The second I got home, I threw my backpack on the floor and collapsed onto my bed.
My mirror still had a smudge of mascara from this morning. My favorite blue sweater lay crumpled in the corner from yesterday, and for some reason it felt like the perfect metaphor for me….wrinkled, ignored, and way too dramatic.
Okay so… what the actual hell is my life right now.
My brain wouldn't shut up. It kept playing the same disasters on loop.
Ren. Ian. Marcus.
A boy I can't have. A boy I shouldn't want. A boy who hates me. Triple crown of disasters.
So, yeah. I'm a mess. A disaster. The definition of "girl who has lost the plot."
And now my brain still wouldn't shut up about Ren.
Am I even allowed to check on him? Like… what's the etiquette here? I don't want it to look like I'm an home wrecker.
I rolled over and grabbed my phone.
Ash already sent a message.
Ash: Juney, you checked up on Ian yet?
I groaned out loud, flopping onto my pillow.
