Ego's Trap | ✔

51 | Thoughts at Opera's

☆☆☆ Chapter 51 ☆☆☆

Thoughts at Opera's

I hate reading.

The hate stems from many things. As a kid I couldn't sit still for longer than a minute, much less sit and read. Even in the rare moments that I did end up doing both of those things── for the single sake of tryin' to copy my big nerd of a sister── I never found it interesting. I never understood the long chats Dad and Teresa had with each other 'bout some random character and their so-called adventures in Crapnia or Cringeland. I never understood friends and classmates whose eyes glowed at the mention of some book title, nor when someone turned me down from playing tag to finish the last chapters of one. I found everyone's interest in reading annoying.

And then came the notes by my window that tried to bribe me into their world with itchy wristbands, candy, and all sorts of other junk. Obviously it didn't work, nothing was enough to get me to read. All it did was piss me off even more. It felt as if reading forced its way into my life more than before 'cuz of those notes, and the fact that they were written in teensy cursive made it worse. Those trashy pieces of paper barely made any sense to me. Whether they were poems, plain letters, or stories didn't matter── they were all too hard to follow, too complicated, and I was never curious enough to ask anyone for help on them. I threw them all away, as I did with any book I had on me. You see, to me, reading involves nothing but the practice of staring at empty words printed on dead trees, simple as that.

And yet, here I am, wrapping my head 'round thirty-nine pages' worth of handwritten feelings that I happened to have found in a bright hardcover notebook. Yup, not even a real book. Just a journal. Just a diary. Just plain thoughts, plain secrets. Just a quick three-hour long mindfuck of me sitting still, taking in as much as I could of every single word that I came across, right beside their sleeping author, and barely coming out sane. Dozens of entries, love poems, altered song lyrics... complicated and raw, in teensy cursive.

I hate reading, I really do. But it didn't bore me for once.

Who knew that words on paper held so much power, enough for me to get lost in them, to confuse me, far more than I had ever thought was possible, but leave me wanting more, with the desire to understand it all?

Daniel's something else. Not just an angel.

"Ane," he began. From the corner of my eye, I noticed him reach out for my hand across the table. A soft squeeze followed after. "Are you okay?"

As if.

"Yes," I replied, keeping my eyes out the window, on the building across the street. From the outside, it looked like any other building 'round it; dull, gray, made of brick. But on the inside, gentle colors relaxed within the patterned wallpapers, wooden floors, and comfy furniture. Free hot chocolate, tea, and coffee helped set up the warm mood it had going for itself in the waiting room, one that has managed to rub off on me lately.

I hope it can do its job from a distance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, squeezing my hand again. "Heavy talk with Dr. Connor today?"

I turned away from my therapist's office, and gave Daniel a look. His cheeks were rosy and he was in the middle of holding his breath, waiting for the worst to come out of me. His whole world, in the moment I turned, was me. Nothing else seemed to matter to him, but his notebook told me otherwise. It told me about many things that left me wondering, some that even helped explain the other stuff I found in his safe... 

"Yes. Heavy talk. Don't wanna talk 'bout it."

At that, Daniel brought my hand to his face, for a light greeting with those tender pink lips of his that never failed to make my heart flutter.