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You're Gonna Get Burned
By OracleDelphi


I feel her eyes on me when I walk away. Sometimes I think I put a little extra sway in my hips, a little bit of a lighter step because I know, just know, that she's appreciating it. I play a little game with myself, trying to get her to notice a different part of my body every time. Leaning a little so my tattoo peeks out invitingly, rubbing one of my feet along my calf. One time, when I bent over to pick up a notebook, I heard Spencer run into an open locker.

It's too easy to be bad around the poor little farm girl. It's even easier to actually care about her. In the middle of LA, la-la land, a breath of fresh air. Unassuming, kind, generous and loyal.

She tips her head to the side and I swoon.

But so does half the rest of the school. Including Aiden, and there's a little part of me that hates him because he knows what her mouth tastes like. He also happens to know what her vomit looks like, in a very intimate way, and that thought alone is enough to make me grin.

I'm the edgy, angry rebellious teen. I know the role I'm supposed to play, the poor little rich girl daughter of a rock star and a horrible woman. I know I'm supposed to do drugs and drink until I make it into the tabloids with a spectacularly destructive binge. I know that Spence saw through the bullshit despite my best efforts.

It's easier to be a badass when she's not there, looking all Bambi-eyed at me and biting her lip with nervous energy. At least she's not a cheerleader anymore, the green outfit revealing her abdomen and lower back in a way that I know Aiden found just as enticing as I did.

I want Spencer to spend the night at my house, in my bed. Just to tease her mercilessly, even though it's evil and wrong and evil and sexually frustrating and evil. I'll lay close to her and pretend not to notice the way her breathing hitches when I accidentally brush against her skin. With soothing, sexy music in the background, we'll lie in my bed and talk for hours. I'll be wearing something revealing, because I always do, and seemingly not care when my shirt rides up or when my too-loose shorts start to shimmy down my hips. By the end of the night, Spencer will no longer doubt her sexuality – she'll know she wants me. This casualness I'll be wearing is an art form that has to be developed.

It's nice to be wanted. It's even nicer to be wanted by someone that I…love.

And Spencer will come out of her shell; she'll start blatantly flirting back. She'll stare at her shoes and be depressed for exactly six days before she runs into my arms. We'll kiss and there won't be any fireworks, because there never are any, but it will be the closest thing to perfect I'll ever feel. Spencer will freak out about anything given enough time, it's simply her nature, and I can only hope that we'll survive her drama.

Spencer's mom, who hates me now, will come to pencil my name into her Bible right next to Beelzebub and Satan. I'll make Mrs. C regret that she took the new job, even though she may still be getting laid by that guy in the ER. Mr. C will accept everything with a dopey grin and expect me to try and talk about the latest football scores with him because he really does believe the stereotypes about dykes and sports.

But maybe…maybe Spencer won't be strong enough to get that far. Maybe Mrs. Carlin won't have to break out the Sodom and Gomorrah speech she's been polishing ever since I stepped foot into Spencer's life. Maybe Aiden will kiss her and she'll act like she's swooning and play the perfect little angst-free kid from Ohio. Maybe I'll watch them flirt and smile and Spencer slowly die inside. Maybe I'll take up a drug habit that no one will notice because Spence will be too busy playing her role to see anything past her white-picket-fence farce. Maybe she'll walk into my house one day and find my stone-cold-dead body in the bathroom with a needle sticking out of my arm. These are the stereotypes and roles I'm expected to play, so why shouldn't I?

As you can tell, imagination has never been lacking for me. Every single scenario plays out in my head on an endless loop. I've gotten pretty good at it because I've been so alone for so long. I'm the kind of person where, in the movies, I'm standing in a crowd and all the other faces are blurred and I'm moving out of synch with everyone else and just really fucking miserable and no one ever cares. Except the viewer, because they can't help but see the path of destruction coming. But even that's met with a sort of detachment because they know, just know, that in the end I'll deserve my fate. That I'll deserve to die alone because I had to have done something to end up that way………..right? So they'll feel bad about it for maybe nine seconds before standing up and dusting my story off their jackets and go home to their singularly boring lives.

Despite all this, when Spencer finally does decide to kiss me, which we both know will be sooner rather than later, I'll let her. The girl's playing with fire and I should put a stop to it. Of course, even I'm not sure which girl I mean.

The End

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