fumblings and mumblings //. DEH

Who Even uses Email Anymore?

（unedited, but I hadddd to post.
Also here's some stuff and a few opinions.
Evan d-does n-n-not talk like t-h- is. He's got an anxiety disorder. If you want him to talk like that please give him a stutter. Also, Connor isn't edgy or has swagger, he's awkward and somewhat lifeless
And I really try to emphasize that. My crummy fanfiction is supposed to be the deh characters in better places (mentaly) and just a whole lot of freedom. This is for fun ! I've kept the characters and changed the narrative.

P.S I've totally written that a-an-anxiety baby and Matty Healy Connor before. I have GAD myself and just romanticized it in a wayS If any of you read my fanfic from last summer, you'd probably barf your brains out lol. Everyone makes mistakes, and that's okay. No one who writes a bad depiction of mental illness on wattpad of all places is going to hell. They've probably 13 and struggling. I hope the best for them.
Ily <3)

The persistent buzzing of a tune heard many times brings me back to reality. The inspirational pop was almost mocking as a sad girl reached for her glasses. Happy Saturday to Alanna Beck, me.

xxx: hi. Is this Alanna's number?

I palmed around for my phone which sat on the nightstand beside my bed.

Alanna: who?

My mind went immediately to murders, crooks... Muphys.

Evan: omg I'm so sorry this is Evan

Read...

All I could taste was positivity. I'm happy because I was convinced that he hated me, had some kind of distaste for me, or just didn't like me.

I stared at the ceiling. Above me, was a yellow notecard tapped to the plaster. It read: "Work it out!" Written by my mother. I will, Mom.

Evan: like the one you sit with at lunch

Alanna: haha yes I know it's you :-)

My mind went back to last night, and how present my mom was. She didn't show a fear of my future, or a distaste for my situation. She just let me lay on her lap, as she ran her fingers through my braids.

"I know this seems like a lot right now," she somehow didn't sound condescending. There wasn't a 'I can't believe you did that!' Or a 'how stupid' hidden in it. When the load is too heavy to bear, I am reminded of my parents and how thankful I am for them. The 'load,' whatever that may be, seems much smaller after that.

I just cried onto her thighs, probably wetting her skirt by now. She didn't seem to care, which made me feel so cared for. I wish I noticed these things when I was younger, I would have been a lot happier.

"I'm so proud of you, and how you've grown up," she said confidently, like she was so sure in her statement. Questioning why would only make me feel worse, just try to believe her.

"Mmfank fyou," I attempted to show gratitude, by my voice was muffled and full of sorrow.

"Hey, baby girl," she tried to calm me.  I lifted myself from her lap, now sitting next to her on the couch. "I understand your pain, but being this shaken up about something you can't change will ruin you."

"I guess," I said, not wanting to allude to the fact that I didn't believe her. I'm sure she could tell.

As I walked upstairs, I passed the lemon mirror. The famous Beck mirror that's shaped like a lemon. My family is obviously very cultured.
I caught a glimpse of my puffy eyes, wet cheeks, and was distrusted by them.