When I was in middle school, I read The Princess Diaries. I felt what am feeling right now.
The nervous wreck I felt with America and Maxon, now re-reading The Selection (8 years after I read it for the first time), I felt with Mia and Michael.
At the end, same thing happened: one fuck things up, the other make it worst, I freak out and they end up together because they love each other.
And it was implicit that they have sex but this doesn’t show because, you know… teen stuff.
I finished The Princess Diaries thorned up in pieces.
I was really bad.
Kept wandering through the library, searching for something that made me forget all the nervous wreck I was over them.
I read Avalon High. It was a fantasy, not a big deal. Of course they ended up together, but the whole point of the book was other.
I read American Girl. nerve wreck pt. 2. In the first one, she falls in love with the son of the president of the United States and in the sequel, which is called Ready or not?, I dare you to guess what was the reason she should be ready for.
I read Pants on Fire. Sworn my heart was with Tommy. If there’s a thing Meg Cabot knows how to do is describe a handsome boy. Dreamy, as they say.
Of course I knew what an orgasm was by then, even if I didn’t do much of erotic reading. Fanfic was always the best way to get there and obviously, I’ve seen some porn, mainly after my mom gave me my first notebook.
What? Haven’t you all seen any porn in you late 12 or 13 years old?
I dreamt of feeling someone’s hands, no one in specific, all over me, tendering me and I was freaking when I imagined that someone could make me feel better than I was already doing to myself.
I had one zillion possibilities in my mind at a time. One seemed better than another.
Reality didin’t stood a chance near my fantasies.
Everything seemed so distant, so surreal.
Nothing beyond what they were: fantasies.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been so careless about him.
Maybe I didn’t love him the way I though I did.
I loved the fact that he was the first one who wanted to be with me, the first one who kissed me, the first one who touched me, the first one who wanted me. For me.
I felt living in my books. My fantasies had finaly turned reality. Poor thing. I should have imagined this would happen.
Anyway, back to middle school.
It was a sequence: The Princess Diaries, Pants on Fire, How to Kiss a Guy. All that while I watched Blair and Chuck fall in love in the first season of Gossip Girl. And never forget about the Twilight fever the world was passing through.
I was destroyed.
Simply couldn’t pass a day without crying, without thiking I was a bag of trash.
It was the first time I’ve realized that I act toward what I was reading.
So I’ve made a decision: I wouldn’t read any more romances.
I asked the lady in the library if she knew any thriller/terror books and she introduced me to The Nightmare House.
I started caring less for the tiny pieces of attention that I got from the boys at school. Even less caring for the fact that everyone there seems to hate me.
It made me stronger, you know? Altough I didn’t last much, I knew I had some kind of escape vault in The Nightmare House. It became a vicious circle: I read romances, turned bad, then turned really bad, sworn I wound’t read it again, back to Nightmare House. A month or so after that, it was all over again.
I really stoped reading in high school.
And in tech school, I had you.
You know better than anyone that when everything was bad enough, I read.
I read to runaway.
I read to escape.
I read to live someone else’s life when mine is such mess.
I didn’t wanted to be this way, it makes me feel so bad.
I was so lonely, always lonely.
I only have you.
You are my safe heaven.