Priest and his Anarchist

Dear Diary

To

U gh. I have no idea who I am supposed to address this to. Maybe I should have asked Mom when I saw her. Pretend she’s maternal. It isn’t her fault. She is insane. I wish I was joking…

The tip of my pen taps against the desk. If only didn’t sound so…. So….

Basic.

A loud scream pierces my ears, and I stab the point of the pen into the paper. “Someone tell her to shut the fuck up. I can’t think.” The pen continues its strum. These desks need to be painted. Or sanded. Or something. They have names and numbers carved over them.

Oh! I know! No. I can’t.

Fuck.

This room is basic. With colorless walls, beige bedding, brown artwork, and a single bed.

I pause, pushing myself to my feet. My legs weaken as I try to straighten, but the pain in my back aches the longer I do. I fucking hate this.

There is nothing more to say. I hate everyone, blah blah blah—nothing new. Why do so many people assume that I was going to be like her. Sweet, innocent, cute, innocent. She got everyone’s attention like that.

She got his attention like that. I’ll never have that. And I’m fucking glad.

My mouth curves up in a smirk. “Oh, Darling. How fucking wrong you are…” Laughter leaves me in waves, and every second that passes is like a weight lifted.

But I like them there. I like the heaviness of my feet every morning. I love the way my sins feel like burdens, shackling me to him like a pet.

My smile disappears as I dance my way back to the desk that sits against the window. I have a window. That’s something….

The pen is back between my fingers, beating against the desk. Stupid fucking desk. With the posture of a dancer, I was a ballet girl’s obsession. That never changes. No matter where I end up.

The strands of my hair fall over my shoulder as I press the pen into the page.

Greetings, Darlings.

In honor of yours truly, I’m going to start this off by saying that every person in this place can get fucked.

There we go, Mother. That’s what you wanted to hear, right?

Ha. Probably not. I don’t think that’s what anyone wants to hear. Guess what I did today? Now let me see. If I go back to the first time I woke here, I’d say I don’t know. Because I don’t. Because every day I wake up, I open my curtains, admire the ocean, the sky, the endless water that I imagine falls off onto the end of the world—and before you ask, why yes of course the earth is flat—what are you? Fucking blind.

Where was I…yes. Admiring. Every morning I wake, and I admire the scenery around me. I remember that I am alive, and I am thankful, and if it wasn’t…

Hmmmm.

The pen taps harder. Do I want to travel down the road of bliss, or do I want some razzle dazzle?

Electricity surges around me and I bend my head to look up at the bulb hanging above. “Cheap bastard.”

I scrub out everything I entered, feeling a familiar touch of heat surge through me.

Greetings, Darlings.

I know what you’re thinking… oh fuck. The bitch has actually picked up a pen and started to write something…You know, when people said I needed therapy, I wish they meant shock.

Where was I?

Shock therapy. A girl could hope, right? I mean not to be obvious, but I wouldn’t refuse a good pinning down….

Forgive my rudeness—actually, no—fuck you and you can choke on it.

The word for today is Revenge. You wanna know why? Well. I’m sure I’ll paint you a colorful enough picture. You see… it all started when I was a little girl. I just wanted to be happy, but she stole my life from me. She took it all. My family, my fucking world…

And him.

I didn’t even want him! But she took him. She didn’t care.

Would I live to finish this entry? Maybe not. We’ll soon find out.

, there was a boy, but there was also a girl.

I reread over the words. “Isn’t there always a boy?” My chest erupts with laughter.

The girl wasn’t what was important. I’d bury her at the bottom of a fucking stack of ribbons if I never had to see another one again.

She

Wasn’t

Important.

He was. Now, it all started with a boy. But he didn’t like me. He liked her. Wanna know how I know that? Bet you’re reading this and wondering how I fucking know that, right, Priest? I know because you never looked at me the way you looked at her.

Wanna know how I also know that? Mmmhmm…since you thought your precious Madness was saved and safe, tucked away for you to polish as you want.

Does she know about me?

I sure know about her.

So, wanna know how I know that you never looked at me same way you did her?

Because. I. Know.

I can see you now, reading this entry either in the Watch Tower (but let’s face it, you can’t risk it there), in the car showroom of your ridiculous Gothic mansion, or—well…there. You’re intrigued, aren’t you? Ha…ha…I love this. Well would you look at that, someone has caught Priest Hayes’s tongue and guess what, Darling? I promise not to bite hard. It’d be a shame for you to lose it, since you sure know how to use it…

Think, Priest.

How would I know…

Well, I guess it’s time for me to take you back to the beginning, so the middle makes sense…. It all started when…

A shrill of goose bumps move down my spine at the first snap of cool metal that sails down the nape of my neck and ending at my spine. The same smirk I wore moments before is wider now. “Morning, Darling. I’m rather busy. Unless you wanna play with me. Do you wanna play with me?”

He shifts my hair out of the way with the barrel of his gun, revealing the skin on my back. “Depends.” Butterflies in my belly take flight as the metal continues its travels down my vertebrae. “Will you fucking listen this time?”

I move away from him, rolling my eyes. “You could at least pretend that you’re interested in me.”

“Why the fuck do you care?” he answers flatly.

Agitation simmers to the surface when he doesn’t move back into me. My teeth clench. “Because I don’t like losing.”

He chuckles. “We haven’t even fucking played yet.”

My pen starts beating the desk again. “I’ll never be her.”

The tension in the air tightens, as does the grip I have on the pen. I’ve never brought up her name. I’ve never told him how it feels to be with a man who will always love another woman. Another girl. Woman, girl? What the fuck is she even?

Oh. I know what she is…

“No. You won’t. Get her out of your fucking head.”

“Lun—” My scalp burns when he buries his hand in my hair, yanking my head back until I’m looking up at him from behind. Even at this angle, he’s beautiful. So fucking beautiful. A dark prince with demons so rogue that not even love could save him.

The muscles in his jaw tighten. “Say her name, and the next thing to leave these lips, will be your last breath.”

He shoves me away, the prickling of his rage still burning my scalp.

Without waiting for him to disappear, I press the pen to paper.

,

Luna Nox Hayes is dead. Wanna know how I know?

Because it was me who killed her.