Fatal Flaws

chapter 12

This past week has flew by.I'm beyond happy. It's officially the weekend. My classes have kept me extremely busy. So far, literature has been my favorite. I enjoy doing the journal entries. They allow me to confess things that otherwise I never would. Getting it off of my chest has allowed me to breathe. I have also learned several new techniques to incorporate into my writing.

I used to love writing when I was younger. Short stories and poems were my focus. But I even kept a secret diary. I would write about everything. My family, how school was that day, and even who I had a crush on.

Eventually, I started writing deeper poems. The older I got, the more drugs I experimented with. The darker my poems became. I wrote a lot about my depression. Or how the blade would slice cleanly through my skin. I would describe in detail how watching the blood escape my body would distract me from my problems. But after my father committed suicide, it changed me. I felt like writing was a waste of time. Who would read it anyway? I would never be a famous author.

Then one day I gave it all up. I figured it wasn't for me anymore. No one stopped me or pushed me to keep doing it. No one cared.

Being in Mrs. Roberts's class has brought all my old passions back. I'm excited to write again. Even if it's only for me. Maybe one day someone will read my work and appreciate it, but who knows?

I haven't seen Hayden outside of the one class we have together.Even then, he doesn't speak to me. I wonder if I did something wrong. Did I make him mad? Or has he moved on from trying to get my attention? Does he think I'm boring now?

I hate to admit it, but I kind of miss his smart-ass remarks. He had kind of grown on me a little. The way he always argues back and forth with me. Or seemed to show up when I least expected him to. I guess it's time for me to move on from him. I need to quit worrying about him and focus on myself.

Sky and Hope had a minor disagreement, so she has been home almost every night this week. It's been nice having her here. We've done homework together, played cards, and watched movies. Conversation comes so natural with her. We talk about everything under the sun. From our annoying families to our favorite foods. I know more about her than I do April. I'm glad she's my roommate, after all. She has gone out of her to make me feel at home here. She even gave me a few of her favorite throw blankets to keep on my bed. I would be lost without her. She has become my best friend.

"Are you coming to the frat party tonight?" she asks, as we both walk in from our last classes of the day.

"I don't know, I'm not much of a partier. So I doubt it" I lie through my teeth. I used to love parties. I was always the one drunk. Clumsily dancing on the table. Half the time naked from the waist up.I have an entire collection of Mardi Gras beads back home to prove it. I have almost every color you can think of. Some even have tiny penises between the beads. Those are my favorite ones.

"Please, it will be fun. Plus, I need a friend," she begs, sitting down on the edge of her bed. 

Smoke fills the room as she lights half of the blunt she had left earlier in the ashtray.

"Hope is still mad at me and won't text me back," she whines, sticking her pouty lip out. An enormous cloud of smoke escapes from her puffed-out lips.

"I guess, but I'm not staying late, okay? I want to be home at a decent time. The new episode of my show comes on tonight," I whine, defeated.

Lying back on my bed, I scroll through my Facebook page. I seldom use it. The only time I get on it is to creep into my old friend's pages. I like to spy on them. And learn what's going on in their lives. How they're doing? I haven't talked to any of them in years. A big part of my recovery was letting go of people from my past. I don't miss my old lifestyle, but I miss some of my friends. She lets out a loud squeal as she practically throws herself off of her bed. Her huge boobs bounce up and down as she claps her hands together.