Author's Note:

So, here is like the third version of Doll but this time you know I won't put it on hiatus because it's most definitely completed. Yay! I finally finished something in my life. I'm not a failure!

Hm . . . I dunno what else to say. Here is the prologue. A little teaser to get new readers. Leave me a review cause I'm a whore for that shit. I don't care if it's a flame or not. Flames make me cry and laugh at the same time. Oh, and just so you know, this story will have girl on girl slash although it never gets very explicit and then there will be one heterosexual sex scene which I just threw in just because I fucking can! Although I don't really consider it sex because it's kinda one sided . . . Haha. I love the fact that I'm cursing so much in my introduction. I'm making up for the fact that I can't in real life. But yeah.

This story is dedicated to . . . bitches. And all girl schools. And skirts worn too fucking high.

Doll

Prologue

I met her during choir.

You know, there are just some people in life that you encounter and immediately you know they're special. She was one of those people. She stood out for so many reasons. She had one of the best voices in our group. She was pretty and screamed androgyny. I assume that is what drew me to her.

I had never liked a girl before.

I thought that having sex with one would be nice because hell, sex is sex no matter who it is coming from, but upon looking upon her I realized that I was now officially a lesbian because whatever I thought about now related to her. I mean – I was a lesbian, right? I kept checking that definition in my dictionary, over and over, and the words never changed but I swear to God that every time I read it, it seemed as if those words meant something different. It sounds stupid when I think about it now. What kind of person allows a book to define who you are? But I was that type of person.

She was a senior, something which really fucked with my mind. Most of the seniors at my high school were really big hypocrites. It seemed to be a requirement. Her friends were all drama geeks and so was she. It was not surprising when she tried out for the school musical and got one of the lead roles. Meanwhile, all of the freshman and sophomores got stuck playing trees and clouds and other wonderful parts. Not that I really minded. I would always stand close to the curtain whenever she was on stage. Her voice was so beautiful and she sang with an amazing amount of conviction. I wanted my voice to be that powerful one day. I wanted to have stage presence like that one day. But most of all I wanted her.

When lying on my bed at night, my thoughts would immediately turn to her. At first they were innocent. I wanted to talk to her, more than just the grunts and pointing that were allowed during backstage rehearsals. I wanted to inquire about why she chose this school, what college she was going to - just little things like that. Back then I was content. Being around her was enough. Having her look in my direction made my day.

It's amazing how quickly my innocence diminished. Talking was not enough. Having her look at me was not enough. I had accomplished all of that now. My day was now being made when she brushed past me as she ran to the stage because she had missed her cue or when she told me that I looked adorable in my costume. Lying on my bed at night, I now thought about what it would be like to kiss her, to hold her, to fuck her. It was an obvious jump, right? My body told me yes but I kept getting the vibe that what I was thinking was wrong, wrong, wrong.

I felt like the true hypocrite. I felt like everything I had ever believed was now false. I had spent so much time preaching about equal treatment and believing in oneself and yet here I was, crying into my pillow at night because I was another lesbian who liked someone who would never like her back. I didn't want to be a sob story. I didn't want to be the girl who ended up liking someone and then had to settle for someone else. I had seen too many movies, read too many books, where that was the eventual outcome. Even Rose in Titanic never got the boy - only a few memories. I didn't want just memories.

But most of all I didn't want to be a lesbian. I didn't want to like her anymore. I wanted to go back to liking celebrities whom I would never meet, who would serve as ideals for me to compare others to although I knew that things would never go back that way. I liked her now and I would continue to like her even though she was flawed. She was no celebrity but now she would serve as my ideal, even if she didn't know it.

My self pity was never ending. You see, everywhere I went reminded me either of my crush or my lack of confidence. I lived in the Bay Area at the time, a place known for its liberalism and large gay population. I had always thought that I was open to homosexuality. This wasn't entirely true. I was open to good-looking gay people and those gay people who acted like their sex. I disliked gay men who paraded around wearing make-up and high heels. I disliked butch lesbians who stared at me when I rode the bus. I was insecure. Did I really want to be clumped in a category with the likes of these people? Was I really gay? Once more the same questions kept popping up and rather than answering the questions I put them in the back of my mind. I didn't want to figure things out before leaping into situations.

I tried my best to hide my feelings, using all of the acting skill I had, although I think that it ultimately led to me being very tense and icy. I was also isolating myself from everyone else but as long as it kept me from doing or saying something stupid, I didn't really care. I was being a good girl.

Then there was the one day where I was standing against a wall waiting for class to begin. I was bored and not even thinking about her. I was thinking about something perfectly normal, like why the teacher hadn't arrived yet, when a pack of seniors began to head up the stairs. The bell had rung about five minutes ago but seeing how they think they're the shit, they were just barely heading to their classes. She was with them but she had been lagging behind for some reason. She was wearing a skirt, something which I noticed she rarely did, and it was definitely higher than the rules allowed. I watched as the group walked up the stairs and then she finally caught up with them. I honestly didn't mean to but I caught a straight view up her skirt and quickly turned away. While a surge of pleasure seared through my body, I also felt horribly dirty. I felt like some common adolescent boy or something, some teenager with no class or respect. I kept thinking that I shouldn't have looked up her skirt even though she was the one who was wearing a skirt way too fucking high without any shorts on underneath. Still, when the teacher finally came and I was allowed into the classroom, I spent the entire period thinking about her.