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"Overthinking ruins you. Ruins the situation, twists things around, makes you worry and just makes things so much worse than it actually is."
I couldn't sleep. I pulled up her duvet closer to my face and rolled towards the darker side of the room. The blinds shut out most of the light coming from the streets, but still on the opposite wall there were rectangles of light projecting from the gaps. I had been tossing from one side to the other for the last hour, the bed that had been so carefully made by myself had now became a tangle of covers with my feet tangled up too. I tossed and turned but just couldn't find the right position. I turned over once again onto my back this time and stared at the ceiling in the darkness of the room that surrounded me.
Usually I'm quite a good sleeper. I go to sleep around eleven and wake up just before nine o'clock which leaves me with a solid nine and a half hours of sleep. Some nights I fall asleep in a click of a finger, others leave me sleepless, sometimes I don't sleep at all, sometimes I sleep very little. It all comes down to one thing: stress. I guess that's what's been keeping me up till now, I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and clutched it tightly in my hands so it wouldn't fall out of my grasp and hit me in the face. When that happens, I want to throw the phone inside the toilet, literally.
3:27 am.
Tomorrow is my first day working at Ward Bay Enterprise, great. I start at eight in the morning and since my Mum is at work it looks like I will have to catch the bus again. Mondays are always the worst on buses.
My eyes were closing out of the exhaustion I felt yet my body seemed to be rejecting the sleep. The stress my first day working could be what was keeping me awake, maybe the fact I would have to catch the bus tomorrow meaning lots of people would be there, squished in tight space. Just the thought of sitting there in that claustrophobic, sweaty bus made be nauseous and my stomach to churn. Perhaps the fact I would have to speak to Fletcher, or as I would call him 'Parka', or he would speak to me, or maybe he will just completely blank me and just focus on getting this dammed job. Now that would be great.
I huffed and then took as deep breaths as I could, but many just caught in my throat, like an icy wind had blown down there and managed to freeze the air solid down my throat. In that moment, I knew this was going to be a long night. One long sleepless night.
The sound of the squeaky floorboards upstairs awoke me from my daydreaming form. Quietly, I stood up from the bed and threw the duvet that previously I was wrapped up in like a butterfly in a cocoon onto the other side of my king-sized bed. My hand touches the silver handle and I lightly press onto the handle which creates a small gap in the door so I can check outside the room. Silence is instantly welcomed in my ears and then I see my mum walk down the stairs dressed in her blue scrubs. She wears so white pump and her hair neatly placed into a tight bun. She turns around only to notice me and gives me a genuine smile.
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Learning to Breathe
Teen FictionCOMPLETE FIRST DRAFT VERY SLOW EDITING IN PROCESS Adelaine Colbert, a seventeen-year-old college dropout, family failure and socially awkward. After dropping out of college and destroying her parents' dreams and ambitions she has a plan. Get a job...