Episode Sixteen:
UNEXPLAINABLE
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F A W N ' S P O V :
"How the hell is this supposed to help!"
"I don' know, it's what Dad said to do, so I'm trying to help you through doing this,"
"Making me read, again, and again, and again, is torture."
With a groan, I sit up from the floor and squint back against the bright sunlight coming through the apartment's window. Great, it's day time again and I have to be a productive figure of society again.
How boring.
It's Tuesday, but us senior's have the day off for some in-service teacher meeting – blah blah blah.
"I'm doing it, but I'm not fucking happy – Asshole."
I look to my left and find that Morgan is fast asleep on the couch, probably dreaming about middle school things. I don't know, just a guess because I hardly slept when I was in junior high, always up. Thinking about why the hell I had to move here, and why the hell I had to lose everything. The insomnia has stuck, but the feelings have passed – or settled in. Really depends on how you look at it.
"This is absolute shit. You know that?"
I look up from the floor to see my mom standing out in the hallway, the door to our apartment open as she holds a bottle of iced coffee and a package of potato chips. Across from her stands Mrs. Mass conversing with my mother over – something with her apartment door open as well.
Explaining the yelling.
"Dakarai! You can't just hand me this! Do you actually read this?" I look through the door to find what must be the funniest sight to date of Elliott. Eyes scanning the pages of my favorite book. My book, I bet my Mom gave it to them to borrow since reading material was scarce.
"Yes, now shut the hell up and read!" Daka calls back to Elliott, as he walks back into my view of the room with a smirk, "Sorry, just kidding!"
"I gonna murder you, know that?"
"Ah! Ah! Ah! No death threats!" Yells Dakarai, waving his finger in front of Elliott, before placing it down onto the page, "Read." He finishes, and Elliott sighs annoyed before looking back down to the book.
'Late in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed . . .
I stand up from the ground stretching my limbs a bit before strolling down to the hallway, not realizing I was still in my clothes from last night until I was face to face with Mrs. Mass.
"Oh, Fawn, good morning! Your mother just left – "
"I kn-know," I shrug, looking back into the study session, I guess, going on in the apartment.
"Wanna go hang with em?" She asks, and I nod my head sheepishly before walking in hesitantly.
. . . presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about death.'
YOU ARE READING
Wrong Guy
Ungdomsfiksjon❝Would it be wrong to think - to think, that I could make you so much happier?❞ Fawn Lockhart and Elliott Mass have never gotten along. The water and oil of people they avoid each other at all costs, and when they do interact it's nothing but petty...
