Porcelain Skin

(This is the prologue and a sneak peek of chapter 1 of the first book in my tragic romance series: Porcelain Skin. A story from a remorseful bully's POV.)

I was no angel.

I wasn't that innocent girl who stood in the back wondering why he wouldn't choose me. Why he couldn't see that we were truly meant for each other.

Nope. I deserved every ounce of Trevor Nixon's loathing.

Because I ruined his sister's life.

I was like a vine: fascinating, elegant, enticing. I'd succeeded in masterfully climbing the broken walls of my life and covering the empty decay with a disguise of brilliant art. But, like a vine, I was also hungry, dangerous, and deadly. I could squeeze the joy out of any poor victim who stood in my way.

Trinity Nixon had been that victim.

Why? Because I needed her to hate me.

My father gave up on me. He didn't care. Maybe if the rest of the world gave up on me too, then I wouldn't take his abandonment so personally.

The man I'd grown up with was no longer a man. His spirit was gone. The life that once coursed through his veins had come to an end. The heart that once pumped and strived to live so that I could be happy had lost its will to continue. It fought for him until the end, but even a strong heart can't function without fuel. And now, all that fuel lies soaked into my memories of where his life ended.

My heart crumpled with the realization that I'd lost him. Even before his soul left his body, he had already given up. Given up on himself. Given up on me. I wasn't even worth the fight, or the effort of acknowledging my pleas for forgiveness. He didn't care that my heart would be eternally broken. He didn't care that he had destroyed my ability to live freely. I would forever be trapped in my own guilt. My life would be a perennial fight for acceptance, and yet, even the most convincing person wouldn't succeed in making me feel accepted.

My father had turned me into an outcast.

I would be absorbed into the shadows. Happiness would fade into a memory before evaporating into a myth. Hope would wither like a starving flower. I would slowly die, and with each passing day, I'd come closer to saying goodbye to the girl I used to be.

That's when I ruined her life.

I tore Trinity down until her sweet smile slid off her face. I pushed her buttons until tears rimmed her eyes. I insulted, teased, and tormented her until eventually, she slid into the background, and then one day she was just gone.

I remember the day well. Somehow the school seemed quieter and duller than usual. I could hear whispers spreading throughout the halls like a virus. I didn't realize what had changed until I got to my third-period class; the class that I happened to share with Trinity and her brother.

At that point, she'd become so withdrawn that I never would have noticed she was missing except for the look in his eyes. I guess he'd been somewhat unaware of my cruelty towards his sister until that moment. The moment I pushed her too far.

She was gone, her whereabouts a mystery to me, and I'd suddenly gone from invisible to well-known... and well-hated.

My plan failed, and I was forced to swim upstream in a sea of my own guilt. I couldn't undo the damage I'd done, but I could make an effort at healing myself—erase the bitterness to allow the pretty, shiny parts of who I am show through.

Since then, Trevor's graduated and I haven't seen him in a year. So, when I realize that I'll be attending the same college as him, I feel that I've been given a second chance. A chance to earn his forgiveness.

Now, as I step out of my car and onto my new campus grounds, I pull a breath into my petrified lungs. And, as I've taught myself so well, I paint on a smile; a smile that I hope will be warm enough to thaw the icy heart of the boy who has been living on repeat in my thoughts for the past year.

(Chapter 1 preview)

My shoes graze the sidewalk like sandpaper on wood. I watch each step I take, mesmerized by the cracks weaving themselves throughout the broken concrete. Bright, lively tufts of grass shoot from the crevices in the most significant display of hope. Beauty can grow from the most damaging circumstances; you just have to look for it. But, I'm still stuck in a season of drought, because hope is the furthest thing sprouting from my brokenness.

I appear alive, smiling like any normal person would, but only because I need people to believe that flowers are blossoming out of the mound of debris that represents my past. I'm still a mess, but my hope is that no one will ever know.

The moment my foot passes through the threshold, fear grabs a hold of my chest with its painful talons and squeezes. I hate the first day of class, especially this one: Psychology - the study of human behavior. I have no desire to reveal why I act the way I do; why I cover up what I'm truly feeling.

