Sapienophobia

Chapter 19

I threw myself before the book, trying to turn back the hands of time through disbelief.

Please, no.

I uselessly jammed the pages back into their place. One flip sent them out again.

I compounded a small glue out of Father's tools, but its wetness would have further ruined the pages.

So would have my tears that came soon after.

Shut up. You'll be heard.
All is not yet lost. I've gotten what I needed out of these journals anyway so send them back with Herl tomorrow when he brings the rest.
The humans.
It's fine, just slip them in and leave them alone. No one can tell just from looking at them.

Attempting to perfect the deceitful placement of the pages gave me a paper cut.

Deserved.

I crawled into bed and felt everything but drowsiness. That panic attack was more violent than the last. Every thought I could devise to distract myself reminded me of the original load.

I bored into the overhanging edge of the table beside me; it was an extension of the top base and copied its arch before the drawers began. Straining my eyes blurred what they saw after a while. My stuffed nostril forced my breathing to be worn. The first sun had begun to rise when my body belatedly granted me sleep.

I felt an hour had passed before Herl was at my door again. My glares of hatred landed on the doorknob as it jiggled. I slung my feet over the bed, appearances be damned, and pilgrimaged to my room's entrance.

When I curved the door away from its frame, he stumbled into the room with half the number of journals he had yesterday.

"You finished all these?" He gestured after dropping the books.

"Yes."

"I can tell. You looked like you haven't slept a wink," he jested with utter seriousness.

I blinked twice.

"You can take the other ones back," I lowered myself to the new journals.

"Hold on!" He pressed an arm underneath my healing shoulder, pulling me up from the ground.

I winced.

"When I told you not to half-ass it, I didn't expect you'd take it this seriously. Take a break."

Break and I'll break down.

I nodded my understanding as he scooped up the used pile complaining and surveyed the room.

If the ripped pages had diverged from the spine, it was not noticeable.

"Has anyone ever told you you tend to overthink things?"

I thought that you were leaving.

"No, is that a bad thing?"

He chuckled, "What do you think?"

I think it depends on the circumstances. It can slow someone down if it makes them hesitate. But you can overthink and act at the same time so I guess it depends on the person too. Maybe it's not the act itself that people overthink, maybe it's the wait leading up to it or the lingering ideas after it's done.
Is that all considered overthinking or just regular thinking?
I think overthinking implies that it's unnecessary.
Shouldn't the end result of the overthinking prove whether or not it was unnecessary?

I had formulated my answer and was ready to speak it.

Herl was laughing.

He's laughing.
At me.
Maybe not at me. Maybe we're supposed to be laughing together. Maybe he wants to laugh with me.
I don't find anything funny, though.
Laugh anyway.
It'd be weird to start fake laughing with him now. He's almost done.
But what if he is laughing at me? It'd be weirder to laugh at myself.