Chapter 1

Her eyes told me that she had a story to tell, but her timid body language told me she's not much of a storyteller.

I was told she tells "stories", but I'm not really a fan of fiction.

I want her autobiography.

But I'm no fool.

I know the sips she takes from that red cup, totals the number of pages she's ripping out of herself.

It's almost as if she's trying to erase the ink within the pages of her blood that make her flesh seem readable.

And the thing is, she's not the first damaged book I glanced at, she's just the first that caught my attention.

I mean...

She wasn't slut*y enough to be considered a "best seller"

And even though some boys claimed to have flipped through her pages,

I have yet to hear one say that he has read and understood her words.

But that's okay, I guess.

After all, most boys don't read because they like books...

They read so they can later on brag about all the books they've "read."

And they'll read anything, as long as the story entertains them.

But I don't want to be entertained...

I want to be informed.

And her grip on that red cup, is saying everything I need to know about her.

But her eyes...

Her eyes are saying read me.