Nerves are twitchy, anxiety heavy, hands sweaty. I try to keep my head down, so as to avoid any unwanted eye contact, as I make my way to an empty seat near the center of the room.

Someone laughs loudly on my right and I absentmindedly glance that way to see what the fuss is about. All it takes is this one moment of distraction for me to make a complete fool of myself. The toe of my shoe clips the edge of someone's bag and I trip, just barely keeping myself from collapsing into a hideous heap on the tile floor. My palms grab the edge of the desk beside me, securing me from falling as they hold me in place. I hear a couple gasps around the room and someone in the back chuckles. I'm humiliated, but I refuse to let it beat me down.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," I say, while coercing my embarrassment to take a hike.

"I'm so sorry," a scrawny guy next to me says as he pulls his bag out of the way. "That was my bad."

I just smile and wave away his apology as I prepare to slide into the empty seat beside him. "No worries."

I'm still grinning when I glance up and meet a pair of familiar green eyes across the room.

My motions slow as my heart takes off in panic. I was aware he went to this college, but I'm horrified to realize that we attend a class together. Excitement and terror sizzle through my gut. My own thoughts are fighting against me as I think about the wonderful possibilities this could produce, and yet, I know how stupid it is to think that way. I shouldn't feel excited about spending time with the one person who despises me: Trevor Nixon.

---

~Story info~

Title: Porcelain Skin

Genre: Young Adult/Romance

Age range: 13+

Word count: 130,000

Author Name: K. D. Neal

Why my project is a good fit: Many stories these days are from the victims perspective. We feel immediate sympathy for the character because of what they've been through. But this story is not like those stories. This one happens to be from the perspective of the offender. We get to crawl into a bully's head and understand her reasoning behind her actions. But she doesn't only have to prove herself to the other characters within the story; she must also prove herself to you... the reader. Most things in life are not as simple as good and evil. This book was written to make people aware that good people sometimes reveal themselves even in the most unexpected circumstances, and not all people who have made detrimental mistakes in their lives are bad.

The Hook: When I tell you that he hates me, you'll probably assume it's because he's a jerk...but you'd be wrong. He's not a jerk. I am.

Synopsis: Several years ago tragedy struck Emma's home, leaving her broken... like a cup with cracks spiraling and slithering around the edges. Slowly, bitterness crept in like tar, hardening between each fracture to resemble a deceitful wholeness.

She became a monster and targeted her venom on the sweetest person she could find: Trinity Nixon. Too bad the boy Emma longed for was Trinity's brother.

Now, as Emma fights to win the heart of the boy who despises her, she's forced to hide her demons. She paints her fragile cup in pinks, yellows, and oranges - all the colors of the sun. She paints on a smile, and an unusual sense of humor so that the world will view her as bright and cheerful when in reality she's breaking.

But she's completely unprepared for the acidic truth that melts away the tar, demolishing her shell, and awakening the Emma White buried deep inside.

Target Audience: Young adults

My bio: I've been a writer since childhood, but it only began as poetry and music. My passion used to simply be singing and writing songs, but one day I decided to attempt a novel and I fell in love with it. Along with the joy of creating characters, emotions, plots, I became addicted to the idea of making readers feel. 

Platform: As of now, my story is only on Wattpad where it's reached nearly 1 million reads. 

Education: High School 

Personality/writing style: Believability is always my number one goal. I want my readers to relate to the emotions and actions of my characters, even if they're ridiculous. I want even the unbelievable aspects of my stories to feel real. Once I've accomplished that, then I like to focus on creating a plot that jerks my readers around. I want them to so strongly believe in a certain outcome for the story that when the climax hits and they realize that they guessed wrong then it blows their mind. I want my stories to be unpredictable.  

Likes/Hobbies: Other than writing, my other hobbies include singing and songwriting. 

Hometown: I'm from the United States but grew up in Thailand and now live in Singapore.

Age: 27