Prologue:

       Perfectly Imperfect

»This world is perfectly imperfect. You never know what to expect from it. It could lead you down the path to utopia, or force you through hell. It could give you everything you ever dreamed of, or it could strip you of all hope, leaving you miserable and alone. Many people find this possibility terrifying, that they may be the next unlucky person on the news, killed in some freak train wreck or kidnapped by a psychopath. But I disagree. I find this openness and uncertainty thrilling. It's like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. Without warning, the world could drop out from under you and no matter how much you scream, it refuses to slow down. Sometimes it makes you so sick you can't help but throw up. Other times you throw your hands in the air and enjoy the ride. And yet other times you grip onto the rail and pray to God that you make it out alive. I try to avoid these unpleasant times. You see, I'm the type of person that forces myself to keep my hands in the air for the entire ride, telling myself to have fun no matter how terrified I am. No matter the twists, turns, drops, and loops, my arms are always outstretched. I find that life is a lot more enjoyable that way.

»My name is Layla. Layla Brown. I know, it's an awful name, but blame my mom. She's not exactly the definition of a "normal" or "proper" person. She doesn't really care about rules or conduct, she's just living life for the kicks. In some ways, I try to be like her. I mean, the main point of life is to have fun, right? But she can go a bit overboard sometimes. For example, you have me. I'm the product of a one night stand. She can't even remember the guy's name. To be honest, I'm surprised I don't have over twenty siblings. Or half-siblings as the case would undoubtedly be. But no, after the accident of my existence, my mother luckily learned the importance of protection. So I'm an only child living in a slightly unstable single parent household. People always expect us to be dirt poor, especially based off the way we live, but believe it or not we have a decent amount of money. Even without child support, my mom has a huge stash, hidden in some vault somewhere. You see, she's the only daughter of an insanely famous movie star. Don't ask me his name cause I couldn't tell you, but all I know is that he died filthy rich. And now we live solely off that. My mom hasn't worked a decent day in her life. Instead, she paints. Everything from still life to animals to self portraits to scenery. Sometimes she makes me sit in front of her for hours as she carefully recreates my face on canvas. I don't mind, though. It's nice to just be able to sit back and do nothing but stare at the wall for a while.

»I paint too, though I mainly stick to easier themes. My favorite is flowers. Typical, I know, but their bright colors and how they dance in the wind intrigues me. I could stare at them for hours. But there weren't many flowers where I used to live. And they died rather quickly. At the time, I lived in the upper parts of New Hampshire, in good old North Weare, pronounced like where. That's right, I literally lived in the middle of No. Weare. And it lived up to its name. It took us half an hour just to get to the closest grocery store. But I hadn't lived here all my life. As a matter of fact, I barely lived there for three years. Before that it was Pheonix, Arizona, then Three Forks, Montana. Before that we were somewhere in Colorado, but you get the idea. I moved around for most of my life and I have my mother to thank for that. Like the paintings, I never really minded it all that much. I guess I became immune. But it was a little lonely. That's right, I was the typical girl who was always moving around and never got to make friends, until one day some angel changes her life forever. Well that's where my story differs. No one changed. There was no prince in shining armor or kind-hearted girl who accepted me as her friend. Nope. When I moved out of Weare and all the way across the country to Stinson Beach California, everyone treated me the same as anywhere else I had been. It was me that changed. And I'm still not sure if it was for the better or not. I may never know. But maybe by the end of my story, you'll be able to help me decide.

It started with a box...

AUTHOR'S NOTES; So first things first, no this is not actually from my perspective of anything. This is 100% fictional and the opinions in here belong to the characters alone. Not me. Also, I just want to put it out there that I have nothing against the name Layla. As a matter of fact, I think it's kinda pretty. This is simply the character's view on her own name so please, don't be offended if your name is Layla or you know someone named Layla.

Now that that's out of the way, I hope you liked the first chapter! I know, it has absolutely nothing to do with kpop, but I just had to get the story started one way or another, and this is how I decided to do it. Chapters soon in the future will actually include kpop idols, so please be patient.

Last note real quick, no I'm not setting this story as mature because it isn't going to contain anything too bad or anything graphic, but as you can tell there will be cursing and some ual references so I'd suggest not reading this if you're uncomfortable with that.

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