My fingers started feeling nice the moment I started popping and twisting them like I always do. It's a Sunday night and I haven't stopped writing and thinking about a few ideas I would need for the upcoming article writing contest that my school would be having next two weeks. I know it sounds pretty pathetic for me to start getting ready this early, but I just really want to win this thing this time like my parents have always wanted. Well yeah, I love to write. But my heart belongs to photography and writing poems about whatever I capture, and not about current events and stuff about politics and such. I'm not much of an active person in the social media like my parents want me to, but I guess I have to deal with it now since I'm doing my best to win something to win their hearts, too. Maybe by that way, I could tell them what I really want. It's just really hard to convince them what I really want to do with my life in the future.
I always write and compose things in my mind that I always forget to give myself some "me" time. My mum told me that it's nice to see me doing the things that I love, but it's actually not like that. I'm doing what they want me to do, and I swear if only I have all the guts to say everything I have inside my heart, I would. But of course, they don't really have the time to hear me out. Pressure and stress has been driving me crazy these past few days, and if I'm really not that into writing, I would die. No exaggeration. Or maybe there is but, we all get tired at some point, don't we? It's not that easy to make your parents proud of you.
After writing few sentences on the piece of paper lying in my table, I unhesitatingly crumpled it and threw right away on my back, not even minding if it would make it right inside the trash bin. My room is almost filled with crumpled pieces of paper, and if trees cry for being a paper then I swear trees would start attacking me right now and strangle me to death. I took a deep breath, and stared down at another piece of paper on my table that for surely I would crumple up in a bit as well. I took my pen that's almost out of ink and started writing a few words again. The moment I let out a sigh, my phone started ringing, literally making me jump out of my seat.
It took me a few seconds to reach out for my phone because I had to catch my breath and actually compose myself. It's kind of weird that I get too scared a lot about things now probably because I've been isolating myself for days that my hands couldn't count anymore.
I took my phone from my bed, a look of confusion painted my face the moment I checked who was calling me.
Why would he call me on a Sunday night?
"Yeah." I started talking lazily through the line, slowly resting my back onto the warm sheets of my bed. I moaned and closed my eyes, probably forgetting that someone from my phone could actually hear what noises I just made.
"Oh my god," He chuckled. I suddenly felt myself blush, completely embarrassed. "Are you watching porn?"
My eyes opened widely, making me sat up straight from my bed. "What? No!" I defended. "I was just- I wasn't watching porn!"
He laughed out loud this time, and I'm still thinking why he called at this hour. Not that I mean we're not talking anymore. It's just that... things got a bit different between us ever since we became high school students.
"You naughty little girl." He retorted with a laugh again, and I can't help but just punch myself inside my head nonstop for making that stupid moan through the phone.
"Cut it out, Michael. It's not funny." I stated blankly, making him stop from laughing. I wasn't mad though. But he always knew that I always get a little touchy about a lot of things. I'm a little sensitive, pretty much it.
"Why'd you call?" I asked, laying back again on my bed but tried to stop myself from moaning this time no matter how comfortable it is.
"What's up, Sabby?" He asked, ignoring my question, a hint of a wide smile evident on his tone.