Promiscuous Read Free Page B

to ask for directions. He never even got out of the car, just made me watch through the rolled down window while he touched himself. I ran back into the house, but by then it was too late.
    At that point, I'd finally figured it out. All the adults in my life were right to look at me the way they did, to judge me. There was something wrong with me. I did deserve all those things that had happened to me. It WAS my fault.
    That day, I decided for the first time that what Gretchen had told me was the truth.
    I was dirty.
     

 
    Part II: “Nasty”
     
    There’s this thing people do, when they don’t want to face the truth about themselves. Psychologists call it projection. My mom calls it ‘lashing out.’ The school councilor will probably tell you it’s my way of getting attention, or spreading my angsty teenage misery around.
    But really, I think it’s more like a real life Picture of Dorian Grey situation.
    Oh, you haven’t read that book? Why am I not surprised? Allow me to educate you. It’s about a guy who cares so much about what people think of him, he’s willing to sell his soul to the devil. So he has this painting of himself, and he wishes that all the bad things in his life—like aging, getting fat, making mistakes, all of that shit—will happen to the painting, instead of him. And it works. To all outward appearances, Dorian is the world’s most well-adjusted, happy, unfuckwithable guy. But the painting gets uglier, nastier and more twisted by the day.
    Until one day, he can’t even look at it anymore. Because he realizes that it’s really just a reflection of his soul. And he stabs it. Because that’s the only thing he can think of that will make it all right. Only, instead of killing the hideous creature in the painting, it kills him. All his sins come back on him, and he dies.
    Fucking deep, right? And whoops, I guess I probably should’ve said ‘spoiler alert,’ because now when you go to read this amazing book, you’ll already know the major plot reveal. But who are we kidding, butt munch? You weren’t going to read it anyway.
    At any rate, my point is this. Nobody wants to see themselves for who they really are. But the person we are and the things we do, the mistakes we make? They’re one and the same— inseparable . No matter how well we lie to ourselves, we can’t escape them for long.
     

 
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    "Natty, come eat!"
    I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. My mom is the only person in the world who calls me that, and it makes me want to blow chunks every time. And not just because it's uncomfortably close to the word Nasty—which you'd better believe will be the first thing the bitches at school will call me if they ever find out my mom calls me Natty.
    "In a minute," I yell back. But only because I know if I don't answer she'll just yell it louder. And maybe the neighbors will hear. Can’t have another nickname added to my rap sheet, not when the latest one is so fresh.
    I kick my way out of bed and lunge across my tiny bedroom, running my fingers through my hair. It’s feeling a little greasy today, and I know I should probably shower. But I’m already late, so instead I run into the bathroom and sprinkle the top of my head with baby powder.
    That's one great thing about having platinum blonde hair. The white powder disappears into each oily strand, and by the time you comb it out it looks like you just blow dried it fresh. The downside is, of course, your head now smells like a baby's ass.
    As I brush out my long, straight and now clean-ish hair, I contemplate my looks in the mirror, as girls the world over and cheesy romance novel heroines are wont to do.
    (Caught that, did you? Yeah fine, I'll admit it. After plowing my way through the classics, I went through a three year sci-fi novel phase where I lost myself in alternative galaxies filled with asexual life forms who had bigger problems than getting made fun of at school. Like interplanetary warfare, with lasers and