a/n: hey guys, i'm back. obviously here to make my friend feel bad about not writing. (no, i'm not. pick up a piece of paper and a pen and write away! pun intended.)
pss:
jeanine huffs angrily before tromping up to her room, her father's question of "bad day?" thoroughly ignored. as she reaches the doorframe, she pulls off her leggings, rolls up her sleeves, and reaches for the razor by her bedside. but, seeing the sharpie replacing the sharp implement, she sighs and uncaps the permanent marker, slumping onto her bed. she starts writing.
"lars was an ass to me again today," she scrawled in big black letters on her left calf. "i want him to go die. i hate what he says to me."
she tilts her head in thought before continuing on.
"frank's amazing though. he manages to be there whenever lars says anything too jerk-assy and makes fun of him. and then naturally we all join in. and then i don't feel so bad."
jeanine tosses her head, taking joy in the simple act. she's found that in the couple days without cutting, her hair is beautiful. light purples, pinks, and blues dance through the air with every flick of her head. she's eternally grateful for dying it. she taps the cap of the sharpie on her chin, before writing on her right ankle, "i love my hair. i love how it moves, i love how it feels. i love how everyone compliments me on it."
she breaks out in a smile, something that she would've thought impossible two weeks ago.
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a/n: guys, i want to write something for this, but i think that this secret is pretty self-explanatory.
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