Author: Petals In My Palm PM
Naomi is an out of control L.A. scene queen. That is, until she gets pregnant by her loser boyfriend and her dad moves the family to NYC. Its the end of the world for Naomi...until Gavin comes around and shows her just how amazing and beautiful life is.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Words: 1,064 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 7 - Published: 01-07-08 - id: 2459887
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
My life before moving out east was as shallow as a puddle. I had been, willingly, sucked into the whole L.A. 'scene'. Clubs, frilly drinks, outrageously expensive boutiques and cafes, and hardly any school filled my days and nights. I admit I was out of control. I treated life like a game. The one with the most expensive things, longest hair, most clear skin, most boys, and waif like body would win. But life is not a game. Life is just…fucking life, you know? There are rules. There are consequences. But in the end, why does any of that shit matter? Shouldn't happiness be our number one priority? I was never happy throwing up my food. I was never happy spending a thousand dollars on a purse I only kinda liked. My hair wasn't even my own! If you saw my face, guess what? It could easily melt right off.
In reality, my insides were eating each other. My hair came a little past my shoulders and I assure you that its natural color was not a raven black. I still have freckles and blemishes and that damn birth mark on my left temple. I hate fruity drinks. In fact, I hate alcohol. I hate dancing and techno beats. I hate those scene bands who think they are big shit just because they have some hardcore tattoo on their arm and the girls all 'love' them. I love food, especially chocolate. I think bones sticking out of your skin, my skin, is completely revolting. And, honestly? Back then, I still slept with my 'blankie' clutched in my hand.
I won't go through all the details of the move from L.A. to New York. They're boring. They're emotional. They're completely unnecessary. But here are the facts:
My dad, a music producer, was tired of the whole L.A. scene. He said that the bands out there were "a bunch of winy, no talent gits who think horrible screaming and bag guitar rifts should make them huge amounts of money because their band is "revolutionary". Of course he was talking about my boyfriend's band.
My boyfriend impregnated me.
My boyfriend supplied me with crystal meth.
While I was impregnated.
A picture of me in a…compromising situation was posted all over the internet and was making its way to Buzznet and all those other sites.
While I was impregnated.
So that's about it.
It wasn't like any of that was planned. But Dad is a real hardass so he bought an apartment in Greenwich village, enrolled me to some all girls school, and immediately sent me to Planned Parenthood, and then to the gyno. He also promised, "From now on the only money I'm giving you is for birth control. You're not fucking freeloading off of me anymore." My stepmother gave him a slap for that, but bought a safe for her money too.
I can't tell you how many pillowcases I ruined when we first moved. First of all, I missed my boyfriend. He was a jackass, with gross, stringy hair and couldn't play bass for shit, but I had believed I was in love with him. Second, I was going through major crank withdrawal. Third, it was fucking freezing outside. The second day after we moved in there was a blizzard. A real northeaster. Then I cried over all my beautiful, flowey dresses and soft tee shirts that would be packed away for months.
Yes, I know. I was a complete and utter loser. A junkie, a slut, a drama queen. I was what is wrong with our society now. I was the reason my mother divorced my father (she hated L.A. and all that went with it. The scenesters, the hipsters, the clubbing. He was too stubborn, so she left.) At that time, I felt like I was L.A. I said "hella" and "hecka" and "I'm sure" every other sentence. I had that accent. I craved Jamba Juice and Pinkberry and had my sidekick glued to my hand (not that any of my "friends" called). I wore teetering heels with skin tight jeans, and a huge bag hung from my forearm. God, looking back, I hate how I was like that. I hate how I was a clone, a scene slave.
Of course, I wouldn't be telling you all of this if something didn't happen. If I didn't change.
So I guess I'll just start from the beginning of the end.
I'll start with the day I met Gavin Marks.
A/N- I can't believe it's been four months. Four months since I've written anything at all. I'm so sorry. Life has been crazy. Meaning life has been finally good, leaving no time to write. School has been insane, and I've gotten all my acceptance letters from college already. Looks like either Yale or NYU. I can't believe it. Anyway…this is just a random story that has come from all of my latest obsessions. Urban Outfitters, the scene queens on Buzznet and all over, Paramore (Random question: did anyone go to the show at Roseland on November 28th in nyc? One word: epic. I love them so much.), Starbucks, and stories from a friend who lives in L.A.
Sorry to anyone who does live in L.A. and is offended by this, haha. This is purely based on the scene culture and stories that this friend told me. I happen to love southern California. So don't get all pissy, m'kay?
Another thing: I have completely lost all interest in Into Dust. Ugh, I just don't know what to do. I might hand over the story to a friend, who will bring something more to it, or I might just give up on it, or I might continue (at a very slow pace).
So that's it.
Sorry if I haven't talked to a lot of you in a while? How's life with you guys? Any new stuff going on? Feel free to give me your life stories (It feels like I've missed out on a whole year of everyone).
Peace, my loves.
P.S.- I got some new Truth drums for Christmas. They are love.