Wishful Thinking

Chapter Twenty One - Alone At Last

I got home from school still tired, I needed some serious sleep. I dumped my bag on the floor and ran up the stairs, nearly falling over my suitcase as I entered my room. My room looked the same as it did when I left, posters completely covering the walls, clothes dumped in random places and my books. I collapsed on my bed and stared at my bookshelf, it was weird to believe that I had so many different worlds just sitting on shelves, waiting to be discovered. Ones that I had already read and ones that were waiting to be read, just sitting there. I sighed and closed my eyes, wrapping myself in a tight cocoon. Alone at last, what a merry thing. Being alone helped me think, but right now all I wanted to do was sleep. I opened my eyes again and unlocked my phone, Instagram was just begging to be checked. I flicked through the many photos, smiling at the ones Kacie took. They were all of America and us. Pictures of the hotel, the set, the actors and, of course, pictures of Tony, Jasper and I. I tapped on her picture and her account loaded, she had gained so many followers due to being the official Ripped Apart account, but she didn’t say she was the fan account. Her username was still her own and her description didn’t describe my book, it was still Kacie’s account. I was happy for her, something in her life finally made sense for once. Then I tapped on my own profile, I hadn’t posted since before the trip but I had changed one thing, my name. My username used to be a Doctor Who reference but now it was GwenOswin_Official. And by god did that change things, my follower count had gone from being two hundred and something to over one hundred thousand, it had gone through the roof and hit space. But popularity didn’t matter to me, I was an author so what? People only followed me because they believed I was famous, in my opinion fame isn’t worth anyone’s time. People are only made famous by things other famous people have done, if J.K. Rowling hadn’t written Harry Potter then Daniel Radcliffe would probably still be doing small theatre jobs. But then I thought about myself, I only became famous because John Green and J.K. Rowling found me, without them I’d still be tapping away on my laptop and updating Wattpad. I still am tapping away on my laptop. Then a thought popped into my head, I’m still tapping away on my laptop but why? Millions of ideas flooded through my head each day and I did nothing about them, I just let them float away into the black hole that is my brain. I propped myself up with some pillows and opened my laptop up for the first time in what seemed like a millennia. “Let’s see.” I muttered, waiting for my laptop to load.

“Which idea do I want to work on first?” it finally loaded and I brought up word. It was time to get back in the metaphorical saddle.

I chose an idea and started working on a title, it had to be special because this was going to be my little secret. This was going to be a book all to myself, no one but me was going to read it. Then a title idea popped into my head, “Secrets.” I said it aloud and nodded, “That sounds about right.” Secrets, a fitting title. Secrets. I typed in the title and began working on my new masterpiece, I aimed to make this better than Ripped Apart, this was going to be better than anything I’d ever written.

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“Honey, come and get something to eat, you’ve been tip tapping away all evening.” My mum yelled up the stairs.

I stretched my fingers and rubbed my eyes, she was right. I’d been working on Secrets ever since I got home and it was now quarter past six. The thing is I wasn’t hungry, I just wanted to write. I glanced at the word count, fifteen thousand! Usually when I was in a writing mood I could get at least five thousand words done in an hour and a half but this was insane! “No thanks mum! I’m writing.” I replied and smiled to myself.

If I could get fifteen thousand done by now I could get at least thirty done by nine, and then I could watch a movie or something. My parents wouldn’t object, I could write all night if I wanted to. Hey, that wasn’t a bad idea. “You’re always writing.” I heard mum mutter as she trudged back into the kitchen. I smiled again, I was always writing.