Burning The Bad Boy

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Prologue

As a child, my parents told me to never play with fire or I’d get burnt.

As a teenager, I thought it referred to the literal flame that sparked from lighters, that illuminated campsites. The thought that it might be a metaphor for life never really crossed my mind.

Not until Damon Fox.

Everything about him was fire; from his devil-may-care attitude to his Abercrombie model like looks. Everywhere he went, flares and ashes followed.

Girls worshiped him like he were a god they’d sacrifice themselves too. Guys treated him like he were a whole other species they craved to become.

Then there were those of us that were so caught up in their own small little fantasy world that they saw him as no more than what he was; a teenage boy with an addiction to adrenaline and attention.

The very few of us that didn’t bow down to Damon’s every command fell into a small category of black sheep that the entire school looked down upon. We were the outcasts because we didn’t love their precious bad boy.

I don’t hate Damon; I’d have to know someone to be able to hold any sort of feeling toward them. But there was definitely a strong disliking buried inside that I tried to keep down so I wouldn’t be cast out like the others.

He was cocky and conceited, had an ego far beyond anything imaginable, and could barely stay for an entire day of school. He was everything parents told their daughters to run away from.

He was the fire that girls swarmed to like moths to a flame. The lethal, toxic smoke that lingered in the air hours after he was there.

I understood he was dangerous and a fire closing in on himself. I also understood that in some screwed up way, that was what drew me to him.

I wasn’t like most of the school’s population, I hadn’t held my virginity out to him in the palm of my hands. I don’t bat my fake eyelashes in hopes he’d notice me; hell, I’m sure he has absolutely no clue I exist.

That didn’t stop me from standing outside the classes he actually decided to show up too once and a while, and pretending I had gotten lost when he asked me what I was doing there.

It didn’t stop me from standing with the crowds of girls in front of the school when he started his motorcycle and took off out of the parking lot, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust behind.

I shouldn’t have done the things I did, I should have listened to the warnings. But there was a part of me that was tired of living on the sidelines and watching the entire world unfold before me. There was a part of me that got a surge of excitement through me at the thought of one day approaching the devil in disguise himself.

There was a part of me that felt a desire to touch the eternal flame; even if it meant me getting burnt in the end.

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