A Fake Love Story.

She doesn't like it when she spills her coffee.
She doesn't like it when she wears the wrong clothes.
She doesn't like it when she can't find her phone.
In fact, she hates it.
They call it OCD. They claim she's searching for perfection, something she will never find ...
But what they don't know is that she's falling in the category of thinking she has.


3. Ready.

Janice's P.O.V

I rubbed my eyes together with my index finger , rubbing mascara above my eyelids and under my eyes. It was about six in the morning and the sun was now just settling in the sky. I lazily got out of my bed only to be reminded that Nick was going to pick me up to go to the gym since I couldn't drive anymore for "suicidal reasons." Great way to break it down to me. I cleared my thoughts and searched for my slippers.

After, about five minutes I finally found my gray Route 66 house shoes and finally put them on lazily. I walked to my small bathroom and just stared at myself in the mirror. Just stared, cause that's all I could seem to do lately ...

I touch my nose. Too long.

I touch my hair. Too thin.

However, when I touch my blue glistening eyes it just reminds me of my mother , my sweet mother whom cherished everything in this world. Everything.

I feel the heat burning inside my stomach, and then before I knew it I had connected my fist to the glass mirror. Another object broken.

I roll my eyes tired of my break downs ... I have to keep it together , or else they'll keep me inside that stupid room. Stupid room is what it is.

I snap out of one of my "OCD" moments and slip on my gray sports bra and my black exercising tights. I then take a look at my Nike collection and can't decide what I want to wear for my shoes. Eventually I (like usual) get frustrated and swear while picking some random black ones.

I walk back into the rather miniature bathroom and apply light M.A.C foundation and mascara. Ready.

Thanks to those who bothered to click on my movella! Hope you guys are enjoying my story!

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