Self-proclaimed Poet. (SEX EDUCATION - Maeve Wiley x Female Reader.)

Chapter 5: Self-proclaimed Poet.

           >> Written from Maeve's POV <<
                                         ⭒
Tuesday 14th of April.
Sleep truly was unachievable.
I don't know why I even expected it would be. How could I possibly expect to wander down the road to dreams, when I'm tormented by my current reality. It was the early hours of Tuesday morning. The first day back at Moordale High in two weeks and ultimately the day that I would make my confession.
I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about it, as I laid in bed - fidgeting like a damn crazy person, I just couldn't get comfortable.

I was too hot, so I flung my over-sized sweatshirt off and onto the floor. Then, I was too cold so I formed a duvet cocoon around myself as I let out a defeated grumble.
The fact that I could hear Cynthia and Geoffrey bellowing at the top of their lungs certainly wasn't helping either. It was clear that they were in the mist of one of their frequent arguments. About what? God knows this time. It could be anything from the fucking botched portrait of Cynthia that Geoffrey had tattooed on him - which was always a popular one.
Or the fact that she insisted on dressing up their cat Johnathan in ridiculous outfits all the time. Either way, I could hear their voices blasting throughout the caravan park at an insane velocity and it was literally driving me up the walls.

                               So, I got up.

Unwrapping myself from the man made fountain of warmth expertly before trudging into my tiny kitchen. I looked around aimlessly at first, filling my cheeks up with air before puffing it back out again in one swift movement - as the toes of my bare feet curled against the rug that lay beneath them.
I reached an arm out slowly, my fingertips gently coaxing a folded piece of paper open, that sat in the centre of my circular table. I'd been trying to compose some kind of... invite? You could call it that. Which I planned to drop into Y/N's locker, just like I did with any other letter. However, this one was proving to be more difficult than I'd once expected.
On this occasion, I had to delve deeper into myself - bare my soul just that little bit more. In order to sound as honest and genuine as humanly possible.

"This is stupid." I graded myself, scoffing as I perused over the spiel I'd managed to compile, pushing my middle and index fingers down onto the paper - holding it securely against the wooden surface. "Fucking stupid."

It wasn't good enough.

I had to try again, I told myself with a firm tone as I crumped up another dud attempt, before discarding it into the trash with haste. I swear, that was like the forth time I'd tried.
But, this one would be better. I can do better, I reiterated with an affirming nod as I occupied my usual seat at the table - flicking on the nearby lamp with purpose. This predicament was why I couldn't get to sleep in the first place. I was gonna look like pure shit in the morning, the thought shot through my cluttered mind and I giggled aloud. Thank fuck for make-up, right? Although, the prospect of the morning wasn't a priority right now.
All that mattered to me was getting this right, it was the only chance I had.

I let out a quaking breath, before nervously pressing pen to paper. I had this one notebook, that I had used to write every single letter - I just loved it. It was my favourite kind of paper to write on, I adored how the ink spread across the page so beautifully; with such an effortless motion. Some might think that's absolute bullshit, though I didn't. I believed it made me write with greater certainty. Causing me to become viciously picky with my word choices, not wanting to waste a single piece.

I set off in the same way I had originally, with identical distinctive direction and intent.
Although, this time with the utmost care and genuine love behind each and every word. As I practically poured my heart out onto the page in front of me. It was like somebody had flicked a switch so determinedly that it had broken with the immense force - my emotions entirely bare and flowing rapidly like a rocky stream or the crashing waves of a wide river.