Sweet as a lemon | e.d

Chapter 5 | Faded Frown Lines

Listen to, "Shawn Mendes never be alone" for this chapter

•.•.•.•

O

Being a New Yorker comes with a stigma attached to it. That stigma, being that we're rude and obnoxious and we all have that one accent. While my mother fit that stigma very well, I was the exact opposite. I had always been pretty quiet and I always tried my best, to help people.

My mom always said that you should only care about yourself and mind your own business. That's what she had tried teaching me, Jessica and Dakota made sure to shoot that down, until they weren't here to shoot it down anymore. Over the past ten months, I started minding my own business, not even budding in when someone dropped their wallet. I swear I'm not a monster, I've just been trained to react in such a way that I could remain neutral.

That is until Ethan Dolan appeared.

The latest news story on him wasn't the first I had heard of Ethan Dolan, I first heard about him back in the ninth grade when he was first arrested. The supposed story to that, was he had tried taking a $1000 necklace from the mall, at least that's what people said. I noticed a change in him after that. He no longer hung out with the football team or his brother, but instead he hung out by himself. After that it seemed to have all gone down hill. He still played on the football team, but that was it. The only time you'd see him was in class or on the football field, after that he'd disappear like a ghost.

I haven't been able to shake the memory of seeing Ethan being humiliated in the hallway. It somehow was able to continue popping into my head. I'm not even sure why I would intervene. Maybe it was the pained expression he had on his face, something I know all too well.

These thoughts continued to run through my mind on my way to school. Most people hated the subway because it was always insanely packed, and while I agree with it not being enjoyable while it was packed, on a good day, with not many people on, I loved it. It gave me an hour to just relax, and think.

Sometimes however, thinking often would become my worst enemy. All of the thoughts would build up and pretty soon I would feel overwhelmed by the thoughts. That's why eight months ago, my therapist recommended that I start writing, a way for me to get my thoughts out without having to tell someone about them. It was convenient because my therapist couldn't always be there. At first he recommended that I write in a way that was a diary entry, but I took it a step further. I began writing poetry, in a way. I told my therapist about it, how it made me feel better rather than feeling like I was complaining on a piece of paper. I gave my writing purpose. It gave me purpose. My therapist was thrilled, he said it was better because I was able to express my feelings in a way that I never had before.

I felt someone sit next to me. I looked up and my face quickly turned from a frown into one of joy.

"Hey Mikey." I said with joy. I met Mikey seven months ago, when I had first started writing. One day while I was on my way to school on the subway, I was writing a piece in my black book called, "I hate myself", when I heard someone speak from behind me.

"You know, sometimes it's not so good to be so blunt when it comes to writing. " I quickly closed my book, in attempt from keeping the, at the time, stranger from seeing anymore than he did.

"What?" I asked slightly stunned. He took a seat next to me and smirked when he said, "sometimes it's good to keep the audience guessing, when I hear something like I hate myself as a title, I automatically think that it's just another teenager with problems, changing the title to something a little more unique can interest more people. I'm not saying you have to change the topic, because you don't, a title that relates to the topic can catch the audiences attention more than something that's just straight to the point." I didn't know what to say at first. I was happily sitting here, writing, when a stranger decided to give me writing advice.