Insomniac, that's what I'm going to become, I scold myself. The neon green display of my clock reads 12 :39 AM. Just two hours, and I feel like I've slept through the whole night.
I walk around my messy room, looking below endless books and notes, sweatshirts and pairs of jeans, for my phone. I stop by th window, just to admire the moon. It's a mellow orb, reminding me of the paper lanterns in the dingy Chinese restauraunt Gerard and I frequentes after long hours of swotting Shakespeare. Gerard...
A beep breaks my reverie, emerging from a pile of too-tight t-shirts I'd tossed out of my closet a day before. I scrabble through the heap and draw out my cell phone. My heart skips a beat. But the name on the display says "1 new message: Maya". Not Gerard....not Gerard...I keep insisting to myself. He hasn't replied to my obsessive messages. Phone calls. Nothing, ever since 31 December.
Aisha...like whispers to the wind...I mused, but she's nothing like that. She gads around in her sequinned mini-skirts and bright red lipstick, charming every man she meets off his feet.
I tread downstairs, my cold feet noiseless on the stairs. It's slightly odd how I don't use a blade, I don't reach for cigarettes, I don't do alcohol. I lose myself in cold Chinese takeaways and happy memories.