Rough / L.H.

38.100 Miles an Hour

Yep. This is very late and unedited.

SOPHIA

✺✺✺✺✺

It has been two weeks since Luke and I finally became official. It also means that I am back in school and back at work.

As a result, my stress levels have risen again.

I haven't seen Amanda since our sleepover, so we are catching up later today.

My classes have gone by really slow. English, mandatory technology, and my government class is all I have today, but they are the most involved and slowest classes. Because they are so slow, my head is spinning with so many thoughts. I have so much time to think that my brain is jumbled. All of my thoughts are immensely scattered and incoherent. Nothing is flowing for me. Everything is so abrupt.

One moment I'm thinking of Luke, then I switch gears and wonder about Amanda, then I'm back at school.

Luke. Amanda. School. Luke. Amanda. School. Luke. Amanda. Luke. Amanda. Luke. Ugh.

Nothing is clear. My mind is going 100 miles an hour.

I am barely in my technology class so I still have to get through the remainder of this class and an entire lesson of government. The career I am in the course of completing is in the field of law; I am going to be a criminal lawyer. It is a lot of work, but with the effort that I put forth, it works.

It was harder in the beginning, but it has all developed into a routine that I have become accustomed to slowly. What I quickly learned was that I cannot procrastinate. As long as all of my schoolwork and homework is done as soon and as efficiently as possible, everything runs smoothly. That is how I have time to be with Luke, I manage my time well. Specific time early in the day is set for homework, and later on is when I have my free time that is mostly spent with Luke.

He has increasingly crept into my daily life more and more. Luke has proved himself trustworthy and he's such a big part of my life now. I speak to him way more than I speak with my own parents. That is not a fair comparison since I slightly refuse to speak to my self-absorbed parents. Being parents is more than creating and birthing a child. To be a good  parent at least, you have to show your son or daughter that you care about them, not with materialistic things. You cannot buy the love of your child.

That is the one parenting rule my parents broke, abused, and leaned upon.

They believed that by surrounding me with anything I could think of, I would not notice their absence in my life.

But much to their despair, I never really asked for anything as a young child. I was just not a materialistic person, and to this day, I still am not.

I force myself out of the sour topic of my parents and back into this technology class, Thankfully, it has come to an end, so I only have one class left to trudge through.

I walk slowly to the classroom designated to the government course because it does not begin for another fifteen minutes. It is across campus, so I will get there with only a few minutes remaining at this pace.

Sometimes I loath having so much time to delve in thought. There are so many rough things in my life to ponder and worry about, so when I am given silence and peace, it turns out the exact opposite of peaceful.

I almost run into someone when I edge closer to the classroom that the government class is being held in.

"Oh, uh, sorry," I mutter slightly flustered at how distracted I was in my own head.

"It's fine," a sweet strong male voice responds.

I look up from my feet and meet eyes with a rustic looking attractive man.

He has bright green eyes, dark hair long enough to pull into the tiniest man bun, and a slightly stubbly face. He is very handsome to say the least.

"I'm sorry again," I say while walking away embarrassed and intimidated by his looks and my lack of beauty.

"Wait! I didn't catch your name," the stranger says after a second of me walking away.

"Sophia," I say over my shoulder.

"Sophia, what a beautiful name. I'm Adam, if you even care. I hope to see you around sometime."

I don't respond, I just smile at him kindly and walk away. My strides become increasingly faster until I reach the class that is my final destination.

My mind simply sets aside the thought of Adam and I concentrate on the new government topic on the board.

The whole class runs smoothly and my fingers end up cramped up from how much we have to type in that lesson.

While I walk out of the door I massage my fingers and my poor beat up hands. My phone starts ringing so I have to stop my relaxing actions. The ringing continues as I delve into my bag struggling to locate the little annoying device.

Once my fingers brush against the glass screen, I immediately fish it out and answer it without paying attention to the caller ID.

"Uh, hello?"

I do not get an immediate answer.

"Hi," Luke says exasperated and clipped.

"Luke?"

"Yeah, uh." He sounds distant and off. I am not sure if I am just overreacting or reading between the lines too easily, but I am a little worried as to where this conversation is going.

"What's wrong?"

"How do you know something is wrong?"

"I know you, Luke. Now tell me, what's wrong?"

"Uh, Andrew."

"Andrew?"

"Andrew."

"Wait, your d-"

"No! He is not my father! He lost the privilege to be called that a long time ago," he yells at me through the phone. I still do not know exactly what happened, but this does not make his father look good.

"Okay, what happened with, Andrew?" I question him while accenting his biological father's name. I hear his breathing pick up through the phone and his voice begins to fade, as if he was stepping away from the phone. "Luke?"

"I'm going to go ahead and go."

"No, wait!"

"Bye," he says very clipped.

My mind wants to say he is okay, but I know deep down, he is not. So I tightly grip my books and head to my car quickly.

Because I was taking such big steps, I reach my car in record time. My body just takes care of everything as if I was on autopilot. My mind is too busy worrying about everything else and imagining the worst case scenarios to actually function properly.

Yet again my thoughts are running through my head at 100 miles an hour.