I sat on my bed after a long day. The one thing I was looking forward too, reading. Pulling my blankets over my body, I grabbed the latest installment of the Throne of Glass series, and read.
I closed the book less two hours later, in that time I had gotten through two hundred pages. I loved that series and wished so badly for one of its main characters, (Rowan Whitehorn) to be real. Alas, he is a fictional character in a book series. I stood from my bed and pulled out my laptop from my bag. I had just gone to the library after running errands for hours and hours on end. Who knew these people needed so much stuff? I was a personal shopper, so people told me what they wanted me to buy and they paid me very well to do so. I opened my laptop and wrote everything that I was supposed to buy in the morning and where to take it. I stood from the seat and pushed in back under my desk. I walked down the stairs of my house and walked into the kitchen. My house was reasonably big, not big enough to house a family, but I didn't really want a family as long as I had books, I was set for life.
I pulled a pot out of the cabinet under my stove and set the pot on the stove. Walking to the pantry tears filled my eyes, why would he do that to her? I thought about the book I had just read. Betrayals always felt very deep for me. My mother told me as a child, "The reason you feel so in touch with the books is because you could be an empath." After I had asked her why I felt so strongly when someone died, or was betrayed. I simply laughed and went on with my life. Now that I was twenty I was living alone, although you can never be alone when you have books. I really did prefer the company of books then actual people. I grabbed a can of soup from the shelf in my pantry and walked back over to the stove, as I opened the can and poured it in I heard a thumping noise. The neighbors were probably asking for something again. I covered the pot with soup in it with a glass lid and walked to the door.
As I opened the door a woman that looked in a state of distress glared at me. "Miss. Jenfeson?" I asked the kind old woman who lived next door. She had no kids, and no husband, I often brought her over for dinner. "You wouldn't be busy would you?" she asked kindly, but still raged. "No, of course not what is wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need help?" I asked in return. "Oh no, I'm fine, but if you really aren't busy would you mind coming over to my house for a quick bit?" she asked, rubbing her hands together and shaking them nervously. I took them in my hand and smiled. "I will be right over. Ok?" I replied. She nodded her head and turned to walk over to her house. I ran into the kitchen and turned off the soup. After grabbing a coat for myself and Miss Jenfeson I walked out the door to meet her.
