Day 75.
Dear diary,
I hate it that my insides do a little flip-flop and my heart beat exhilarates every time I see him. I mean, this is how I should feel about Charlie, right? Not Desmond. I never planned this. . .this thing – whatever it is – for Desmond. I wouldn't be playing house with Charlie if I did.
What is wrong with me? I've probably got one of the sweetest, most protective guys in creation worshiping at my feet and all I can think of is how the needy-grabbiness repels me. I don't like being clung to. It's stifling. I've always liked room to breath.
I used to search for Charlie in a crowd, and thrill when he would talk to me or walk with me before Aaron was born. Who wouldn't like the attention when they were 9 months pregnant and felt like a beached whale? Charlie made me feel special. I could remember what it was like to see my toes, have a flat stomach, and not waddle from the 35 extra pounds sticking straight out from my belly. It was good to be seen as "Claire" instead of just "That Pregnant Chick."
Now that little thrill that used to run through me for Charlie, transferred to Desmond. I didn't mean for it to happen. It just did. He's haunted. There's a mystery about Desmond. There's a story behind those sad, tragic eyes and I so desperately want him to tell it to me. I've always been attracted to people with "problems." That need to something "fixed." Not that I'm the best one to do the fixing, but I love trying.
We'll see what happens.
Claire