Chapter 4 #2
As I walked home, I felt a strong urge to reach out to Marco, but what could I possibly say?
I chose not to. When I got in, I found that my mom had left me some pasta in the fridge.
I popped it in the microwave, though I wasn't really hungry, it felt like my stomach was in knots.
Just then, my phone buzzed—it was Jessica.
“Hey!”
“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”
“How was France?”
“Bien, bien.”
“Welcome back! I missed you, Jess. Are you coming today?”
“Absolutely! I can be there in about an hour.”
“Sounds great!”
“Gitchie, gitchie, ya-ya, da-da, bye-bye.”
“Alright, see you later!”
I smiled, putting my phone down. Jessica was the funny one.
With her quick wit and infectious laughter, she had a way of making everyone around her feel at ease.
The same age as me, she was enrolled in a technical college, not out of passion, but simply to fulfill the obligation of attending school.
Her grades weren't great, but somehow, she managed to pass each year.
Her parents didn't have high expectations of her, and she was perfectly fine with that. As she often said, “I might as well work as a waitress my whole life; it doesn't matter to me, as long as I'm happy.”
After tidying up my room and setting out some snacks for later, I heard a knock at the door just as Jessica arrived.
“Salut!” she exclaimed, arms stretched wide as I opened the door.
“Hi! I've missed you!” I said, pulling her into a warm hug.
“Is Emily here yet?” she asked, scanning the room.
“No, not yet. I'm not even sure she'll make it,” I replied, my gaze dropping.
“Why's that?”
“We just had a little disagreement, that's all. I'm sure she'll come around,” I reassured her, though I hoped it was true.
“So, what's been going on?” she asked, a grin spreading across her face. I couldn't help but chuckle. “I wouldn't even know where to begin.”
A phone buzzed; it was Jess’s. “Em just texted. She's not coming,” Jessica said, and I felt a twinge of disappointment, though I couldn't say I was shocked.
I brewed us some green tea, and we settled on my bed. I filled her in on the latest school vandalism incidents, Marco, and the Vipers. She listened intently, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity.
We then dove into some light gossip about our town's escapades, and she excitedly recounted her adventures in Paris and the hot guys she had met. It was so easy to talk to her, and I truly enjoyed her company.
“And guess what? I've got some exciting news!” she grinned, flashing all 32 teeth like she just hit the jackpot.
“What is it?” I asked, eager to know more.
“I'm sort of dating someone, and he's absolutely gorgeous,” she said, rolling her eyes dreamily.
“Really? That's awesome! Who is he?”
“Oh, you wouldn't know him—he's not from around here.
I'm really bummed about you and Marco breaking up, though. I always imagined us going on a double date. Just picture it—two gorgeous guys walking with us!” She closed her eyes, lost in the fantasy.
Just then, I heard the front door open downstairs.
“Sweetheart, I'm home!” my dad called out.
“Hi, Dad!”
“Hello, Mr. Bernardi!”
“Is that Jessica?” he asked, coming up the stairs. Then he knocked before entering the room.
“Great to see you! I chatted with your dad earlier; he mentioned your trip to Paris. Sounds like it was spectacular!” he
said, smiling with his hands tucked in his pockets.
“Magnifique!” Jess chimed, waving her hand enthusiastically.
“Oh, so you picked up some French!” We all laughed together.
“Alright, ladies, I'll leave you to it. I need to figure out something for dinner,” he said, nodding as he headed for the door.
“Wait, is Mom coming home soon?” I asked, puzzled.
“She had to go to Rome for work and will be staying overnight,” he said, hurrying away to avoid any more questions. I didn't follow; I knew I could ask him more during dinner. I turned to Jessica with a worried look.
“Hey, I should probably get going. It's getting late, and you really should help your dad out. I remember he's not the best cook,” she suggested.
“Okay, see you soon then!”
“Definitely.” She leaned down to kiss my forehead, and I walked her to the door.
As I approached the kitchen, I could hear my dad clattering around with pots and pans.
“Do you need a hand?” I asked hesitantly, noticing the sadness in his eyes as he turned to me.
“How about we just order pizza?” he said.
“I'd love that.” He grabbed his phone and placed an order for delivery.
“I'm going to take a quick shower,” he said, rushing upstairs as if he were avoiding a deeper conversation. Meanwhile, I set the table. About 20 minutes later, the delivery guy showed up. I paid him with the money jar we kept for takeout.
“Dad, the pizza's here!” I called out.
“Coming, just a minute!”
As we sat down at the table, I tried to catch his eye, but he was staring down at his plate.
“How are you doing today? How was school?” he asked, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. “I know yesterday wasn't the best day.”
“It was fine. Everyone's already moved on,” I replied. I Lied.
“That's good to hear!”
“Yeah, I suppose.” We both returned to our meals.
“And what about Marco?” he inquired, his tone cautious as if he weren't sure how to approach the subject.
“Well, we're just… taking a break,” I said, hesitating.
“Got it.”
“So, Mom's in Rome. Where's she staying?” I asked, hoping to shift the focus.
“At a hotel,” he answered.
“Why's that?”
“She had a photo shoot at 5 AM and thought it would be easier to stay there,” he explained.
“Got it.” Still, I could sense there was more beneath the surface. “Dad, you know you can talk to me, right? We've always been open with each other.”
“There's nothing to discuss,” he replied, his tone sharper than usual.
“I'm sorry,” I said, feeling a mix of annoyance and concern.
“No, sweetie, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that nothing is settled yet, so there's nothing to say.”
“Settled? What do you mean?” I pressed, eager for clarity.
“Forget it,” he snapped, a tone I'd never heard from him before.
The tension from dinner finally dissipated. Dad brewed himself a cup of coffee while I washed the dishes. I then headed up to my room, leaving him to settle into his preferred spot on the living room sofa.
I turned on the shower, cranking the heat until the water was nearly scalding.
There was something off in my life—at school, with Marco and Em, and even with my parents.
Everything felt like it was in flux, and not for the better.
Perhaps this was the reality of growing up: an influx of issues, heightened drama, lies, and secrets.
There was one more thing I needed to do that day. After shutting off the water, I slipped into my pink bathrobe and wrapped a towel around my damp hair. I made my way to the bookshelf, searching for my jewelry box. Nestled among the necklaces and bracelets, I found a small key.
I then rushed to my white desk by the window and unlocked the last drawer. There lay my diary, its red cover worn from use. I hadn't written down any thoughts in quite some time, usually reserving the pages for when something troubled me or I had secrets too heavy to share.
But that day, I wasn't there to write; I wanted to read something I had written over a month ago. I took a seat at the desk and began flipping through the pages. Written in stark black ink, I found it…
August 10th
I find myself in a place where no location on Earth would feel right.
Nothing brings me the happiness I so deeply crave.
The fleeting moments of joy that once satisfied me are no longer enough.
I yearn for what is just unreachable, and I fantasize about things that are simply not real.
I try to please everybody around me, but it seems I don't know how to please myself.
It feels as though I am trapped within a shell, desperately trying to fight and break free.
Sometimes I want to escape reality and lose myself in the enchanted world of books.
Other times, I dream of being a book—an exquisite narrative that people would adore, treasure, and shed tears over.
If only I could embody a story, I would craft a world that exceeds my highest aspirations, a stunning realm with emotions so profound they could cause an earthquake.
I wish I could love and be loved enough to shift souls with one another.
I wish to find somebody to be my air. Someone who ignites a passion in me that borders on madness.
I wish for somebody who would scream and write my name a thousand times…