finders keepers ;;

drew's amazing.
andmybestfriend.

what kind of girl would be so obsessed with you me at six and all time low?

that'd be me. i'm that girl. jessica's the name, and lying is the game. but lying's not always the game, i didn't lie about my obsession right there. i am obsessed with atl and youmeatsix. i can name all of all time low's song just by hearing it, and i know most of the songs from you me at six.

oh my. here i am trying to "wow" you with some decent first impression and already you think of me as some lying band obsessed teenager. well, you must know there is more to me then that.

like my swagger. and my legit-ness. it's pretty ghetto crazy.

if you're anybody who knows anything, then you'll know i have a mild case of heffaphobia? halfaphobia? i don't know. but i do know i have an irrational fear of being touched. well, i wouldn't say it's irrational. i'd like to think it's rational. as rational as can be. either way, do not, under any circumstances enter my little bubble. i freak the ~~fuck~~ out. ask anybody who's anybody.

that's not always the case. if i'm comfortable enough with you or i'm just comfortable that day, i won't mind. with some i'm comfortable around them all the time, with others it's an on and off thing.

another thing about me; i'm always smiling. well, at least eighty percent of the time. if i smiled one hundred percent of the time, my jaw would need some serious work.

now, i'm not saying that i'm a saint or anything, because i can assure you i am most definitely not even remotely close to being a saint. i've been called a bitch far too many times, i've already lost track. i've lied so many times in my life, i couldn't tell you what was the truth if it was standing right in front of me. i've been grounded because of my anger issues and my attitude. i swear far too much for a girl my age, and sometimes my parents are ashamed of me.

but i'm alright with that.

now if you really know me, you'd know i'm also kind of philophobic. i don't know how this has happened, i think it's because of the whole touching thing, i'm so afraid of people getting close to me physically, that my mind has convinced my body that i'm afraid of people getting close emotionally.

that's pretty logical, right?

of course it is. at least, that's what i tell myself.

sure i've had infatuations, but never have i been infatuated enough for a relationship. besides, i'm stressed out enough. i don't need a boyfriend stressing me out too. plus there's the fact that i haven't found the right guy.

no, not "mr. right" because i'm well aware that he won't be coming around like, ever. i'm talking a guy who could handle me and my moodiness. or the fact that i might put myself before anybody else sometimes. that i might be a demanding, nagging, bitch, but he'll stay long enough to see through that and actually like me because he knows my perks.

yeah. that's gonna happen.

oh, yeah. i'm currently in middle school, and basking in my free health care. which is highly appreciated with all the sprains i've gotten. which leads me to the subject of basketball.

basketball is the whole reason why i have this darn sprained ankle. the same ankle i sprained two times before. once in february again, from basketball, and another time about maybe three years ago from soccer. but basketball is def my favourite sport there is. but that doesn't mean i dislike all the other sports, i'm up for something different.

i like sports. don't hate.

my mind's always in the gutter. and i am not just saying that, because it is exactly as it is. the truth. not it's not exactly eighty year old pedophile dirty, just the whole, oh, yeah, i'm gonna laugh because i can take that sexually. which is pretty much most of the time.

i'm conceited, but i don't consider myself pretty. i haven't met one girl yet who is so self-centered they go around telling people how beautiful they are. i've only ever heard all of my girl friends saying they're 'hideous'. which is far from the truth. so, i'm gonna be one of those annoying girls and tell you i am full on hideous. even if you may think it's a lie, i refuse to depart from denial.

i like denial. it's like a secure, little blanket. you know, one that's so soft and warm you can't help but wrap yourself up with it. and it's pure ecstasy because it's yours and no one else's. and with that blanket you don't have to face the truth. you can convince yourself of anything and everything. it's tainted bliss. your tainted bliss.

but in this case, it's mine.

i'm opinionated and almost always brutally honest, if you ask for my opinion i won't hesitate telling you the truth. if i don't like something, i'll straight up tell you i don't like something. but twenty-five percent of the time i hold it in. not for my sake, of course. i just don't wanna be a bitch all the time. it's a life choice.

i may not say what i really think of you, but i will think it. oh, i will. if you're reading this now, thinking what a terrible human being i must be, think about this. even if you haven't exactly told people off or bitched and moaned about someone behind their back, you're judging me right now. and you hardly even know me.

everybody judges on first impressions. sometimes even appearance alone. i do it, i'm not gonna lie about that. so you can't sit there thinking i'm a complete liar, also everybody's lied. even if it's a small, white lie. a lie is a lie, no matter how much you like to think that it's not.

me. i happen to be a compulsive liar. and i've been one for years, it wasn't until this year that i've admit it.

you've heard about my many flaws. and just like my flaws i have many perks. maybe you'll get to see them one day, maybe you won't. only time will tell.

now continue wondering how i sleep at night.

