Joe Mazzello Imagines

Not what I wanted - John Deacon

Important A/N at the end.

"Did you get it?" John asks as soon as I walk through our front door.

"Geez, you seem more excited about the grade than I am. Yeah, I got it." I wave around my creative writing paper. It's honestly a miracle that I haven't look at my mark yet, but I promised John that I would look at it with him seeing as he's my number one supporter.

"So, what did you get?" He asks with the giant doapy smile that he usually obtains. I sit on a stool at the kitchen bench, opposite John who is leaning half his body over the counter, eager to see my mark. Holding my breath, I eagerly turn the paper over. My smile falters and my heart plummets to my stomach, making me feel sick. On the paper is a giant C+ with the words. I know you can do better!  written in messy scribbles underneath.

Why the hell did I get a C+? Why didn't I get a higher mark? This is the only story I wrote for this damn class that I actually felt proud of. I took a risk with the narrative and I thought it paid off. I checked and rechecked the marking criteria to make sure I had everything she wanted, so where did I go wrong? 

I can feel John's eyes burning into me and I can't take the weight of it, so with my paper in hand, I quickly make my way into our room and slam the door behind me. 

As I sit on my bed and look at my grade, all I can do is cry. I know I'm being dramatic. After all, I did still pass. But this story was so important to me, I cared so much about it. It was about something so personal that happened in the past that it left me feeling vulnerable as I wrote it and even when I handed it in. I was so damn proud of it - am so damn proud of it, that it hurts to know it wasn't well received by the lecturer.

Feeling the bed dip beside me, I realize John has sneaked himself into our room to comfort me, and this time I let him. I let him wrap his arms around me, and in return, I lean my head on his chest. He whispers lovely, comforting words into my ear, rubbing his hand up and down my back until my crying and sadness dies down. But once the sadness dies down, then comes the anger.

"You know what -" I say, moving away from John, making him drop his arms, before I rip my story as well as the grade into little tiny pieces. It doesn't matter, I have another copy of the story without the ugly mark on it. "I - do not - accept - this grade." Once I've finished tearing it up, I stand up and I fling it out of my hands, letting the paper rain onto the floor. I'll probably regret it all later, especially when I have to clean it all up, but that was damn satisfying. 

"Can I ask, why exactly did you do that?" John asks, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible, as if not to set me off. 

"Because it felt good. And I worked too damn hard on that story to make sure it stayed within the marking criteria, so I know I deserve a better mark than that." Once I started to talk, I couldn't stop. I start pacing. "She didn't even say why I got such a low mark, only 'I know you can do better' which is the same fucking thing that she's written on every other paper I've given in, even with the ones where I got an A on! Which, now that I think about it, was all of them! What the fuck does she want me to do?" John just sits there, listening to my frustrations, knowing that's all I need right now, but now the anger is seeping out, slowly reverting back to sadness as I sit back down on my bed beside John. 

"I'm already self-conscious about how I write", I continue, "because I know it's different to how everyone else writes, especially everyone in that damn class who use words I don't even know the meaning of, but this just is just a massive blow to my confidence. How can I be a writer with this kind of mark? I've already given up on one of my dreams before because I wasn't good enough, I don't think I can handle giving up another." Sensing I've finished, John wraps his arms back around me, letting me lean my head back on his chest.

"Who says you have to give up on your dream?" John asks simply. "You're trying to go for a job in the creative arts. No matter what job or career you'll try out for in this field, it's going to be bloody difficult to get there. You're going to have to get used to disappointment or bad feedback because sadly, you can't please everyone. I'm not saying you should accept that mark, because you and I both know that you don't deserve it, but you need to fight for the mark you do deserve. Think about it this way, it's not about the fall, but what you do after the fall that counts. So, Y/N, what are you going to do?"

I stay silent as I let his words sink in for a moment. I know he's right, which helps calm down my brain of all the negative thoughts and give me a little bit of hope. So I sit up, wiping the stray tears from my eyes and look at John with determination as I say; "I am going to carry on writing. Then  tomorrow morning I'm going to my lecturer with the other copy of my story and ask her to remark it, or at the very least, ask why she gave me the mark she did." John smiles at me proudly.

"That's my girl."

"But first, I'm going to have some ice-cream." I stand up and head for the kitchen.

"I should have known." I hear John say.

"You know ice-cream is my weakness!"

A/N; 

I have decided after a few more imagines, that I am going to stop this book and the other Borhap imagines books. So, if you have any requests or anything for any of my imagines books (apart from Ben), then now's your last chance. I've been really wanting to start an original story that's been forming in my head for the last couple of years, but haven't had time to focus on it until now. Thank you all again for reading and I really hope you'll check out that book when I start uploading it!