Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
ANTON
The next day, I’m back inside her house, and the first thing that greets me is her floral scent, already working its way into my subconscious. I stop just inside the door, close my eyes, and breathe it in like a blyatski addict.
Tearing myself away from the distraction, I cross to the drawer where she hid the notebook. The moment it’s in my grip, I open it and turn past the first page. The notebook is nearly full, and I read as quickly as I can.
She writes about her family and how, despite the love between them, she has never quite felt like she belongs.
She tries to convince herself that being left out of the things they keep from her doesn’t hurt, but the truth bleeds through every line.
No matter how much they care about her, she still feels like she’s on the outside looking in.
I understand that better than anyone. I’ve always been the outcast in my family too.
Flipping forward, I finally find the last entry, the one I think she wrote last night.
Dear Diary,
Yes, I know it’s ridiculous to be twenty-five and still writing in this thing, but I don’t care. It helps, and I’m not stopping anytime soon.
Ahem. Anyway…I met a guy.
I know, I know. My track record with men is not great. Honestly, I make better choices with animals, which is saying something, but hear me out.
If you met him, you’d understand. He’s cautious and definitely not the kind of man who lets people get close. The walls around him are so high that no one bothers trying to climb them, and maybe that’s why I can’t stop wondering what he’s hiding behind them.
There’s more to him than he allows anyone to see, a part of him that might still be waiting for someone brave enough to keep trying, even if he would never admit it. I want to be the one who shows him he doesn’t have to face everything alone, even though I’m almost certain he’d hate me for it.
God, this sounds insane. He’s not some wounded animal I can fix. I know that. But aren’t we all a little broken in our own way? Don’t we all need someone, even when we pretend we don’t?
Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe I just want to be someone who sees him…and doesn’t walk away.
My eyes stay glued to the page, reading the lines again and again until they start to blur. My fingers snap around the notebook, my breathing turning rough.
She thinks I need her? Thinks she can dissect me and put me back together?
A low, humorless sound escapes me. Thora has no idea what she’s talking about. There’s no saving me. Because there’s nothing worth saving.
I don’t need her. I don’t need anyone. I never have. I close the notebook and shove it back in the drawer, wishing I’d never read a damn word.
As I turn toward the door, ready to leave this place behind, the dirty dishes piled in her sink catch my attention.
My jaw clenches.
Not your problem. Walk away and leave them exactly where they are.
God damn it.
I cross to the sink, turn on the faucet, and scrub the bowl and plate until they’re spotless. After drying them, I return both to the cabinet with the rest of her dishes.
I shouldn’t have touched them. She might realize someone was here. But leaving them wasn’t an option. I can’t look at a mess without cleaning it.
Once I dry my hands, I walk out, determined to forget everything I read in her diary.
But when I’m back on my bike, her words remain lodged in my mind, refusing to let go.