Sincerely, the most legit bitch there is :]

Created By XCandyLuverX

Dear Journal ;;

I sat up, groggy. I turned my neck from side to side slowly, taking in all m y surroundings. The large maroon curtains were pulled shut to keep the light from streaming in through the window. The walls were pained with a dark colour that I couldn’t make out in the dark room and I was sitting on a large, comfortable bed.
I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and smoothed it down. It took me a whole minute to remember everything that had happened to me only a while ago. That man that was supposedly going to take me to my father had kidnapped me! In broad daylight, too!
I quickly scrambled out of the bed and checked to see if I was harmed in anyway – or worse – violated. Surely the man couldn’t have been that cruel, but then again, he did kidnap me, after all. I pulled open the large curtains and noticed it was still dark out.
I walked out silently and looked over the railing. It seemed I was standing at least 15 ft in the air on some fancy balcony. I walked back into the room with a silent curse. There must be some other way to get out of this place.
I heard a soft knock on the door and I panicked. My mind was on overload, there was only that one balcony and if I dared to jump from it, I’d definitely break my back. So that was out of the question.

Dear Journal ;; continued

“You just, kidnapped a girl! Do you feel no guilt? No remorse?”
“The girl is fine, but she’s in great danger. I can feel it,” I explained to her.
“Oh, that’s an excuse,” she replied, seething.
“Look, I realize you’re incredibly ticked of, but there’s nothing we can do about it now,” I said.
“What do mean there’s nothing we can do about it now? You’re going to return that girl to her home, this instance!” she commanded.
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” I said, slowly.
“Oh, Aiden. You better not have,” she warned.
“Unfortunately, I did. We’re already in Draken.”

I sat up, groggy. I turned my neck from side to side slowly, taking in all my surroundings. The large burgundy curtains were pulled shut to keep the light from streaming in through the window. The walls were painted with a dark colour and I was currently seated on a very comfortable bed.

Dear Journal ;;

Dear Journal

London, England
April 1834

Dear Journal, April 2nd, 1834
It’s been a whole human year since it’s happened. Why does it feel so much longer? Why does the pain still linger? I never really loved her, so why does it hurt so much?
I cannot say if I will ever forgive myself for such a deed. But there is no turning back from this point. I must learn to cope; I must learn to live.

Winnipeg, Manitoba
June 2010

Dear Journal, June 30th, 2010

How long has it been now? Decades? Centuries? I’ve lost track of time; there seems to be no room for time nowadays.
I now live in a small city, someplace located in London.
Or was it Canada? Or maybe it was Europe? It seems there’s no room for maps either.
These people are so peculiar, so weird as they would call it. Men and women are being slaughtered everywhere I look; children are being taken right off the streets or even from their homes.
Mothers are abandoning their babies almost everyday. People talk of “pranking” people left and right. They insult each other all the time. They’re all so obnoxious, ignorant even.
This place is nothing like Draken.

July 2010

School was finally over and people were already getting packed to leave for college or university. June was hardly eventful, prom was nothing worth telling, and graduation went exactly the way it was expected.
It seemed nobody could wait to get out of this city. And I was right behind them.
“Are you sure you want to leave for London?” my mother asked from my doorway.
“Mom, I told you, I’ll be meeting dad at the airport, I’ll go to his house and I’ll be back after college. There’s nothing to worry about, dad’ll take care of me and everything will be fine,” I told her, trying to calm her nerves.
“I’m just worried, is all,” my mom told me.
“I know, mom. But I’m a big girl now, with big girl needs. I’ll visit every holiday and make sure to bring gifts. I’ll call, and e-mail, and all that good stuff,” I assured her.
“Just take care of yourself, alright? I don’t want to hear anything in the news about a Victoria Sinclair being murdered or burning the whole college campus down,” she said in a stern voice.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, zipping up my large suitcase, then starting to pack my carry on.

