The loud music blasted through my ears, drowning out the sound of Chelsea calling out my name through the crowd. Moving feet and the sloshing of drinks and bickering and chatter was all I could hear. (Maybe the faint sound of retching, too) I found her earlier- and then she was gone. Her midnight black hair was unmistakable, the only thing that gave her away. Ivy, Ivy Banes. Her real name? Yet to be identified. She was a k!ller, sloppily and angrily disposing of her v!ctims with no shame. She would go out in public without a doubt in the world, because she was always one step ahead of us- ahead of me. No matter if it was a subway stop ahead of me, catching a flight just a few seconds before I arrived, sending people in my way to distract me. She always had a way. 7 people had their lives taken away by this girl. I wanted her to feel the remorse and the anger I felt when my sister d!ed. And then there was Victor. If I arrived at the airport four seconds after Ivy, he would be there in three point ninety-nine. Anything he did had to be better. Chelsea thinks he has a 'soft spot' for me. That horrible man has no soft spot for anyone. If I truly respected him, I would call him by his last name, Johnston, but he is not suitable for that position. "Viv, we can't follow after her forever. She's always going to be ahead, whether you like it or not. For now, let's just watch what happens." Chelsea said, matching her voices tone with the one of the room, fast and excited and carefree, which I was anything but. "No. I need a drink." I said, walking over to the bar area, to which Chelsea followed. "I'll have a Margarita." "A v!rgin Margarita, two, please." Chelsea added on, taking a seat on a stool. I sat next to her and watched her as she opened her purse and added another layer of the perfect pink lipstick, complimenting her auburn hair. Her hair was perfectly curled and past her shoulders, just reaching chest-length. My hair was a little past my shoulders, cut in layers that were all over the place (Chelsea cut it for me), barley wavy and a light brown. I wasn't necessarily pretty, in my eyes. But still, people would always look at me. My 'friends', boys in school... sometimes teachers, but not in a good way. Like they wanted something from me. Their eyes would trail up and down, my face burning and hot, pinches in my stomach instead of butterflies. Like a spider, instead. The attention turned physical- to the point where I couldn't stop it, but I resented myself for that. That I never told my younger self to say no. Ever since that, I never have looked at people romantically. The thought of truly loving someone was a lie to me, a distant memory.
im almost done with c2 idk what to do about prim princesss
