A story by Bandit26139
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Hot, humid, and sunny. Those were the exact words that I would use to describe the excruciating July heat that threatened to break the rickety air-conditioning unit in my apartment. The piece of junk had only just turned on an hour ago, but it seemed like it did nothing but spit out dust and dried carcasses of bugs. It was beyond filthy and was for sure far from sanitary. To remove it would require a whole hazmat team and possibly the evacuation of the entire building. I was just glad that I was getting out of this hell hole next week.
I sighed, kicking my feet up against the beat up leather Ottoman that I had installed in this apartment a few years back. The seat underneath me was damp with my own sweat, and I could feel my thighs sticking to the cushion. It was an unpleasant feeling, and I was far from comfortable in my own little hideaway. I could feel the temperature in my living room rise up with every breath I took. It was driving me mad. I had to get out. It was just too hot in here.
I stepped away from the ratchet seat and towards the chipped oak door that led out of my apartment. Lifting my hands, I reached towards the brass hook that held my car keys. They were there like always, hanging from a ruby colored lanyard that depicted my alma mater. My fingertips brushed against the rough nylon texture of the string, and I found myself unhooking the keys from its previous location. Only four sets of keys were on there, each placed in their respective order.
Call me a bit anal about organization, but it had to be that way. It just had to. If one little thing was out of place, it would drive me insane. I'd probably spend the rest of the day worrying about it, thinking about it, or even dreaming about it. I know it was terrible of me to obsess over such minute details, but I couldn't help myself.
Maybe I have OCD or something along the lines; I don't know. I never had the time or money to go to the doctor to see if I had it or not. So, I just assumed it was a part of my own little quirks. Those quirks made me who I was and, heck, I didn't really give a crap about what others really thought of me. Twirling the keys on my index finger, I reached towards the brass door knob. My fingers clasped the metal surface, and I opened the door.
I was finally out.
The first thing that I noticed outside was that it was blinding. The sun was high in the cerulean sky, indicating that it was already midday. I could feel the heat of the sunlight hitting my skin as I observed a few light-colored cirrus clouds that dotted the south-west horizon. It was nice out, but still ungodly hot. I was glad that I had neglected to wear a long-sleeve shirt like I normally did.
I felt slightly insecure outside, almost naked without my usual outerwear. I hated social interactions. I hated going outside. I'd honestly rather stay in, hiding away in some dark corner in my room on my laptop, texting some random strangers that I barely knew online. Maybe that would be the closest resemblance to a social life I had.
At first I was hesitant to join the group, opting to lurk on the forums for a while before finding the courage to apply. I didn't know why I was so scared. Maybe it was because I was so insecure about myself. I wasn't sure. But, there was no turning back when I hit that submit button on the application to the Olympus Writing Group. I might have cringed at some of the things I wrote in my application, but I didn't regret joining. Not now, not ever.
I couldn't help but wonder how my life would be if I wasn't an introvert.
I'd probably have a ton of friends and a crap ton of things to do. It was probably better that I was this way. I didn't think I'd have the energy or the motivation to maintain more than a few friendships at a time. Most extroverts I knew were fake — plastic even. They only made friends to use them before discarding them in the end. I was an introvert at heart, and I knew that it would be difficult for me to alter that part of myself.
