If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll

Part XV of a story with a working title!

Copyright Julia Bydulia.

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There was no practice on Wednesday. During school, it was easy to promise herself she would work on her lines when she got home. She promised herself during almost every class. Homework and running lines, she told herself again and again.

But, the couch and the laptop didn't receive those plans so well. They much preferred having Michelle sit around, eating potato chips and pretending she was getting work done. It was sad, really, and she knew it was. But, some part of her was shouting that she just couldn't help it, and she was listening to that part.

When her brain started getting bored of scrolling through random pages on the web, she tried to distract herself with romantic plots. None of them seemed to matter without any real faces to put in next to her. She tried one of the old ones she used to run over and over with Vincent, but, it didn't feel right at all. There were no sparks with anyone. Maybe you should've let yourself be sick over him for a little while longer, she told herself. Then this wouldn't be so weird and boring.

She knew that idea was no good, though. The sickness wasn't just a metaphorical thing. It was a literal sickness that would tie her into knots almost every night. Knots a boyscout couldn't recognize or undo.

She thought about Terrence for a little while, but, that didn't particularly work. He had nice thick, brown hair that Michelle liked a lot, but, she wasn't too interested, and neither was he. John was cute, so, she tried to imagine herself with him, but, it didn't work either. She didn't even know John, so how could she daydream about spending time with him?

Sighing, she shut the laptop and stretched out on her back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Her bangs fell in her eyes as she reclined, but, she didn't brush them away like she usually did. She let them sit there, filtering her vision in dark brown fringes.

Slumps suck, she thought to herself, trying to build up the energy to stand up and do something productive. No energy came, though, so she stayed on her back, staring at the ceiling and berating herself for making such bad decisions.