Sometimes You Get Hurt

5| Rose / Pinko

I sighed as I logged in to Wattpad.
It was honestly my escape from the cruel world around me.
I typed in my username, pppppppink.

I immediately checked for updates of my favourite books.
Nothing.
Empty.

I sighed again.
So much for escaping from the world.
I rummaged through my school bag for my other coping mechanism, homework.
I asked for extra today just in case.

I put my books on my table and got my pens out.
I listened to the yelling from outside, inside, in my head.
God, does life ever shut up?

I looked at my tablet, in a daze, wishing I could escape from reality.

I did most of my homework.
Maths.
History revision.
Science.
Art, a really trash drawing of myself.
And my favourite, English.

Writing stories was fascinating.
Creating your own world around you.
Watching the walls form and the sky colour as you finish the plot.
A little comfort in your darkest times.
A place to run to.
A way to sympathise with yourself by thinking what your character would do in that situation.

I'd tried to get my stories published and read on Wattpad.
It's cringey thing about it now.
They were great concepts, but poorly written.

I sat up straight when I got a notification.
It paused my depression and crazy album of Alec Benjamin's songs and Melanie Martinez and various others.
Why was I thinking about Wattpad so much?

I stared at the black screen, pressing the button to turn it on.

4:59

Thursday 4th June

Cloudy, 13°c
 

                                                                      

Wattpad💬
                      

Ironically, it was a notification from Wattpad.
I excitedly clicked the notification and began packing my books away into my bag for after I was done. I would have left them out, but the amount of times I convinced myself that I was only gonna read one chapter, but ended up scrolling through Wattpad for hours was uncountable.

After packing everything away, and moving my bag nearer to me for easy access when I was finished. I got the sudden urge to put some of my notebooks in my bag. Then the voice told me to also pack my favourite book series and pens, as if I was running away. I already had my pencil case with my favourite pens inside so I carefully put my favourite series in. I even packed a book of my poems just in case. It barely fit.

I complied because it wouldn't hurt to try it. Like, it's not like it was some kind of ritual. Right? Oh and because this was the first voice in my head not screaming that I was a failure.

I walked back to my bed and jumped on. I looked at my tablet screen expectantly, to see it was the same.
"Huh?" I exlaimed, as I looked at the same row of notifications from before, nothing new.
Maybe it was loading late?
I rubbed my eyes hard and reloaded it, refreshed it, and closed the app and reopened it, still the same.
What on Earth-?!

It suddenly felt suffocating in my tiny room.
I jumped off my bed and opened the window.
I hoped to gosh that there was no neighbours screaming abuse.
I started to mutter to myself.

It took a while for me to realise people could hear me.
I nervously breathed in as the shouting downstairs momentarily paused. I could practically feel the burns of their gazes through the floorboards.
Then exhaled in relief when they started again.