Trust Me. I'm Lying - (SLOWLY EDITING)

The Turning Tables: Chapter 4

"Behind every person lies a story. There's a reason why they're the way they are. They aren't just like that because they want to. Sometimes in the past created them, and sometimes, it's impossible to fix them."

—Unknown

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CHAPTER FOUR:

The Turning Tables.

Dear Someone Else:

I'm surprisingly intrigued by the number of times I've told you you're right. I'm a very stubborn person. Someone who will never accept the other one is right, and I've never made an effort to change that. Yet here I am, writing this, and I know you're right.

It still hurts. People say some wounds never heal but get better over time. I think it has, because as you mentioned, to some point I don't care about them. I live by "don't care about people who don't care about you." Maybe it's changed me for the worse—I still wonder about that. I think I'm okay. But the full okay will come the day I'll look back and don't feel anything.

And then again, you're right. I've asked that question. I guess I'll start hugging people.

I'm not a dirty old man, either, last time I checked. I'm glad we're both not dirty old people. I'm a guy who would rather sleep than be in high school, but don't we all? I have more music on my phone than any other person on this planet. I'm one of those people who imagine scenarios in their heads that have -8448321% (yes, I just wrote down numbers at random) of possibilities to happen, vivid imagination that my aunt describes as an ability to create stories.

Someone Else, I keep my word saying I'd like to know more about you. I am not willing to you finding out who I am just yet. I maintain what I said before.

Sincerely,

Someone.

"Ryan!"

"What?" I shrieked, jumping, and looking around. I hid the letter so fast it would have left Edward Cullen to shame. I'd dozed out, as I very often do while I read. I looked over to the source of the voice and almost groaned. "Oh. It's just you."

"What are you doing?" Sebastian asked, leaning against one of the bookshelves and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, I don't know," I replied sarcastically. "What does one do sitting around bookshelves? Finding cheese?" I paused, giving him an incredulous look. "I was reading, you genius."

"You don't say," he rolled his eyes as I stood up and went to one of the tables.

Sebastian sat directly opposite me, maintaining as much distance from me as I most certainly wanted. I sat with my arms crossed firmly over my chest, staring at him, and he did the same. He had his feet up on the table. I bet that if this situation went the opposite way, I would have been thrown out of the library ten minutes ago.

"Which book are we reading in English?" I asked him and raised my eyebrows, breaking the tension.

"Who cares," he replied with a shrug.

"Now that's the attitude!" I complimented him sarcastically, clapping my hands and nodding. "I hope you can go tell your college application just that."

"I don't care about Gatsby," he told me honestly.

"So you have been paying attention," I noticed.

"Gatsby is so overrated."

"You are overrated," I retorted, saying the first thing that came to mind. In my ears, it sounded lame. "Gatsby is an English classic."

"Ryan, I just heard the first three words of that phrase. Please do me a favor and shut up," he advised me calmly with a single nod to his blonde head.