Loud House (C) to Chris Savino and Nickelodeon.

Chapter 1

My name is Lucy Loud. I am sixteen years old. When I grow up, I want to become a writer someday. I want to write everything I see, hear, touch, smell and taste. I want to write poems, novels and memoirs, and then publish them to the big world where everyone can read. I would become the next JK Rowling, Stephen King and even James Patterson.

That would be great.

But first—there are obstacles I must overcome.

Ever since all of my older siblings, especially Lincoln, entered college, things have changed. Really changed.

My parents have been too busy to take care of me and my younger sisters. They hardly have time for us now that they have tuitions to pay for Lori, Leni, Luna, Luan, Lynn and Lincoln. It was a lot. To make matters worse, Mom and Dad are hardly ever home. So, as the now oldest sister in the household, I was left in charge and having to take care of Lana, Lola, Lisa and Lily.

It was never easy: Lana and her animals are too rambunctious to handle; Lola is a spoiled brat who wants everything her way; Lisa is making everything worse with her crazy experiments that are not even necessary; and Lily—well, despite that she's the baby—is the only one I can easily handle since she's maturing so fast.

I ended up having to cook, clean, do laundry and grocery shopping. I hardly have time for myself. I can barely pick up my pen and notebook to write. I hardly have the time to do what I love the most and accomplish my ambitions as an aspiring writer.

The only time I can write is every night before I go to bed. I would sit on my bed under the dim light and write down everything in my journal. I want to record everything that has happened to me and then write it in my future memoirs, so everyone can see what I have been through.

I have been carrying this journal since my tenth birthday. It's big, black and its cover is made of pleather material. It is my prized possession. Inside this journal is my everything, from venting to writing stories, from poetry to recording everything my five senses have interacted. This journal really means a lot to mean; I would be pissed off if something happens to it or if somebody reads it without my consent.

I even gave my journal a name: Nyx. The Goddess of Night.

Every day, I would carry it in my arms everywhere I go in school. Students would mock me for being a dark goth who is so attached to her notebook. They say I'm an attention seeker based on how I feel about the world and the way I dress only in black clothes. Students would bully me because I don't have any friends and I am always by myself during lunch periods. All alone with nobody—but my journal.

They even hurt me for hiding something from them. Wherever I go, I always have my long sleeves grasped tightly into my hands. They would come up to me—and yank my sleeves up to reveal my scars. Self-inflicted scars, actually.

When I'm alone, I would conceal myself—and cut. It started off with paperclips and shaving razors. Now, I moved on with nail scissors. I regret with what I did to my own fragile skin, but this was the only way for me to relief myself other than writing in my journal. Sometimes, venting in my journal was never enough, so—I turned to self-mutilation.

Sadly, no one knows about me cutting myself. My parents would never understand and neither will my sisters and brother.

Most of the time, I see myself as a mistake; I don't belong in this world. Everyone seems to fit in while I don't just because of my difference. All the other girls are always with each other. Not me. I'm always different from this society.

They wear gold and pink, I wear black and white. They text to each other, I read books under the light. They have their own lunch table, I sit in the corner all alone. They go too clubs and house parties, I stay by myself at home. They laugh a lot, I cry with scars and marks. They're the cheerleaders, I'm the nobody in the dark. They sleep with boys and older men, I sleep with my teddy bears. They cheat on tests and steal, I get A's with honesty and care. They get all the attention, I get nothing but hate. They get their love and affection, I get their heartbreaks. They can sing Pop and R&B, they're the supermodels, they show their bodies on Instagram, I listen to heavy death metal. I watch bloody horror movies, I write poetry about death, I'm a vegan; they eat meat, they smoke with crack and meth. They shop at Gucci and Prada, I go to Spencer's and Hot Topic. They eat candy and chocolate, I eat fruits and carrot sticks. I want to be a rock band's lead singer, they want to be in beauty pageants. They want to go all the way with jocks, I want to stay a virgin Miss Independent. They're the dumb ones, I'm the serious know-it-all. I love and care for animals, they push me till I fall. I wear nerdy framed glasses, they get to wear contact lenses. They have puppy dogs in bows and bags, I have purring cats and kittens. They have blonde and brunette hair, I have black hair with purple streaks. They are pretty and peppy, I'm weird and scary, but meek. They know how to retaliate, I'm a very sensitive coward. They'd risk everything, I'd be praying forward. They know how to socialize, I'm nothing but a wallflower; they get together in a crowd, I become the butterfly loner. I'm just a good girl called Victim, they're the bad girls called Bitch. They're Aphrodite, Artemis and Athena; and I'm just someone named Nyx.

It's true. Very true.

This is why I don't have any friends.

Until… she came along.