Only Words Bleed

Reading Between The Lines

Violet's Pov:

Later that night I find myself smiling like an idiot as I lie on my bed scribbling away in my black and white notebook. This one was considered my personal journal. The one I mostly kept at home because it contained some, shall we say "darker" things between its pages. Mostly stuff from when I need to vent or when I get super depressed. Like yesterday when my dad went off at me again and I wrote for about three hours straight to suppress the hurt and anger that had built up. It was...fine, the bruise would disappear after a few days. I just had to wear long-sleeved shirts until the mark went away. No big deal...right?

It wasn't all distressing. As hopeless as it seems some of my entries were actually really uplifting. Like today for example. I kept giggling to myself unable to wipe the smile off my face. Honestly, if someone walked in on me right now they'd probably suspect me of either being high or drunk. Good thing my parents never cheek on me, I'd prefer not to explain how I'm completely lovesick for the new girl at school.

I guess you could say it was kind of like my diary, though I didn't like to think of it that way. I had a handful of notebooks, the black and white one for my personal feelings, one with a dark blue cover that was coated with stars across the front where I'd draw the different constellations that I came up with then make a story about it, then there was the last one. And it was, dare I say it...Violet colored. This one holds all of my little short stories that I write about my friends and stuff like that. Like the one from earlier today about the psycho lady drugging someone's coffee with her manipulative ways. I still don't have a name for her. It should probably be something unusual and unique, something that'll be remembered. Hmmm, yeah, I'll think of it later.

Right now I've only got one thing on my mind and her name is C-L-E-M-E-N-T-I-N-E. Clementine! I can't stop the butterflies that flutter around my chest when I think of her name as I write about all of the things I like about her. From the way she keeps her hair short, to those resplendent golden eyes, the confidence she possesses, and even the ragged baseball cap she wears everywhere she goes. But I think what put me over the top was when she didn't even care that I was silent. I know people find it weird that I don't really talk anymore, they tend to judge the book by its cover before they even know what's written on the first page.

But Clementine wasn't like that, she even wants to read some of the things I've written. Which to be honest I'm kind of nervous about, I have to find the right one to show her. Or maybe I'll write something new for her. I learned she likes baseball, which I've never had an interest in. The sport could drop dead and that'd be fine by me. But I have watched my friends play baseball at this one park before. Maybe to make it engaging I can have the famous Javier Garcia show up and have him play a game with us.

As I keep brainstorming I know I've got it bad when I start drawing little hearts on the side of my page and shading them in. That sounds like a good title name, Shaded In. Not for this story, but maybe something else I could write. I think it's also the name of a song I once heard.

I spare a glance at my alarm clock seated on the edge of my nightstand and see that it's twelve-twelve am. I don't feel tired when I'm so giddy with excitement. It almost makes me want to jump out my bedroom window and just run for a mile straight just to burn this energy building inside, but there's one thing holding me back and it's not the raindrops that I can see sprinkling the window. I realize the faster I fall asleep, the faster I can see Clem tomorrow.

So I shut my notebook and throw it down on the floor next to my backpack along with my pencil. Then I take my glasses off and place them on my nightstand and turn my lamp off. I try to fall asleep as I watch the rain splash against the window, but how can I do that when I keep silently giggling to myself.