Prologue – What a Shitty Life

I didn't date – not because I was your cliché, average frost bitch or anything, but merely because by the time I knew someone well enough to date, I became bored. It was like being at a birthday party and ravenously craving the chilled mocha ice cream for the entire duration of the party but deciding that you don't want it as much as you really thought you wanted it. Whether it due to the fact that mocha wasn't as succulent as you had expected, or you suddenly remembered that each spoonful was a mouthful of calories that would go straight to your hips.

I never really thought I would be like this, all fickle and whatnot. Fresh out of elementary school, I was expecting to date the moment I started middle school; however, my plans were trashed when I realized that strangely enough, boys didn't value my personality as much as they did other girls' boobs and faces (not that many girls back then had boobs. The lucky ones that did, though, were the ones to start dating first. Coincidence? I think not). Yeah, that's right, I was a very uncute, awkward girl in middle school. The bastards probably thought they were too good for me (except this one boy, Anthony, who liked to randomly touch my ass and ended up being the first boy to ask me to a dance. Needless to say, I turned him down because he seemed kind of creepy).

So I continued to awkwardly mature throughout middle school whilst pretending to not be interested in boys (though I really was very interested). I picked on them, and they on me, and I never failed to hide my disappointment when they fell for one of my friends instead.

God, middle school was a bitch. Moving onto high school, this whole "You're not pretty, so I'm not interested" trend continued on halfheartedly. By halfheartedly, I mean that only half or so of the guys thought I was uncute at this point. The first boy to genuinely show his interest in me (excluding Anthony, because I think he just wanted sex. It weirds me out to think that tykes so young are already thinking with their penises) was an unfortunate soul by the name of Bryan. Ah, he was kind of cute, by kind of weird because he seemed to like threatening to like biting people and also had really yellow teeth. Gross. I sort of broke his heart after he confessed his feelings for me before moving onto my friend's cousin's brother's friend's friend.

Got that? No? Well, let's just call him Jeremy then.

Jeremy, ah Jeremy, I fell hard for him. I called him, talked about him, and thought about him almost obsessively. Maybe it was love. Pfft, yeah right. In any case, like righteous karma, Josh broke my heart into tiny shards, pieced them back together painfully with a hot glue gun, and then proceeded to stomp all over it again. I think the worst thing about him was that he never really told me "No, you're not cute and I don't like you," so I kept chasing and wishing and chasing and crying. Finally, I gave up after a few months of self-hate and feelings of unworthiness.

After that, I stepped up my game. I learned to apply makeup, bought better fitted clothes, became more outgoing – pretty much learned the game of love. Well, not love really. More like the game of looking for love. It's a game that I'm an expert, though not in the way that you would think. I've never officially been in a relationship, but somehow, I still feel like a winner most of the time.

I could get guys to buy me pretty, shiny things. I could treat them like shit and still have them groveling at my feet. I could get a guy to like me, chase me, and cry over me in the times span of a month (or less. I just say a month because I like to be safe. I don't want any unexpected dares with restricted a restricted time span). And all of this, I've managed without ever being claimed, ever having the title "girlfriend" or ever even being kissed.

I don't know why I do it, really. I don't get any sick amusement out of it. I don't get any fun out of it – I often feel guilty about it. But it's almost like a cycle, I find a guy that I'm interested in, flirt a bit, go out on a few dates, and then back off like the dude has got the plague.

After three years, I've stopped questioning why I do it and have moved along the road of acceptance. I've learned to deal with my friends and their disgusting periods of couplehood and lovedom, and I've realized that I just wasn't the type of person for relationships yet.

So, at the start of senior year, when the craziness of high school really begins, I was prepared to content myself with another ten months of singleness.

But alas, just when you get comfortable, life throws a pile of shit at you and giggles while you desperately try to free your eyes of poo-vision.

In other words, I met a jackass by the name of Adam Corell.

sorry for any grammar and stuff -- wrote this in a hurry and it just kind of all came flooding out. when inspirations hit, you best heed its call. thoughts? let me know. love.