𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞

F A R R I S

My fingers brush over various objects, a habit I've tried to stop but can't help when I see a display of notebooks, all beach themed and small with textured surfaces. The next one over is similar, but the notebooks are made of leather and one, in particular, catches my eye. Black bonded leather with a matching strap to wrap around and secure the pages, the book is smooth, almost soft to the touch and I can't help but pick it up.

I carry it around with me until I realize that the feeling of wanting to put it back won't come, and bring it up to the front, picking out a cheap pen to buy along with it. Thanking the clerk, I take my purchases back to where I sat before, collect my towel, and move to a shaded patch of sand beside a building, the view just as nice.

Sitting with the notebook in my lap, I keep it closed, simply staring between the cover and the ocean in front of me. I twirl the pen in my fingers as I do, deliberating over whether to open it or not. "Fuck it," I mumble, unwrapping the strap and flipping to the middle page. My pen touches the page and suddenly, words are flowing out of me.

I've never been one for writing, always dragging my feet when it comes to completing papers and essays, never feeling the urge to try creative writing either, but my thoughts come pouring out in ink and I can't stop them, nor do I want to.

Pages fill quickly, working out the way I feel with words and every new one that prints the page feels like a small weight off of my shoulders, one less thought plaguing my mind. My emotions go through a wide range, varying from anger to sadness, from indifference to desperation, and I don't hide from any of it.

Knowing that I don't have to share any of this with anyone else is a relief, and I feel free to express myself without any bounds. Every page is a blur, and when I think I've written thousands of words and my hand starts to cramp, my ass falling asleep from staying in one position so long, I grab my things and go back to sit in the car.

I don't drive home; the sun is still high in the sky. One of the buildings off the beach was wafting the most amazing scent along the sea breeze, so leaving my things I the car, I make my way there.

Ordering a meal for myself and not having anyone to fill the silence in front of me brings me back to how I felt before, but on a much smaller scale, and I start to grow more comfortable the longer I sit there. Because I have practice later, I order two meals, an hour apart in order to get enough food in today.

My mind drifts back to Reed, wondering what she's doing, if she's wondering what I'm doing. I can't help it when I excuse myself to grab my journal from the car, promising to come back in a minute and write again, this page filled with questions rather than thoughts, my overthinking all over and on display for only myself.

"You a writer?" The waitress asks me as she comes to collect my empty plates, and I close my journal before replying.

"No, just got this today actually," I smile politely and she does the same, leaving me to my own devices. She's been kind, but I'm not one of those people who overshare with their servers. Especially not about the contents of my notebook.

When I've long overstayed my welcome, I take the vehicle back to campus, feeling much better than I did when I left. My room is empty when I get back, the note exactly where I left it. Changing in my room, I prepare for practice and decide to walk there. My notebook is on my bed and I decide to keep it in my closet, not wanting Xander to come into my room and find it by accident, not that I think he'd purposefully read it, but you can never be too careful.

I don't hide it, exactly, but among the old textbooks on the shelf in my closet, it should be safe from any eyes. The walk to the gym is short, and I say hi to people that greet me on my way. Familiar faces pass by and I pat my pocket to check for my phone when my brain reminds me that I left it on the bedside table in my room.

When practice is over, I can't help but rush home, eager to check my phone. I pick it up off the table and my face falls at the lack of messages. I have a few email notifications, from professors and my phone company, one from my coach. One text from Lucy, reminding me of trivia on Tuesday. And one from Xander, informing me that he'll be with Charlotte tonight.

A text comes in from Reed, and I light up. Hey! <3 Did you finish the assignment for math already?

Deflating, I type my reply, informing her that yes, I completed my homework for our shared class. My one-word reply doesn't deter her, and she responds quickly.

Yep.

Any way I can take a look at it? I'm having trouble with the wording of the last part.

Sure, want to meet up?

Could you possibly send it to me instead? I'm already at the library.

I don't bother saying that I could meet her there, getting the message. Reed is easily distracted, but despite knowing this, it still hurts to have her choose not to see me.

Yeah.

I turn the tv back on after I send her my assignment via email, feeling my emotions come back to haunt me and needing a distraction. I don't have the energy to get up and grab my notebook, so I settle on watching something exciting with more explosions than plot, an open bag of chips calls my name.

My hands feel numb, and my heart clenches in my chest as the movie fails to distract me from my overwhelming emotions, and with no way to cope with them, I turn everything off and go to sleep.