Lucky-97
A Beautiful, Terrible Love
 |
A Beautiful, Terrible Love |
If you want to download the book click on the image
This is part of the introduction to the book
Chapter 1
Every time I entered my room, I saw him.
His startling emerald green eyes stared at me, his wild red hair in a
carefully planned disarray. His jacket, perfectly tailored, was a dark
brown color, complimenting the perfectly clear complexion that he
seemed to wear effortlessly. His dark blue jeans rested low on his
hips, and a hint of skin was showing right where his tight shirt and
jeans met. The muscles he had were straining against his shirt, and
his cheekbones, very defined in his masculine face, were slightly red.
His full red lips only accented his perfectly proportioned facial
features.
I walked past him to my cluttered mound of paperwork on my desk. It
was my senior year, and I had tons of homework, not to mention
college applications.
I drew out the rickety swivel chair, it making a soft squeak in
submission. I plopped down on it, sighing in exhaustion. Every move I
made was amplified here in our former attic, right down to the deep,
relaxed breaths I was taking.
I was bundled up in a warm woolen jacket, shivering still from the cold
temperatures. When I breathed out, a little white cloud flew out of my
mouth, reaching to the heavens, vanishing after only a mere second.
Up here, it was as cold as the Arctic. Ice crystals crept slowly up the
leg of my desk, and my drink I had brought up here a day ago was
completely frozen. I turned on my small mini-heater, basking in the
meager warmth, wishing for more of that heavenly goodness. It
embraced me, dancing along my face, tickling my nose.
I peered past my desk to him, then quickly looked away. My head
tilted as if I had committed some sort of crime. In a way, for me, it was.
For he wasn't real. Every laugh I saw him make was frozen on a page.
I could hear his sweet, soothing voice, but only from a CD or the
computer. Every smile he gave was to an audience, a mob of
ferocious teenage fans. The whispers that normally swirl around a
popular figure weren't in existence, everyone awed by his perfection.
Really, he defines perfection.
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