Her Breaking Point

"Wake up," the voice is followed by a finger digging into my check. My hand wafts around, trying to hit the owner of the finger. "Wake up, Brook.," the voice repeats, and the finger pokes me again, but this time frequently.

"Go away," I groan, squirming.

"Get you ass out of my bed, Brook. Lessons start in two hours," one final poke is inflicted upon my cheek before my eyes force themselves open. "Look who's awake," Niall jokes.

Another groan ecaped my lips, and my weak body reluctantly rolls across Niall's bed and me being my sad self, let my body hit the floor.

"Why do you always do that?" Niall asks, stifling a laugh.

"It's fun, you should tyry it," I say, even though every time I do that it atually hurts.

"Yeah, when you wince in pain I can tell just how much fun you are having,"

"I'm leaving now. Good day." I notify him as I reach his door.

He doesn't reply, instead he laughs at me like the ass he is. He still continues to do so when I reach his front door, and I can hear Harry from his room telling Niall to shut up.

When I finally arrive to my room, I get ready. Doing various prep activities, such as getting dressed, packing my bag and meditating. I don't paticulary like meditating, it never really does anything to calm me down. For example, I have just meditated, and right now I am still petrified for the possible outcomes of this day. To me meditating seems like a waste of time, but my theripist says it's good for me, and what do I know compared to a therepist?

I leave my room in a rush, knowing I only have fifteen minuets till my first lesson. I reach the class room in ten mineuts and stand there, preparing myself.

Okay, Brook, you can do this. Don't be scared. Just walk in, nobody will pay attention to you...

... middle of paper ...

...nd begin to draw his portrait. He leans back into his chair, which is persumably his comfortable position.

I spend much longer on my portrait, than Harry. I think I can draw, I guess. I'm a decent drawer, better than Harry for sure, not to be big headed or anything. I'm also much more patient than Harry, instead of complaining like Harry I almost fell asleep. Which in my opion is better than what he kept on doing, complaining. Harry repeatedly told me to -and I quote- 'hurry the fuck up'. To say Harry has a foul mouth would be an understatment.

I hand over the sketch pad, and let him inspect my work. His eyes scan the cartdrige paper, taking in the sight.

I see him mouth a 'wow', and I smile. When he looks back up he notices my smile, "it's awful." he snaps, scrunching his nose up in disgust and throwing the pad at me.

***

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How was that?

Bye :)