Why Do I Even Bother Novels & Stories

Worst is why am I annoyed that Memo doesn't care to text or call me? I shook my head to take away all my unhealthy thoughts about Memo. I bothered myself by opening the folders and re-reading the inventory this month. And to my surprise, this is the first time I got bored reading these folders. It's already past four in the afternoon and I am still here in my office, I have lost my hope that Memo will text or call me. I feel stupid, why didn't I just get his number? No, the question is why am I acting weird? Why do I seem to be back to being a teenager waiting for his crush to shoot him a message? I hate this feeling. I was in such deep thoughts when suddenly I heard a knock on the door.

Arthur pov Slowly I was beginning to recover from my last fight but I had to really ask for why I was trying this punches and even bothering to fight at all in the first place yes I knew that I had a responsibility to my home and I had to free everybody else here but something told me that if I didn't do that someone else was going to do it anyways it made me feel so worthless and useless and as I lay on that good-looking about the roof working how minimalist and playing the room was I have nothing to distract myself with and I do even more tired and fed up with life sometimes I would know what I want you should be as clear as day and some other times it was blurry but the only thing that ma

I am an outsider, an outcast to this foreign place, alone and homeless. On the way to this point, I several times thought of giving up. Because why am I still alive? For what else? To live a life full of misery is useless. To live with a haunting past is like living in nightmares. So now, the question repeats itself in my mind. Why am I still thriving to live until now? It is the question I always ask myself every time I'm in danger. Because it reminds me of my reasons. And each time I remember the purpose of this life, it gives me the fuel to live.

“That’s why I asked.” I think for a moment, then shrug. “I overthink but then I pretend I don’t. I like both quiet mornings and loud music, that depends on my mood and I’m really good at pretending things don’t bother me.” He nods slowly. “That last one sounded practiced.” “Years of experience.” He smiles, “What do you do when things actually bother you?” I hesitate, then answer honestly. “I distract myself. And sometimes it’s with people.” His eyes soften, like he understands more than he’s letting on. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I get that.”

"Then what were you trying to do?" "Protect myself." "From what?" "From this. From feeling too much." "Why is that so bad?" "Because I don't do this. I don't let people in." "Why not?" "Because everyone leaves eventually." "I'm not everyone." "You don't know that. You can't promise that." "Yes I can." "No. You can't. People always leave. They get bored. Find someone better. Realize I'm not worth the effort." "That's not true."

“Busy, sure. But that’s not what this looks like. You don’t react like this when someone else’s work or a deadline is bothering you. Something else is going on.” I was startled, because he was right. My irritation wasn’t about the spreadsheets or the meetings or anything, it was about Daniel, it was about the images I couldn’t unsee, and the message I couldn’t ignore. I forced a small shrug. “You’re overthinking it. People get distracted sometimes.”

“But I’d like to know more. That feeling doesn’t just go away because you tell it to.” “You could try telling it harder,” I said. He looked at me in a way that was kind and a little confused at the same time. “Why does it bother you?” he asked. The question hit a nerve. I kept my face still and shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me,” I said. “I just think it’s a waste of energy to keep thinking about someone you might never see again.” “It’s not a lot of energy,” he said. “It’s a thought here and there. I’m still eating, sleeping, and working. I haven’t stopped doing things.”

“We’ve come too far to stop now. We’ll finish what we started—no matter what it takes.” --- A Moment of Quiet Resolve Late that night, Ayesha and Arman stood on the balcony, the city lights stretching out before them. “Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it?” Arman asked softly. Ayesha turned to him, her gaze steady. “Every day. And every day, I remind myself that we’re not just fighting for us. We’re fighting for everyone who’s been hurt by people like Patel and Malhotra. That’s worth everything.” He took her hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Then let’s see this through. Together.”

"Just as long as it's not you right?" "Exactly" why do I even bother? "Fine guess I'll fuck every guy I meet" "Have fun" he smiles walking away. FUCK!!! I throw a quick fit when he's gone, every time I give up on there ever being an us I do stupid shit like this to prove to myself he actually doesn't give a shit about me, why do I keep trying?

I dоn’t need іѕ tо ѕреnd аnоthеr mоmеnt оf energy оn ѕоmеоnе whо won’t treat me wеll, but I саn’t hеlр mуѕеlf. Agаіn, I wоndеr аbоut оbѕеѕѕіоn and whу thе tеntасlеѕ rеасh іntо every аѕресt of my lіfе.