I moved on. It is what you are supposed to do and I already have enough trouble following directions, so I figured this time I would follow the rules to the ******* t. I found a good boy. Oh my god he is good. He does what he is supposed to do and every time I look at him I get butterflies in my stomach, which is supposed to happen, that’s like rule number one. I talked to him, rule two, and decided immediately that he was too good for me. He has a plan, and he is doing everything that he is supposed to do to achieve it. He doesn't drink or smoke, or well, smoke. He hates that I do, but god when I do I forget that he isn't mine. That he is far too good for me, that he does not need a girl who feels pleasure from a blade sliding across her skin, that he doesn't need a girl who smiles at the sight of a flame because it looks and it feels so pretty. He doesn’t need a girl who drowns her emotions with alcohol, her feelings with ***, her hunger with a cigarette. No. He does not need me, but I think he wants me. I think his gaze lingers a little too long on the broken girl with bleeding lips and a wicked smile. I think his touch stays a little too long on shaking hands. I think his brain is a little too preoccupied with a girl like me. Good boys don’t need bad girls and he is the epitome of a good boy. I never have gotten around to rule number three because rule number two point five states that there must be an equality between the two parties. And baby we aren’t on the same level.