Am I Overthinking This Book Novels & Stories

And I'm left wondering, what exactly is in this book and what the hell have I gotten myself into. But it's too late to turn back now.

Sex. Nope, I won't go there. I'm not thinking of that. After moments and moments of reading the same paragraph again and again, I gave up and placed the boom back to where it belongs. I wasn't really paying attention to the storyline of the book, I'm just senselessly reading. I don't even know what the book is all about.

I hope she knows I’m not as brainy in Math as she naturally is. Anyway, in the following minutes, all I’ve done is sigh and yawn in front of the Trigonometry section of the textbook. It feels like nothing is coming into my mind but void and void. The topic isn't that difficult to grasp. I’m just the problem. I kind of lack the appropriate motive to face a book and write essays since Lester dropped me off. His words have been reverberating in my mind, and I can't find a way to block them. I'm aware that it totally is unhealthy, but overthinking is enveloping every corner of my brain, again as usual. As laborious as it sounds, I need to make it fade for good. Or not.

“Vile, manipulative, and covered in fake charm.” I tilted my head. “Did I say anything else?” “No,” she replied, voice quiet. “You just said to trust no one.” “What’s going on Arianna?” Emily whispered, concerned. Great. I rubbed my temple. I should’ve finished the damn book if I knew I was going to get sucked into it. Now I’m living with plot holes and missing pages. Emily raised a brow. “What?” I blinked. “Nothing. Just talking to myself again. I’m fine babes.”

The message creased in its front was short yet sinister for me to even comprehend, "Open only when alone," The words seem to crawl from the page, invading my mind. A chill runs down my spine as I realize this book is far from harmless. Who left this book, and why? As curious as I am, something tells me I should put it back, walk away and forget this ever happened. But my curiosity was piqued and I know no matter what I do, it will win out once more.

Author’s Note Hello, dear readers, I want to apologize to all of you who have reached this point and are reading without fully understanding what’s happening. After spending time rereading the book, I realized there were many repeated pieces of information and that the story wasn’t moving forward—it kept circling the same situations.

“Yeah. Thanks.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. And for the first time, I wondered if I could really trust her. I returned to my computer, trying to focus, but my thoughts were rushing. I shook my head, trying to rid the fog of doubt from my mind. Well, I might just be overthinking again, I told myself, trying to ignore the unease that was eating at me. I should fucking do something about this overthinking problem I might have. I overthink everything!

He asked. "I read the book." She started. "Majority of the readers might not notice it but I did. When I finished it, I feel like something is off– like you know? like something is missing. It has so many plot holes. Many question are left unanswered. You felt that too on your 'Book Of Murder' right?" "Yeah." Eliot admitted. "Maybe that's the reason why I was transfered inside my own book. Because I felt so unsatisfied with my own work."

My thoughts kept drifting, pulling me away from the plot and back to the darker corners of my mind. The book was one of those suspenseful thrillers, full of secrets and betrayals, the kind of story that would normally have me hooked. But every twist on the page only reminded me of the real-life twists that had unfolded recently. Every deceit, every bit of violence written so neatly in these chapters felt uncomfortably close to home.

I glanced in that direction instinctively before leaning back against the couch. “You’re overthinking.” I muttered it under my breath, because I was, I knew I was, but that didn’t make it stop. My mind replayed everything, the way Dylan had stayed. The way he had spoken. The way he hadn’t rushed anything… even when he could have, that mattered, more than I wanted it to. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, pressing my fingers lightly against my temples. “This is exactly how it starts,” I whispered to myself, slow, comfortable, convincing. I had seen it before. Felt it before. And I knew how quickly something like this could turn into something else entirely, something harder to w