Status: Finished 10/20/11.

Perfectly Messed Up

I'm Gonna Go Ballistic!


The name is Skyla and I have brown hair that goes to my mid back, grey eyes, I'm 5'6, I'm 21 and last, but not least, I wear black and red glasses. Some days, I wonder why anyone wants to talk to me. I'm not an outgoing person or anything, so the question remains. Another one that remains is why guys are such perverts; not every girl wants sex. Seriously, get a life. Then, I fell back onto my bed, wanting to escape it all. The only things I saw made me want to scream, cry and run for my fucking life.

Right now, I was at a party, in a bedroom, wishing my friends were there.

"Stop it!" I screamed.

He just kept on going.

"You really think I'm gonna stop? This is way too much fun."

I begged for mercy, but it didn't work.

"Shut up, you whore!"

I woke up in a cold sweat. I wanted to go back to sleep, but it wasn't going to work.

"Damnit! Why won't you leave me alone!"

I ran into the bathroom pounding on the glass mirror, till it broke, shattering into a million pieces. The pain throbbed and the blood spurted.

"Why am I such an idiot? God, you must really hate my guts!"

I wrapped my hand in a towel, stopping the blood before cleaning the cuts.

How was I going to explain this tomorrow at the Springcove Veterinary Clinic?

Are they going to let me around animals?

I was even madder at myself that I was shaking. Eventually, I calmed down, but it took a while. All I had to do was to listen to music. What music, you ask? Simple Plan. Yeah, yeah. Call them what you want, but their music is amazing. Oddly enough, I fell back asleep in the comfort of my own bed.

The Next Day

When I arrived at work, dressed in my polka-dotted scrubs and my hideous white sketchers. I hoped no one would see beyond my make-up. No one needed to see what happened last night and that day.

I came home from lunch(it was Sunday) when a guy pulled me out of my car and asked for money.

"Hurry up!" he said.

"I am, I am, shut the hell up!"

"How about no?! Stupid woman!"

He punched me as I was about to hand him my money. Once I did, he hit me one more time and left. I was left shaking.


"What?" I asked.

"You heard what I said. I'm breaking up with you! Why is it so hard to understand?"

"Why you're breaking up with me? Huh? What about that?!"

"I can tell in the tone of your voice, you're cheating on me!"

"That's a load of bullshit! You're the one who's cheating! I've always been a good man to you and this is what I get?"

"Fine, I admit it. You were never good in bed anyway."

Then, she hung up on me. I'm glad I'm done with her, but I'm going to be confused for quite a while. That was extra quizzical because she was my fiancee. Before I go any farther, my name is Pierre Bouvier. Yes, the lead singer of Simple Plan. What does he have to be sad about, angry about, you ask, so much? I have problems, like anyone else. What just happened is an example. I just want to be around my friends and music right now, before I blow a gasket. I don't have high hopes for today, but I bet everyone else does.