❝ HE'S PSYCHOTIC, OBSESSIVE, AND MY WORST NIGHTMARE.
OF COURSE, I'M THE ONE HE CHOOSES ❞
[ DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON AU]
[ TEACHER!TOM HIDDLESTON AU ]
[ BOOK ONE IN "THE NEFARIOUS" SERIES ]
[ ORIGINALLY...
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IT WAS NEARING FIVE O'CLOCK when I wiggled the key into the deadbolt. A content sigh passes through my nostrils as the door opens on my command, the familiar smell of the house easing all possible stressors. Making sure the front door is locked more than a few times — you can never be too certain— I kick off my beat-up checkered Vans before heading down the long hall to my bedroom. By the time I reach my room, music is already being played from my phone, helping to wane myself into a peaceful state.
Today wasn't difficult. Truthfully, it went by rather quick, save that futile math class. All my classes seem to be passable, but perhaps that's just the first-day-optimism speaking. Despite the fact that nothing has gone terribly wrong, I can't help but focus on the downside of things. I worry about how this year will conclude. My thoughts running from place to place, questioning every possible way my life could turn out, and ultimately end. There are endless possibilities; I could flunk out this year or maybe I won't be accepted to any colleges. God, I'd rather fall over dead than be trapped here in this part of the world. I don't have to acknowledge it but I will: there is no reason for me to think on the negatives. I'm fully aware of my qualifying GPA, my classes all seem easy enough, and everything is falling into place. This "funk" as an old therapist would say is something I shouldn't worry about. But I still do years later, though I typically ignore it as best as I can.
Ignorance is bliss, they say.
I roll my neck, moving the random blip of pessimism to the side, at least for now. Again, there isn't a reason to be, yet it's just there. I blame the last bit of my teenage angst trying to pull something. While I love my mom and her company, I'm glad she isn't home to bombard me with questions; I can see myself exploding under her interrogation while this weight were present. I take the lump and push it back as far as I can. I bet I'm just tired.
The black duvet welcomes me home as I fall into them, my worn but comfy sheets are too inviting as my body curls into their embrace. What annoys the living hell out of me is how fatigue is basically nonexistent until we're lying down with pillows and blankets surrounding us. I mean, I would personally like to be aware of it before I hit the haystack. What if I needed to do homework or begin making dinner? And more importantly, what if I really need to pee? Damn you comfy pillows, with all your fluff and things. I slip further into that blissful exhaustion when I trade out my skinny jeans for a pair of sweatpants and the lack of a bra.