London, England
July 2010

I adjusted my carry on bag, and pulled the rest of my luggage along behind me. I scanned the large crowd of people looking for my dark haired father.
I looked at all the signs people held in their hands and noticed my name printed neatly on a large white piece of paper. I walked over to the man in the dark suit, and he led me to an old looking black car.
“Your father sends his apologies for not being able to be here to meet you, but he sent me to escort you to his home, he told me, his English accent very thick.
“Oh, that’s fine. I’ll just see him when we get there.” I replied with a shrug.
“Of course. Now, let’s not dawdle, your father’s expecting you home soon,” he told me while ushering me to the car. I followed him quietly, helping him put all of my luggage into the trunk of the car, then getting into the backseat with my with my big enough bag.
As we drove, the car ride was silent minus the sounds o my soft breathing.
“So, is this your first time visiting London?” The sound of his voice startled me. I wasn’t sure if my hearing was just off, but his voice sounded almost deeper then it did a few minutes ago.
“Uh, yeah. My dad enrolled me in the college he founded,” I told him.
“Oh? Which one?” he asked, sounding intrigued.
“I’m not sure yet. He told me on the phone he was going to tell me when I met him at the airport. He said he wanted it to be a surprise,” I replied politely.
“I see,” he said quietly.
The rest of the ride continued in silence. I watched as the trees, buildings, landscapes, and cars pass us by. It really was fascinating.
After about an hour, we pulled up to a very large home. The house was gorgeous, yes, but it had some sort of eerie, dark glow to it.
“This is my father’s house?” I asked, my gut telling me I should turn back and run. But it seemed he ignored my question and continued unpacking my things.
Suddenly, a large hand holding a cloth cut off the rest of my sentence and I began to panic. My cries for help were muffled and soon I felt drowsy. My vision was starting to blur and my eyelids started to get heavier and heavier.
Soon, there was nothing but black.

“You are the most stupid, insufferable man I have ever met and I am ashamed to call you my brother,” my sister said. She sounded much more calm hen she actually was, that I knew for certain.

Dear Journal ;; continued

June was hardly eventful, prom was nothing worth telling, and graduation went exactly the way it was expected. School was finally over and people were already getting packed to leave for college or university.
It seemed nobody could wait to get out of this city.

Dear Journal

Aiden Blade Williams - magical

Victoria Addison Sinclair – human

Dear Journal

June 2010

The humid air made my breathing a little bit harder. The scorching sun made my sweat run a little bit faster. It was only the middle of June but I didn’t think the city of Winnipeg could get any more warmer.
“Victoria!” I turned to face my very best friend, Lindsay. “Victoria Sinclair! You’ll never guess what has happened!” She ran towards me, looking much too excited.
“Lindsay, breath first and then speak,” I advised her.
“There’s no time for breathing!” she exclaimed, “Not after Caleb asked me to go to prom with him!”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. Lindsay had been obsessed with Caleb Atchison for months now, the boy was attractive, I’ll admit that, but he was hardly what people would classify as a gentleman.
“He has to be the sweetest guy in our senior grade! Not to mention the cutest guy there is!” she gushed. “And his looks are only a bonus.”
“I’m sure,” I mumbled, running my fingers through my hair, subconsciously.
“You know, you could at least act like you’re happy for me. You’re always so negative, being a pessimist will get you nowhere,” she informed me.
“So you say,” I muttered.
“And it wouldn’t kill you to wear more colours either. I swear, your whole life revolves around the colours gray, white, and black.”
“Mhm,” I agreed, only half-heartedly.
“And you should also get out more, I mean, look at you! You’re so pale!” she pointed out, lifting my arm and then dropping it. “In fact, tonight we’re going to go to the mall, and we’re going to buy you a whole new wardrobe. Then we’re going to go out and work on our tans.”
“Sure,” I replied, barely listening now.
She continued to talk, and I replied with one-worded answers.

Dear Journal, June 19th, 2010

How long has it been now? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? I’ve lost track of time; there seems to be no room for time nowadays. I now live in a small city, someplace located in London.
Or was it Canada? Or maybe it was Europe? It seems there’s no room for maps either.
These people are so peculiar, so weird as they would call it. Men and women are being slaughtered everywhere I look; children are being taken right off the streets or even from their homes.
Mothers are abandoning their babies almost everyday. People talk of “pranking” people left and right. They insult each other all the time. They’re all so obnoxious, ignorant even.
This place is nothing like Draken. This place is so much brighter. Nothing even remotely close to Draken, indeed.

July 2010