"Wake up," the voice is followed by a finger digging into my check. My hand moves, trying to poke the owner of the finger. "Wake up, Brook." the voice repeats, and the finger pokes me again, but this time often. “Go away,” I moan, squirming. "Get your ass out of my bed, Brook. Classes start in two hours." ,” I get one last swat on the cheek before my eyes are forced open. “Look who's awake,” Niall jokes. Another moan escapes my lips, and my weak body reluctantly rolls onto the bed. Niall and being my sad self, lets my body hit the floor. “Why do you always do that?” Niall asks, stifling a laugh. “It's funny, you should try it,” I say, even though every time I do it he actually does bad. "Yes, when You wince in pain. I can tell how much fun you're having," "I'm leaving now. Have a nice day." I warn him as I reach his door. He doesn't answer, instead he laughs at me like the asshole he is. He still does so when I reach his door. I enter, and I can hear Harry from his room telling Niall to shut up. When I finally get to my room, I don't particularly like doing various preparation tasks meditating, never does anything to calm me down. For example, I just meditated and right now I'm still petrified about the possible outcomes of this day. Meditating seems like a waste of time to me, but my therapist says it's good for me, and what do I know compared to a therapist? I rush out of my room, knowing that there are only fifteen minuets until the first lesson. I reach the classroom in ten minutes and stay there, getting ready. Okay, Brook, you can do it. Don't be afraid. Come in and no one will pay attention to you... middle of paper... and start drawing his portrait. He leans back in his chair, which is presumably his comfortable position. I spend a lot more time on my portrait of Harry. I think I can draw, I guess. I'm a decent designer, certainly better than Harry, not to be a bighead or anything. I'm also much more patient than Harry, instead of moaning like Harry I almost fell asleep. Which in my opinion is better than what he kept doing, complaining. Harry repeatedly told me - and I quote - "hurry the fuck up". To say that Harry has a foul mouth would be an understatement. I hand him the sketchbook and let him examine my work. His eyes scan the cartridge paper, taking in the sight. I see him utter a "wow" and smile. When he looks up he notices my smile: "it's terrible." he blurts out, wrinkling his nose in disgust and throwing the pad at me.***VoteCommentHow was it?Hi :)