My Angel

Lana Jane Parks is a 16 year old girl who moves from England to a small town in New York. She already is different with her accent, but in so many other ways as well.

Note: I do not claim any famous people/things mentioned.

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5. Realization

I lay in bed that night, staring at my ceiling decked out in posters. Kurt Cobain, Ronnie Radke, Andy Biersack, they all stare at me. I ask them what to do, but they stay silent. They won't reply to me.

"Neither did I," I repeat to myself. I came out as a lesbian. But I can't be. I won't be. One kiss doesn't make me a lesbian right? Straight girls can think a girl is pretty.

She's pretty is all.

I do not want to touch her.

I fall asleep, hugging my pillow, wishing Daddy was still alive to tell me what to do right now.

 

I make sure I don't arrive at school until minutes for the bell. There was one boy I saw yesterday with an Asking Alexandria shirt on. He was the only guy who didn't give me a look of disgrace. He was outside, smoking, so I desperately hope that's where he is again this morning.

He's there, with a cancer stick between his fingers. A small puff of smoke passes his lips.

"Want a drag?" He's talking to me. He pulls out a box of cigarettes, and lights one up for me. I take it cautiously, inhale its poison. "You look like a smoker Lana."

"How do you know my name?"

"Gray Sims. I sit in the back of your English class." He extends a hand out to me, and I think I'm supposed to shake it. When I hesitate and don't move, he lowers his arm. "What, you'll take my smokes, but won't touch my hand? You're weird."

And then, he's kissing me. His smokey tongue is trying to break through my tongue. And it feels so wrong.

Oh, god no. This can't be.

I throw my cigarette on the ground and run inside the school. I make my way into the bathroom and hurl up my breakfast.

 

I see Crimson in second hour health, since I was too busy puking and crying during first hour at the realization that I may not be straight, like I always thought I was. It all kind of makes sense though. It's second grade, I had my first female teacher, Miss Bays, and she's was so pretty. I always stared at her chest when she wasn't looking. The few times that I had watched porn, I always focused on the girl.

Then I cried over the fact that my mother would never accept the fact that I love girls.

Crimson looks at me with hopeful eyes. She wants more, I can tell. But I'm scared. I'm scared to love her, to be me. No one will understand. 

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