TITLE — long distance. WARNINGS — mature content and some swearing. WORD COUNT — 2,901 words. AUTHOR’S NOTE — i can’t even believe my last fic got over 300 notes, that’s insane, thank you so much. uh, this was supposed to be short and smutty but the angst in me came out to wreak havoc. it also turned out much longer than i intended (story of my life). and that fluff bit at the end? i don’t know her. anyway, hope you enjoy it, thanks for reading !
You’re woken up at 2:09 AM by a constant and nagging vibration, the glare of your phone guiding you as you blindly reach for the device. Through heavy-lidded eyes you study the name displayed on the screen and the sappy emojis that follow.
It’s your boyfriend.
“Hey,” you say, voice dripping with dread and worry, and fatigue. It’s silent on the other end safe for some rustling and just as you’re about to call after him, there’s a muted groan.
“B-bae?” He sighs into the transmitter—a sigh of relief. “Fuck,” he sobs. “I miss y-you. I… fuck.” Another sob. “Baby?”
They leave the party late, after two, because Betty was having fun and the people weren’t completely terrible even though it was the vinyl has better aural texture crowd. The night sky has a faint reddish cast from the falling snow.
A perfect shimmering layer of white accumulates on the sidewalks, covering the rough patches of ice.
“Can I hold your hand?” Betty asks as they turn onto Bowery. Her eyes are a little glassy but her words aren’t slurred.
“You are holding my hand,” Jughead points out, pressing his gloved fingers into her palm. He can’t lace their fingers together because of her strange-yet-practical combination mitten-gloves.
“Your other hand. Both your hands,” Betty clarifies.
Based on ribbing from her roommates and a few “freshman experience” jokes from Veronica, he’s gathered that she has gotten drunk enough to make herself sick once or twice at on-campus parties she didn’t ask him to come to, but he’s never seen her with more than this bright edge of a buzz.
Waiting at the corner of Mott and Spring, Betty steps up close, facing him, and grabs his other hand, too. She slides their joined hands into the big front pockets of her puffy blue coat.
Hi! So, basically I'm an teen writer and no one is supporting me (mainly my friends) and they are telling me how dumb it is to be a writer. They are interested with finding the perfect guy while I am interested in writing stories right now. I feel like they just don't really support me anymore and I don't know how to balance our friendship and writing. Got any advice?
I’m 29 years old, almost 30, way past my teenage years. I started writing when I was 12, and wrote a lot of poems from my 15 to 17. Most of my friends were artists themselves, my best friend loved painting, another friend dreamed of being a mangaka, and another used to write poems too (we would mail poems to each other after he moved)… I had a friend really invested in relationships, but she respected and encouraged my love for art. She would commission my drawings and read my terrible drafts.
When we are teenagers, friendship is one of the most important aspects of life, because we are finding our place in this world. Later in life, friendship kind of falls back in importance. Fulfillment takes its place (sometimes sanity).
My first advice: Don’t worry too much, ten years from now these friends will be strangers.
My second advice: Find new friends. Find your group, your people. Look around for writers, poets, painters, photographers, illustrators, musicians, art lovers… they will accept and understand you better. You’ll learn from them, grow with them, maybe even improve your self-esteem and creativity. Being accepted and respected is a must. If you are neither, run.
My third advice: If you ever find yourself without friends… read books.
I’ll tell you a story… In middle school, I went to a religious school. I used to live in a Brazilian small town, so that was the only school around. It was so strict that, if you did or spoke anything of another religion, they would punish you by locking you in a windowless dark room (they locked me once… I was ten and almost peed my pants… I’ve heard of a guy that was locked for six hours, he left the room straight to the hospital, later his father sued the school and they had to close). So, there I was, in my religious studies class when the teacher, that was also a church minister, asked:
Raise your hand if you think that gay marriage is right before God.
Of course, out of fifty students, I was the only one to raise my hand. After that, I was in a real-life persecution. My friends wouldn’t talk to me, they would simply turn their heads. Every staff member would stop me with a bible in hands. This girl invited me every single day to her church… at some point, even my family heard the story and figured I was a dangerous lesbian girl (they still think I am, since I never married). I was lonely and desperate. My parents considered moving, but we couldn’t afford. Instead, my father bought me a book. He said that I had a friend now.
And I surrounded myself with books, every month my father bought me another. I read a lot during breaks. Now, when I look back, I realize… after I started reading, the persecution faded out, because I was paying them no attention.
Books are friends.
If you ever find yourself lonely, bullied or outcasted, buy yourself a friend. :D
PS: One last thing, I support you, and I believe in you.