Chapter 26 Daniel-San Would Be Proud of My Skills
Daniel-San Would Be Proud of My Skills
My chest feels light, and the breakdown is like a distant memory. It was yesterday and today, to be honest, I slept all day because I actually stayed up all night with Jake, and we only returned home right before my dad woke up. This relationship might be false, but my dad’s freak-out wouldn’t be.
I’m sitting down on my bed inside my empty childhood room, while Allison snores in our twin bed guest room, next door.
To be honest, everyone’s already asleep.
Dinner was just dining out at the local pizza place.
Then Allison made me spill everything about the date, and I didn’t tell her about my mental breakdown, which I feel bad about because she has tried to talk with me about it.
And things are normal between us. She started an apology, and I just responded I know.
We quickly hugged, and now things are taking their time coming back to normal.
Relationships are hard, whether it’s friendships, family or fake dating.
The question is, how did Jake do that? Lift the worry off me with such ease that it seems so simple to solve.
It felt easier when it wasn’t. That thought appeals to my mind and scares my heart at the same time.
My curious self wants to know how, but my emotional self wants to know why.
Silence, for the first time in my life, lets my thoughts wander through my head peacefully.
I drop against my pillow and rest on my bed, lying on top of the sheets with tiny pink dots against a white canvas.
I wish I could see or hear, or remember something.
Something that could make my thinking even clearer to my eyes.
He took me on a date under the guise of our fake relationship, if that makes sense.
That’s the truth, but what’s also the truth is that his face lit up when I said we were friends, and that little spark shining through his eyes started to evolve into a tiny fire, and for moments only, it seemed that that little fire could be a burning and world-consuming one.
But also, he’s West. How could I even consider that?
I don’t know how these thoughts invaded my head, but the truth is that they can’t get out now.
They’re trapped, and I’m really getting mad about this confusion.
When did it turn distant and sarcastic between us? I have some sort of memory of us being remotely close in our childhood. What if I wrote about him sometime in my life in my childhood diary? I haven’t seen that in years; maybe going through it could clear my head.
It’s not very difficult to reach it since it has never left its original spot.
At the bottom of a box full of toys is the diary I’m now holding in my hands, sitting in my bed.
I open it, and the first page is just warnings.
DON’T READ UNLESS YOU’RE MADELAINE brOWN, written in bright red in capital letters.
I am Madelaine Brown, so I have every right to read it.
FEbrUARY 1
Today, I went shopping with my dad and he bought me ice cream BEFORE dinner. Best. Day. Of. My. Life!!!
FEbrUARY 7
It’s my BIRTHDAY!!! I got books AND a perfume AND CDs AND everyone was there!
I could go on and on about all of the insignificant things I wrote, but we don’t have the time before someone bursts.
I cringe myself into closing it and never looking at it again.
I flip the pages, my fingers tracing the paper and my eyes going through all of the words too quickly.
After an infinite search, I found nothing but hate declarations relating to him.
At this point, our relationship was already different.
Just as I’m about to give up, while I’m shaking the diary angrily, many photos fall from the last page.
I grab them and quickly look through them, astonished that they’re here in the first place.
They all look from the same day, by the outfits and scenarios.
My 5-year-old self is dressed in a white dress.
The second photo is starred by me and- My mom.
My first instinct is to drop the photo. My heart spiked just by looking at her face.
We do look alike, more than I remember. I hate how I also want to keep this photo forever, stare at and wonder what went wrong.
She’s smiling at me, and I’m laughing with my tiny hands around her neck. Tempting right now.
This is the first photo I have seen of her in seven years. I feel my eyes water, and I press it to my chest, feeling guilt over wanting to keep it. So I don’t think about it and do. It will be like my guilty pleasure.
I save it in a locked drawer, and when my eyes go to the pile, I go back to it, determined.
My dad, Emily, Joey, and Jake’s photos have been found.
Our sisters weren’t born yet, apparently.
I run through all of them until I reach the last. My jaw drops, and my cheeks burn.
This image is of Jake and me, happy and not putting each other’s wet fingers in the other’s ear.
It gets better. We’re not just smiling to the camera; in fact, we’re not even aware of it.
I’m posing jokingly and pouting while he is smiling and taking pictures of me with another camera.
An open, wide field full of flowers surrounds us, and that makes me feel my stomach flip.
We look so tiny and so joyful. My heart warms, and my hand goes to my mouth to cover it from being that open.
This picture will be another guilty pleasure that he can never know of.
I can’t even explain the attachment I gained just from finding it.
I don’t know what I would be like if I lost these two photos. My two guilty pleasures.
I hide all of the pictures together, and when I hear movement of someone going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I run downstairs to go do the one thing that could unburden my head successfully.
After grabbing a towel and then a blanket, I lay them and light up a tiny, tiny light. I look over at his house, and his bedroom light is on. I feel a kind of shame for ruining our date. He put effort into it, and I… Cried. Maybe I should repay him.
Let’s just stop this shit show. You want to see him.
I hear a voice in my head laughing, making my heart beat fast with the thought of him being next to me. This is ridiculous. Just forget about it.
I look over, and the light is off. Great.
Now, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t ask him to meet me here.
He’s already asleep. I breathe out. Silence surrounds me for the second time, and I shift uncomfortably.
I don’t like this silence. I don’t like the crickets being the only sound my ears can hear.
Just close your eyes. Yeah, like that could fix your hearing.
I breathe slowly and grab the flashlight I brought with me in a swift motion.
This is good. This silence. It’s nice to change for a bit.
Just keep on believing that…
Why do I feel sad about being alone? I love alone time. It’s so good, but now I’m just nervous for no apparent reason.
I’m in a blind spot that gets zero light coming from my house, so everything is black.
The only thing shining is the stars. The stars…
Look at them. I gaze into the vast sky before my eyes, and that calms me for a bit.
At least until I hear footsteps. I never considered being kidnapped in my own garden, but stranger things have happened…
I can’t see anything, so I don’t know if it’s paranoia or if someone is actually coming towards me.
Just close your eyes, really shut. Real survivor instinct, huh?
The supposed steps come relaxed, its pace amusing.
They start to get even closer, which shuts down the whole idea that someone might have been here for the house and not me.
The steps stop, and I feel someone besides me.
“Hi-”
I don’t let the person finish. My paranoid self hits the flashlight into a member of their body, which I assume is the leg, and right after, I sweep their legs, hearing then a grunt and someone falling harshly onto the ground.
Without thinking, I place myself on top of the person to make sure they stay pinned to the ground, my legs around their torso, and myself sitting on top of the belly.
I turn on the flashlight, ready to punch it in someone’s face, when I realize it’s Jake.
My jaw drops, and I gasp, my hand moving quickly and ending up slapping my mouth.
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry.” I mutter, my heart still recovering from the death scare I just experienced.
You know, my heartbeat going stupidly wild and my stomach hurting is not a very good feeling. But then again, being hit in the leg and swept to the ground must not feel amazing either.
He groans in pain, biting his lip so hard.
“You know Brown,” He starts, his voice hollow and dramatic, “when I make new friends, I don’t usually go around smacking them and pinning them to the ground- God, this hurts.” He whines, closing his eyes.
“Baby…” I deflect, knowing damn well that if it were me, I would be insisting on an ambulance.
“I thought you were asleep!” I whisper-yell in his face, still not believing the strike I just pulled on him.
With the flashlight not quite on his face but allowing me to see his expressions, I observe the lip bite turn into a smirk.
“Been spying on me?” He raises his eyebrows bemusedly, and I roll my eyes.