Am I Overthinking This Book Novels & Stories

“You get it when you’re overthinking something, so you're definitely thinking again, completely over.” I laughed it off. “I just told you a whole office scandal, and now I’m the one overthinking?” “Yes,” she said simply, with a tone of finality in her voice. I shook my head, grabbing more popcorn. “You’re imagining things.” I tucked my legs in on the couch. “Am I?” she asked, tilting her head. I avoided her gaze, focusing on the TV instead. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The room was filled with the low hum of the show still playing in the background, characters talking, laughing, interacting, and living out their scripted lives, while I was living a life that felt like it belonged in a

(AMELIA) My mind is heavy and filled with a severe amount of thoughts bubbling in my head concerning Mr Mitchell. I can't even begin to tell or explain the amount of trouble coursing through my system right now. I am restless and extremely inappropriate in my position thinking thoroughly about how I managed to get myself into this mess.

Jeremy might be, in fact, the first person to put Charity there, but her leaving is all based on Ezekiel's approval. I slammed the kitchen cabinet, annoyed about Jeremy's lateness. I made my way to the living room hoping to calm my nerves. Sitting alone in the house with nothing to do makes me stir-crazy. There was no distraction to ease my unresolved guilt and nervousness. My nails began to subconsciously pick at the edge of the book spin in my hand. I have been re-reading the same chapter for what feels like forever. My eyes and brain just won't seem to be corporate today. I know I am reading the words of the book but nothing is translated back-that's frustrating to say the least.

“She didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t judge a book by its cover.” That was always my problem. I thought too much. I read too deeply into things that probably meant nothing. Even so, the uneasy feeling lingered in my chest as I turned and walked down the hallway, repeating the same words to myself, despite my instincts quietly screaming at me to stay alert when I was with her. When I reached Apollo’s floor, that familiar feeling hit me almost instantly. I walked toward my desk outside his office, set my bag down, and glanced around. Without realizing it, I smiled.

I recognize the slightly worn edge on the cover, the way the third page has a tiny tear at the bottom. I stare at it, my brain trying to connect dots that don’t want to be connected. How did this get here? Did Deckard give it to Owen when he was handling my affairs? I shake the thought out of my head. The Newtons are like a bad infection; if I think about them too much, I’ll start seeing symptoms everywhere. I shove the Braille book back onto the shelf, deciding that I’ve had enough memory lane for one morning. I finally settle on a thick, mass-market paperback with a suspiciously shirtless man on the cover...don't judge me, it’s raining...and nestle into the oversized plush armchair by the

Not that far, the grasses and plants are already wilted, as a result of my overkill. After so many hours, I was yet to reveal the contents of the book. It was really spellbound by a completely different and higher form of magic than I could comprehend. It also made me wonder, who was Ameris? I really need to do my research on her, properly. She is the answer, the key to all my problems and difficulties now.

I said while holding the book, I was really shocked at what was happening now, causing me to sit on the couch. My overthinking is really bad because I think it will come true oh maybe it won't. I don't know, I was holding my head while staring at the diary. I don't want to think what I'm thinking now because of my brain. Did Clark k*ll him? Did Clark kill Zak?! "N-no, t-this can't be happening." stammering as if to say, I was about to open the book when I heard a hug coming from above. Quickly put it in the bag and stand up again then close the bag.

"Aww," I threw the book in frustration. What the hell is that? I’ve read the book a lot of times and I am still frustrated with the ending. I don't know why I'm still reading that thing even though I know the ending is the same. Well, it’s my favorite book. Tsk. Nothing. I feel like I'm the protagonist in the story. It seems like we both have a connection so I read it over and over. I also have a lot of questions in my mind like my dreams that I feel have actually happened.

What could possibly go wrong? [A/N: Just to inform my wonderful readers that this book is slowly nearing it's end. I'd like to appreciate every reader who have come this far. It really means a lot to me, knowing that somebody out there enjoys my book enough to be reading past 100 chapters. You are awesome!" ]

She lifts an overarched eyebrow and purses her wrinkled, seventy-something year old lips. I blink a few times, trying to remember if I’d noticed any foreshadowing. I’d read the book the first time as a regualr novel with plans of reading it a second time to watch out for the poetic devices, the foreshadowing and all that nonsense English class requires us to do, but I’d never gotten round to reading it a second time. “Honestly Miss Tartt, I don’t remember any foreshadowing. I don’t think this book was written to be taken apart.”