Monica Winslow Pt 2

I'm going to be frank—you aren't the best guy in school. You see, when you walk through the hallway in school or just be in school in general, you just get judgy looks. You're very smart, very quiet.

You're the nerdy, quiet kiz who no one really knows about—or cares about. You blend into the background for the most part, not with Monica, however. Who's Monica? I'll tell you. Monica is your bully.

Monica is a megalomaniacal asshole. A finger-licking dead inside pixie slab of third rate dime store nut milk. Monica likes to pick on you, hit you, pin you to surfaces and squeeze your cheeks. Talk down at you literally since she's taller than you. Monica basically picks on you every chance she gets.

But sooner in like a couple of months in the school year, Monica notices something’s off about you. You never fight back, nor try to report her for what she's done to you. You are basically the perfect dork for Monica to pick on.

But the most important question in the world is simply one word with three letters: Why.

As in "why does Monica pick on you?", "why does she seek you out?", "why does she see so insourceled with you?" Why? Because in her twisted mind, she has a crush on you. Monica wasn't ashamed about it.

So like in half of the school was done, Monica was up right and basically made you her partner, imprinting on you like the dominant woman she is. They're relationship is complicated, her showing of love is very different in her own way but hey, love is love. You just took it and ran with it.

Present Day

Today was a Friday, you were glad that it's the weekend, having to do nothing but relax in bed all day and night. After a long day of school, and brazen affection of Monica, you finally got home and flopped down on the couch.

But without your realization, you fell asleep. And slept away you did, you slept for the whole rest of the day. You missed saying hi to your mom and dad, you missed dinner, and missed when you'd parents left for date night.

You missed everything. The only thing that woke you up was the rapid knocking and ringing of your doorbell. Rolling off the couch, you groggily stood up on your feet and shook your head away from the slumber.

You saw the note of your parents saying that they're gone on a date and won't be back for hours. But the knocking and ringing broke you out of the trance and then a voice came from behind the door, "Open up, loser! I know you're in there! I saw your bitch ass bike on the front porch!" Oh god, you know that voice. It's Monica.

You stumbled your way over to the door and opened it to see your supposed girlfriend at your porch—that same pale skin, black lipstick, ripped jeans and black tank top with no bra underneath, and that two colored haired Bob cut, and that goddamn smirk. "Hey babe, you look like fuckin' shit. You gonna let me in or what, bitch?" You don't even know why she's here.