(Don't) Leave Me Alone •twenty one pilots-Tyler Joseph•

thirty four//it's not worth it anymore

Sorry that it's been like 84 years since I last updated(in real time, probably a little less than a week? Six days?) but I have a very valid reason, okay? So first of all, I've been procrastinating this chapter because my life has gotten extremely busy recently(guilty!) which means that this book has accidentally been neglected. Second, the super cool heeheedragon97 and I are writing this really sick as frick collab: do you like Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance? then you're aware of Danger Days and the Young Blood Chronicles, and Maddi and I have made a CROSSOVER HOLY SHIT!!! Follow AdrenalineSisters for a follow back and also check out the book by the same title! Comments and votes are extremely appreciated and helpful!

Song of the chapter: Rumor Mill by We Are The In Crowd

But without further ado, here's the next chapter of DLMA!

||Charlotte Robin Dun|| First Person||

"This is..." Mrs. Truscott probably doesn't even realize that she's speaking right now, her lips parted slightly as she stares in awe at the page I scribbled a mess of words yesterday at night when I couldn't sleep and tore out of Tyler and my journal. My handwriting has surely suffered from nearly a month of me not writing, but she claims that it's still eligible. I lean back in the chair, my legs crossed underneath me. Today marks the second day that I am going to be treated like a nutcase because I sort of almost broke her nose after she spoke about Ryan. Which I'm completely fine with- I'm actually proud of myself that I was able to do that. Because what I did to her was no less and nothing more than what she said to me. "Robin, this is..."

"Go on," I nod my head at her, my eyebrows raised.

"Here we go again, it's like you're calling all the shots before I shoot them
and I hate that." Mrs. Truscott reads in a monotone voice, nowhere near the tune that I was imagining in my head when I wrote it. "Every time I turn my back, I wonder what you'll say to make me sound like someone different. It's not worth it anymore." She looks up at me with a gaze of surprise, her eyebrows probably skyrocketing at this point and shooting off of her face. I brush my bangs back and out of my eyes. "Who's this for?"

"Everyone," I shrug. "My mom, my siblings, you,"

"We've been picking up the pieces, leaving all the dust behind. Sick of all the pressure, you're just wasting time." Mrs. Truscott is trying to conceal the look of honest to God confusion and wonder that keeps peaking out from her facial expressions as she continues to narrate the last minute jot down of words that I had to write for her. "And I don't ever wanna know what it feels like to be a shadow of myself, and I don't ever wanna come back down from this feeling. What makes you think that you know what's better for me? And I don't think you wanna see what's underneath your made up version of me."

"I think I might call it Rumor Mill," I smile, biting my tongue to stop me from making some sort of comment that would upset her. My hands fidget in my lap just thinking about the possibility of reaching Level 3.

"There you go again believing that the truth is what you're reading. Talk some 'sh' I haven't heard before." Mrs. Truscott censors the word shit, which makes me snort loudly. "If you've got something to say, don't wanna talk about it. If you need someone to blame, don't wanna cry about it. I measure life in minutes but these critics think they've got me figured out." The rest is just what I think is a chorus and the bridge, which I didn't feel the need to include. Mrs. Truscott takes a moment to stare at the paper in her hands, her gaze casting over the black ink that stains the sheet. She reads it over and over again in an attempt to make sense of the fact that this was basically a major fu.ck you to her and my mom and anyone that's ever assumed shit about me.