I'm Not A Fan // Nessa Barrett

14

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I sat in my room waiting on the small girl to be done. I didn't know what to pack...nor did I know how much to pack

I grabbed a luggage from my closet and just threw clothes in. I grabbed some shirt, pants, bras, boxes, socks, a few hoodies and flannels

"If I need more I'm sure we can make a stop" I said to myself. I attempted to close the luggage but had no luck. I put to much clothes in

"I got this" I climbed on my bed and sat onto of it and tugged at the zipper until I got it closed

"Let's go!" I said congratulating myself. I picked up the luggage off my bed and set it by the door

I made my way over to my desk and pulled out my notebook from my desk drawer flipping through the pages as I sat down

When I'm bored or if something happened that I need to get off my chest I write it down. Sometimes it turns into songs and other times it's just thoughts or random drawings

I rolled over to my guitar and rolled back over to my desk. I placed my notebook on my desk to an open page

I started strumming the strings to my guitar steadily before singing

Mr Nice Guy, that's who I am
How could I be shy? It's all play pretend
The laughing stock, the entertainment
I try to fake it, but I'm

Sick inside All of the time
It's in my mind, am I alright?
I'm sick inside
Does anyone know? Does it show?
Do you see the real me?

I stopped playing seeing my notebook having scribble over the next lyric showing whatever I wrote didn't make the final draft

"You can sing?"

I almost dropped my guitar at the sudden voice at my door

"And play the guitar?" Nessa asked shock written on her face

"No" I said quickly closing my notebook

"What do you mean no?!" She asked in disbelief allowing her self into the room "that was so good Y/N"

"It was ok" I said nervously setting my guitar behind my chair

"How often do you sing?" She asked leaning on my desk wearing black fish nets with a oversized black sweater that hung off one of her shoulders

"Not often" I paused "just when I'm bored I write"

"I liked what you were singing" she complimented "what's it called?"

"Um" I stuttered tapping my hand on my guitar "Mr Nice guy...it's not finished though"

"You should finish it" she said with a smile I would do anything for

"I plan on it" I stood from my chair needing to change the subject

I wrote Mr Nice Guy like 2 months ago after a doctors appointment that fucked me up for a while. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror without wanting to punch it. I ate, slept and breathed the gym, I wish I was joking