIS MOM! OHMYGOD!

“Good thing I like bitches.” He says with a chuckle and pats my…AGAIN ON THAT…THAT AREA! He walks over to the table and slides into a seat, his eyes fixed on mine.

Grabbing of certain areas that are not meant to be grabbed…

UNDECENT!

Bitches…

VULGAR!

All in all…

BARBARIC!

--

A/N: And there you have it. First chapter. A bit slow. But it’s like…well.. an introduction, yo. It’s an introduction. Word says it's 20 pages but fp says it's only like 4000+ words. Which is pretty low for me. Yeah, so...review and then click to the next chapter?

OR DON'T.

AND MAKE ME LIKE...

SOB INTO MY ARM

AND DRAW HEARTS WITH ARROWS IN THEM

IN MY THIGHS

YOU BITCH.

Yeah.

A review a day keeps the emo away.

And the rapists.

But that's another story.