Time Limit

Brooke

ESCAPING REALITY

Nerd.

Show-off.

Freak.

Loser.

The hurtful yet true words Brittany and her gang and had called me rang in my ears as I curled up in the school library, wanting to read in peace.

Books were my way of escaping reality, the reality where Brittany bullied me to no end. From cyber bullying to physical to verbal, they were capable of anything. Unlike some cases, though, I knew exactly why they did it.

I didn't have beautiful blonde hair, clear blue eyes, or tanned skin. Instead, I had mousy brown hair, murky green eyes and too-pale skin. I read too much, and didn't even use makeup. I had no idea how to do a flip or a jump, or the fancy handshake thing they did all the time. In other words, I was ugly, nerdy, and a social outcast.

And they were right. I was all those things, and more. I didn't even know why I bothered to try and be happy anymore. I didn't deserve it.

There was one thing I liked about myself, though, and that was my last name. I shared a last name with Harry's mother, Lily, who was one of my favourite characters in Harry Potter, the one and only fandom I was in. She was strong, outspoken, and stood up for herself and her friends. She was smart, and surrounded herself with alike people.

Unlike me.

The thing was, I couldn't help it, not really. My parents were...well, they didn't really care that much about me. I can still remember a time when they would try and come home early to spend time with me, when they wouldn't even think about leaving me home by myself...when they were loving parents.

Now though, they weren't like that anymore. They weren't mean, it wasn't like that, but they certainly didn't care anymore. They provided me with the necessities, and that was it.

It was okay, though, I knew loads of people had it worse than me,  I couldn't complain.

Anyways, the only thing flaw about me that I could actually change was my reading habits. But I couldn't stop. I was addicted.

I am serious, I was actually, honestly, addicted.

Some people were addicted to nicotine, or cocaine, but I was addicted to books. If I was deprived of books, or exposed to the outside world, for too long, I began to feel irritated, or detached.

It was beginning to be a serious problem, and I probably needed medical help.

The thing was, I wasn't sure yet, if I wanted to change. Books and stories were what I lived for, and I honestly wasn't sure where I would be without them.

A loud shout from outside jolted me back to reality, and taking the book into my lap, I decided to forget about all my troubles for now.

Wonder. I fingered the yellowed pages of the library book, admiring how symbols and paper could turn into a working portal.