❝what a plot twist you were-❞
She was a Wattpad writer-she writes about him, to escape her small world with her disease- but what happened when she found herself trapped in his? He was her idol, but she didn't that he was a bookworm. He loves readin...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I was keeping track of the minutes until my history class ended and my anxiety was peeking at every minute that passed by.
I had given myself a pep talk in order to establish some sort of confidence, while in the presence of my professor later. I had to stop being a nervous wreck and stand tall and proud. Given the fact that I was quite awkward around people naturally.
Typically during class, I would find myself dozing off considering that history, to me, was extremely boring. However, the nervous feeling I had in the pit of my stomach stopped me from being able to do that. I wasn't ready for whatever was going to happen after this class ended.
My teacher gave us a worksheet to complete during the last ten minutes of the class, and a history project to be made in pairs- and that pair was Hana who suggested it to the professor, but at this rate, I was probably going to have to finish it for homework.
Soon enough, the bell rang and my heart literally dropped.I took my time packing up my things before Hana came to me. "Where should we meet up?" She asked.
"I-I would preference the book-s-store." I stuttered while looking at her eyes. It wasn't my first time doing a project with someone- but I should always make sure Ethan my environment is calm and comforting for me. And that was the bookstore.
"Sure, should we get going then?" She asked, making me nod in agreement. It would be the best if we go now and make it done with it as soon as we can.
It smelled like most bookstores do, like dusty pages and old wood, the occasional whiff of coffee if the cafe was opened. It was peaceful, so there was no wonder why you enjoyed sitting in a beanbag chair, reading a book you’d just picked up.
The cafe connected to it was open today, leaving the smell of sweetened coffee and warm pastries in the arm. It was a nice day out as well; the sun was hidden behind a thin layer of clouds, creating a chill in the air but not warming it up too much.
“Y/n,” And then there was Hana. The insufferable reason you weren’t enjoying your supposed-to-be-peaceful bookstore.
“Y-yes?”
“Can we take a break? I want coffee.” she said, acting whiny.
I muttered a quick “no '' and continued typing at your laptop. Her bottom lip jutted out into a pout, another whine leaving her. Hana looked sad, quickly I took out my notebook and wrote for her. We will take a break as soon as we complete writing this paragraph- sorry.
It wasn't like I didn't want to talk to her, but choosing this method was a better way to make them understand that I can't talk much or if I did they would not understand what I've said.
Hana's face brightened as soon as she read the words scribed on the note before nodding her head in agreement and getting back to work again.
And that's how it went.
Later in the bookstore, we took a break. Checking my phone, I got a little bit shocked when I read a text from jakerealman.
I'm sorry? But why will you stop writing?
I looked at the message again, it was something unvalid. The user was the one bugging me to stop writing about them, and now asking the reason why I stopped?
"Should we get back to work?" Hana said pulling me out of my rainy thoughts, that clouded my mind. Nodding my head, I let myself focus on my school work more. There is a huge future that I should work on right now, and that's starting from this.
Unlocking the front door, I pushed it open easily and entered my empty house, the sound of the TV still turned on hit my ears as I heard new voices, speaking and laughing.
Heading into the kitchen, the feeling of loneliness filled me at the sight of the handwritten note on the fridge, and as I looked back through another doorway entrance, one that was connected to the open living room, I could see the clear, empty bottle of alcohol sitting on top of the coffee table.
Reading the note aloud, muttering each word, "Gone out with friends, love mother."
She has been drinking?
I thought bitterly, ripping the note off the fridge, crushing it into a ball and tossing it into the nearby garbage can.
With quick and harsh steps forward, I turned off the living room TV with the help of a taped up broken remote, I went up the stairs and straight into my bedroom where I threw myself on top of my bed, sighing into the pillow that was being squished in my arms.
I rolled over to be on my back, my head hanging a little over the side of the bed as I turned my face to look over at my side table where the same picture that has been there for years seemed to always stare back at me.
Groaning, I sat up and placed my hand on top of the old frame, pulling it down so that it didn't show the picture that was inside. The picture that was filled with us three. Lined up on the frame with happy and smiley faces.
The more I thought about it, the more I was beginning to think that it was haunting me.
Everything about it was a ghost. The picture itself showed a happier version of myself, of my family.
The happy memory unfolds as the pages of a beloved childhood storybook, it came like a welcome stranger through the door, suddenly present and lighting up the room with a smile followed by tears.
I wish I could live more of the memory of my childhood.
The sound of a quiet, yet annoying, double beep steered me away from my wild thoughts.
Turning my head sideways, my hand wiggled its way a path out from under the tight hold of my blanket, and I reached out to grab my phone that was resting on my side table next to my tipped over picture.
My eyes flicked to the glowing time first, and then towards my new text message.
Groaning, I read the top that said it was from jakerealman.
I'm sorry if I was the reason why you stopped writing.
It was not you. It's my own decision, and I find your opinion very valid. Thank you for telling me about it.
I responded to him, wishing myself that he will never bring it up again before I let myself get consumed by the darkness of the night.
