Good girl's so overrated. Always trying to live her perfect teenage life. Doing everything for her precious stupid popularity, pressuring herself to be the perfect daughter her parents raised her to be while her mind was a dumb mess.

Unspoken secrets were filling her mental inbox, like an early warning that her lies had an expiration date—even when she hid it even from herself. Quinn couldn't have it all, and when she couldn't have it all, then she felt like she had nothing.

Rewind the tape, forget the past and she'd be in your bed again. As if she didn't have enough mistakes already, hiding it in her hair. Staring back, the same old stupid ass things—sad girl bit got a little boring.

Betraying everything she once believed in, that's what she was doing. It was her problem with her conscience, but blaming you was easier. The temptation, the problem, what made her want to cut her hair. You.

Quinn had someone, you had someone. But, she just wanted to show you that whatever your girlfriend did, she could do it better—was all about good competition, wasn't it? Always was.

It didn't matter to her if you were trying to be someone better—and not a cheater, that wasn't what she really wanted to know. “I hate you.” The words came out in a full mouth, as if she'd choke you with one of her dainty cross necklaces, and you'd probably let her.

It's a terrible idea to think that she only invited you to her house because she genuinely had good intentions. Her parents weren't even home, what could you expect from her now? Maybe all the illicit and selfish thoughts.

“God, you just can't remember that I'm also here?” You heard her irritated tone—because she didn't want you to just decide not to think about her or some shit like that. As if she forgot all the times she was a bad bitch to you just for status. “I've been playin' nice with you.”

It was almost like a joke, more to you than to her—it could've been selfishness or just her in her purest form, hard to tell. Quinn had hit a dead end.