matters of the heart

5

"Woah bitch, hold the fuck up." Elle mutters next to me "where is all this negativity coming from?"

My belly twists into painful knots at the remembrance of the message that's boring a hole in the bottom of my bag where I've resorted to leaving my phone in shame.

Melissa Huntley
Meeting @ my office, 3pm tomorrow.

The message is pretty simple.

No friendly hellos.

No kidding about.

It's just an order of what Huntley wants which wouldn't have sounded so bad if I have what she wants-a first draft. How in the world will I have a draft if I have no idea how to start the article. Most especially when I don't have the interview.

"This whole article is making me feel like a failure." I announce truthfully, forcing myself to swallow the heaviness I'm feeling at the back of my throat. I realise there's a high chance that I wouldn't be able to stop the tears I've been holding back all day. I've been in my room, sitting behind my laptop trying hard to start on something but I'm so unmotivated that I ended up watching a new show on Netflix and learning about meditation on YouTube instead "I don't think I can do this."

And I can't stop thinking about that awful encounter with Charlie Murtaugh.

"Why? You said the interview went well."

"Well, I lied. The interview went to shit."

"What did he do?"

I smile a little, loving the fact that she automatically thinks whatever happened wasn't my fault. Not that it was-Charlie Murtaugh might have helped me one time but he's such a dick and he's messing up my life without even knowing it. What kind of prick says you're not good enough the first time they meet you.

"I didn't even get an interview." I say on a sigh. Thinking about it makes me so angry that I want to punch something-that something is Charlie's pretty face. I turn on my side so that I'm facing Elle who's looking at me with confusion.

"What do you mean you didn't get an interview. You went to the interview-"

"Maybe journalism isn't my thing." I continue quietly feeling sick for thinking it. I've always wanted to be a journalist, even against all of my better judgement. Even though I've tried to talk myself out of it multiple times, I put up with high school bullshit. I persevered. So why am I feeling like this just because some idiot told me he doesn't want me on his article? An article I don't want to write anyways. "If I can't carry out the responsibility of getting an interview for a bloody article, which I totally have no idea how to start on, then maybe this is wrong for me. Maybe Melissa Huntley is wrong about giving me the bloody internship because I don't deserve it."

"Everything you said, just like, sucks."

"I know."

"Journalism isn't your thing?" Elle repeats unbelievably her eyes watching me with mock pity as she mutters a wow to herself. "She didn't get the interview the y'all? What a big deal, what an epic failure she is. Yeah, you should totally degrade yourself for that, why don't you put your head on a fucking pike while you're at it-

"Shut up, Elle." I chuckle, hitting her arm lightly. "Don't make a joke out of this."

"Lorraine, you didn't kill somebody. This isn't a big deal." She insists, sitting up on my bed "you shouldn't beat yourself up for it."

"So you don't think I'm a bad journalist?"

"What the fuck, Lorraine." Elle laughs, shaking her head "Of course I don't."