And When She Was Bad Novels & Stories

She asked in an uncomfortable tone "The same thing" I replied "What? How I talk to people?" She asked “Ana?" I called because I could hear the anger in her voice “I'm not... ma'am, can you just not go down there?" She said in an angry tone “It's okay, am I that bad?" She asked me "No, you are not bad" I replied her “You all make me look like am the bad one" She said in a sad tone "Don't get upset" I said to her

"Come on. Say" "No!" she shoved her hands away from his grip. "You'll hurt my nene, bad man" "You think I'm a badman?" "Yes. My nene says badmen keep those black bad things", she fluffed her cheeks and looked away. She must be talking about his revolver.

“Not just with Gran, but back then? With this Señor Sanchez?” Silence, the stain nothing but a stain. “I forgot.” She paused and tried to think. “I don’t think I coulda done that. I was just a baby or something, you know?” She watched the stain. “I’ve been bad a long time, I think.” She traced it, running her finger all around the edge. Wondered if it tickled. “I can say that to you because you’re a friend. I think that maybe sometimes I can be sorta bad. Sometimes.” She thought again of Sanchez and stopped. “That there, outside in the living room, is it bad, too?”

Yeah, shit did get worse and a sobbing Jade is in mo way helpful at the moment. I hold her as she sobs her heart out blaming herself for not being a good enough friend and all, while waiting for the teachers to finish getting intelsat on who knows what and who saw her last. "I'm sure she's fine, cupcakes, Chelsea is a big girl." I try, trying to get her to stop with all the waterworks and a trip down blames lane. "You are not a bad friend because she decided she needed space and you let her have, okay? That's no one's fault, especially not yours."

She sounded mad, and I also heard a crack when she kicked the leg of my poor table. I looked back and wanted to stop her, but she'd already disappeared. What a shame! She was the one who wasted my time and not me. She was so shameful! A cheater! Such a crazy old, ugly, evil, demon! I knew no word which could explain how wicked she was!

the girl spat “And what makes you special huh? That fake t*ts of yours? The cakey makeup you have? Exposing someone’s bad past to make them look bad just because you’re a jealous b*tch hm?” I spat back “And I’d rather spend my time with someone that has a bad past yet a decent person than a desperate, insecure b*tch like you.” She gasped and slapped me hard “How dare you talk to me that way?! You’re not that fu-”

Let them catch fire and burn in their own filth. Okay then. But not okay. Not by a long shot off a short pier. "Fine," I said, shoulders slumping even as I felt my soul shrivel at the thought of giving up, of caving. "But when the bad crap happens and the whole show falls apart, do you think any of them will step up to do what needs to be done?" She shook her head. "I know they won't," she whispered. Just. Freaking. Lovely. ***

This place was a dangerous wolf’s den, and she was like a delicate lamb in a slaughterhouse. His thoughts rumbled as he made a mess of her hair with much displeasure. She unhappily lifted her face; her glistening, almond-shaped eyes stared fiercely at him before she clenched her fists and gave him a few flighty hits on the chest. She might have exerted her strength, but he hardly felt it. “Bad man,” she mumbled. This woman has her guts now, huh. It’s true that I’m bad, though – thoroughly evil – but she hasn’t seen the extent of my evilness!

She turned and looked at me. “I'm sorry” she whispered “I thought you were asleep.” “i’m so sorry for being a bitch.” “cursing doesn’t look good on you” “thank you for the therapist. Thank you for everything.” I smiled. “you are not as bad as they say. You know.” I tilted my head. “huh, how bad??” “well, mafia and tough goes together perfectly.” “I could be worse” “how worse??” Shit, she doing that thing again with her eyes.

Again. She’d almost gotten herself into trouble last night. Again. All because of her stubbornness. She rinsed her mouth, splashed water on her face, and shook her head, disgusted at herself. “Goodness, what am I even doing with my life? I can’t remember anything after what happened… it’s just blank.” She muttered, stripping out of her clothes. A walking disaster—that’s what she was. Trouble magnet. Accident-prone. Why did misfortune cling to her like this? Why did everything bad always land on her?