The Artist (Inkitt)

One: Lunchtime

Eating lunch. Alone.

This is my life on a day to day basis; I don't like interacting with other people, because I can never behave in an appropriate manner.

As if having a weird-ass name wasn't bad enough (my mum decided to do that weird shit when you mash the parents' names names together; sometimes, it works out. In my case, it didn't. Samuel + Emilia = Samilia) I apparently have god-awful social graces, too.

I've learned this after numerous occasions of attempting to simply converse with another human being.

For example, once, when my fellow classmate Dana Peterson asked me how her singing voice sounded, I answered:

"It sounds like... a cat being fùcked. I'm sure you have the aptitude for something else, though."

I swear I wasn't trying to be a bitch; a lot of cats live in my neighborhood, and her singing sounded just like them when they're performing coitus. I was just trying to give her the most accurate depiction of what she sounded like.

Of course, she subsequently burst into tears, calling me a bitch as she ran away.

Another example of my social awkwardness was displayed one day last year, in my Unit 1 Literature class. Ms. Fremont was the teacher - still is my teacher - and she was braless, as usual (I mean, who the hell likes wearing bras?) and she was wearing a button down white dress.

But today, I could see right through her dress; could see her nipples, but more, could see that she was wearing angel winged nipple rings.

Now, I had been searching for this for a very, very long time; so now that I had the opportunity to find out, I wasn't going to let it pass me.

"Ms., where did you get your nipple rings?"

The whole class went silent, the chatter going on between some students stoping altogether.

I watched her face merge into an expression of complete discomfort, as if she had just shít her pants and didn't want anyone to realise.

The tension was so thick, I could almost smell it in the air when I inhaled.

Immediately, I knew I fücked up.

I could feel everyone's eyes on me, and instantly, my skin began to crawl. I wanted to run away, or throw myself head-first over the twelfth grade balcony.

The rest of the class was painfully awkward.

As a result of my tendency to unintentionally offend others, I've isolated myself from everyone else before I could become infamous as 'that bitch who enjoys offending people and making everyone else squirm in discomfort'.

Being alone isn't that bad, though. Apart from eating, I sometimes write during lunchtime; actually, I write all the time. Writing poetry is my favorite pastime; my second is reading. They both just... allow me to forget what a social fùck-up I am for even five minutes.

Currently, however, I'm staring into space, my gaze focusing on nothing in particular, my mind racing.

I'm thinking about class last week. Why was Fredric staring at me? did he find me appealing, or was he just trying to annoy me?

If he was just trying to annoy me, is it that he has noticed that I hate being stared at?

Is he constantly watching me, figuring out my weaknesses , plotting to one day drive me insane?

Is he watching me right now?

Like the paranoid little weirdo that I am, I do a 360, and luckily, I don't see him.