𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈

• 32 •

The first shift was tiring as it was rewarding. Although the day was draining, being in a new environment and doing things far from my usual routine sparked creativity in my mind that I transferred to Karylle as soon as I finished my shower, ate dinner, and sat on Garfield. Every cell in my body was screaming for rest, but I came to realize that the later I write, the better it is. In other words, my mind works better in dark hours. I'd say that Keenan's rubbing off on me, but then a lot of people's minds work like that.

By the time I finished writing a good and surprising three thousand words in two hours, my eyes were a few blinks away from crying blood. The strain was unbearable. My optics have gone through sentence after sentence in bond paper after bond paper, scribbling things with red ink on the sides and between lines. Aside from that, Contented's default desktop screens are fucking massive. I might start needing glasses. Again, I was reminded of a certain someone who looks amazing with spectacles.

Speaking of that certain someone, I wonder how the fuck he is. Has he eaten yet? Probably a burger or some pizza. What might he be doing? Hell, what keeps him occupied all day if his mind works better at midnight? Come to think of it, I don't know much about Keenan, but considering that opening-up is a foreign term of a dead language for the man, I'd say that I know more about him than many.

Just like that, I found myself wondering about his father again. Was he abusive? Was he a drunkard? Did he use drugs? How did he die? Was he the one involved in a hit and run? Maybe Keenan made a mistake when he used the pronoun she? And why the hell did the man deserve fatality? it goes back to the first question. Curiosity is a fucking bitch. The feeling was the same as having the itching urge to stalk an ex, see how he's doing, but triple the need to scratch.

Biting my lip, two ideas popped into my mind: one, to message Keenan because stupid as it sounds, I am somehow looking for his presence, and two, to reread Jailbreak because as the man confirmed, it's one of those write what you know things. All books were write what you know, but Jailbreak connects deeper. With the second idea of digging deep between its pages, I'd be doing something to quench my growing intrigue in the least disrespectful way. I know that Ki's mind was smart enough to assume that I'd study the book the moment he confirmed having relate to the character in a way that he's been in similar scenarios. It was permission. Kinda.

In spite of my hurting eyes, I scanned my latest document. He kept insisting that he's still my mentor, right? Before I could talk myself out of stupidity that I actually wanted to do, the cursor had dragged the file into our chat and my pinky had pressed enter. My presumption is that my want to communicate with Keenan stems from worry. That's all.

I left my laptop on Garfield, trusting that he'd look after the modern thing. Then, walking inside, my feet brought me to my big shelf and my fingers found Jailbreak. In an online article that I once found, it said that the story was titled Jailbreak because in the end, Andreas was able to break out of jail, figuratively and literally—the literal route then pertaining to his transfer to a mental institution. By the last page, he was out of jail and out of his mind.

Has Keenan been to jail? I can't imagine it, but then again, anything's possible. Standing in the middle of my apartment, I flipped through the pages, landing on a scene where Andy was penalized with school suspension after stealing multiple times at the cafeteria. His foster parents spent the money elsewhere. There was a click someplace in my head when I remembered that Keenan said he served community service, hence, time at the library, ergo birthing literary interest.