Posted on Fri Jan 15th, 2016 @ 5:48am by Unawakened Melissa Wilson
The cool blue glow of a computer monitor lit up the face of a girl in her late teens. Her black hair was long, falling over her shoulders and down the front of a nightshirt with an image of Darth Vader's mask on it accompanied by bright pink words daring anyone to get on her dark side. Large black-rimmed glasses seemed too large for her face, desiring to rebel by sliding down the length of her small nose.
Her fingernails, reaching just past the ends of her fingers, clicked on the keys as she typed.
I'm not really sure why I write a diary anymore. I guess it gives me someone to talk to when no one is online. Or when I want to talk about him to someone other than him. Not that this journal is a someone, but...
She frowned, deleting the last sentence.
I can't get it through my head that this is my last year of high school. It doesn't feel real. Half done almost, and all my teachers have spent time talking about how things will be different when we go off to college, how we have to focus on our marks now so that we can get in to good schools, what kinds of schools we should pick... and it isn't like everyone is going to be able to get to go. A lot of people either can't afford to, or there are other things that will keep them here.
Melissa sighed, leaning back in her chair. With a click, she minimized Notepad and looked at her desktop. The icons were arranged around two figures on the background, avatars from her favourite MMO, Worlds of Myth. She gave them a small smile. Neferu and Ankramesses never smiled back, but that was alright. Neferu was far too badass to smile, and Ankhramesses... well... Tim smiled enough for his avatar, and that was enough. He'd made this for her a few months ago, a small birthday gift that went along with a necklace he made out of a seashell from the beach, carving it with the Worlds of Myth logo. She touched it tenderly as it lay against her skin, a warm feeling filling her heart. Tim liked to make her things. He was really good with his hands, and even better with digital artwork.
She reached out to run a finger along Ankhramesses' digital cheek tenderly before restoring the Notepad window again.
I know I'm going off to college. Mom and Dad would never forgive me if I didn't, and they've been saving for it since I was little. Aunt Tina tells me that I'll have a great time, but I feel guilty about the idea of going away when Tim is stuck at home. It's stupid... I know it's stupid. We mostly just see each other in game anyway, so it's not like that'll change. He did say he wants me to go and have the whole college experience thing (well, okay, what he actually said was that I should get drunk and be a lesbian for a night then tell him all about it, but, um, no.). I just wish that he could go do that too - not the lesbian thing (how would that even work?? He's a guy! I really didn't need that mental image...), but go to college. To school at all, really. It's not fair that he has to spend so much of his life hooked up to a dialysis machine, just so that he can stay alive. He deserves to have a better life than that.
I have to live my life, for me. That's what Kyle says. Part of me knows my brother is right, even though I'd never tell him that to his face. It's not like Tim and I are even going out - after everything that happened with Jeff last year and that awful rumour he spread around the school that he caught me sleeping with Tim on the beach, I just couldn't put Tim through that. I don't hear much about that rumour anymore, thank god. They stopped talking about me when Trisha Auretti got found by police, drunk and passed out in the park in July. I've never been happier at someone else's misfortunes.
That's not very charitable, is it?
I'd still rather her than me... even if that means I'm going to hell.
Her fingers lingered over the keys, hesitating, as though she wanted to say more. Loud footfalls on the stairs outside her room made them move. Quickly, she reached forward, pressing the monitor's power button before slipping silently in to bed.
The door creaked as it opened. Her father's face peered through the gap. "Good night, Melissa." His rich, deep English accent was a lot more comforting and calming than her mother's enthusiastic, exhuberant Greek. She could tell from his tone that he'd seen the light from under her door, but she wasn't going to get in trouble for it. Her father was kind that way. "Sleep well."