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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Romance/Love · #1372687
A young lesbian who is tortured with mind games by a girl she has fallen for.
My brain tells me to have no regrets. I walk out, holding a cigarette in my left hand. The world seems silent. Even the dogs are not barking tonight. My feet, adorned with black slippers, slowly step on the dried up crumbly leaves on the road, causing a soft ruffling sound. That is the only thing I hear with addition to my black, thumping heart.

I sigh to myself as I position myself to sit on a roadside kerb. My eyes fail to tear. I finally feel solitude. A weird kind of peace comes within me even though a thousand things are insanely flying through my mind. My knees feel wobbly as the nicotine sets in. I'm smoking too quickly. I feel nauseous. A woman from across the road comes out to hang her clothes. What a peculiar time to do this, I thought. I look at her, wondering if she sees me. She continues doing her laundry while I light up another cigarette.

Suddenly I feel better. Feeling a need to hear her voice, I look into my phone, not realising that I deleted her number just an hour ago. I feel silly.

"She's probably asleep anyway." I make another excuse to cover up my disappointment.

Checking my cigarette box a second time, I realise that there is only a stick left. I lift my head up to look across the road and the lady hanging her clothes has gone back in. The lights on her porch are switched off. Feeling less concious, I stretch my legs out and lie down. Looking up into the starless sky, I slowly close my eyes.

After what seemed like less than a minute, I am jolted awake by a dog's bark. I finally realise that this is the exact, little world that I live in.

I stood up, thinking about what I have been so troubled up about the past week.
"It's not worth it." I thought.
All of a sudden I'm the same old me. The girl who is barely 20, self indulgent, sometimes emotional, sometimes silly, sometimes happy, sometimes manipulative, sometimes crazy. I like being me.

"Anyone who thinks otherwise can stick a fork up their arse!" I muttered in a fake irish accent. I laugh to myself and head for home, feeling hopeful about finding a new victim to play with.
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