Diary,
The acceptance of something as broken and defiled as I is a possible feat, but it is not as beautiful as I wished. He looked down on me with his cold and unforgiving eyes as if I were below dirt...and I am. I'm worthless in every sense of the word: I am of no true value, I'm not useful like his servants are, I have no good qualities, and I deserve contempt. How could I have been so stupid as to have offered myself to him? It's almost like I thought I was worth something in his eyes.
He looks at Claude in a different light, though. One can truly tell there is something between them; some force I cannot see with my actual eyes, but my heart's eyes can see it. As if a hazy mist invades the room, rosy in hue and it makes me ache all over with curiosity. Perhaps it is in the way Claude pours his tea in an exceptionally slow manor? Is it in the way he takes longer than normal as he dries him after a bath? Could it be in how he obviously takes Alois and holds him higher than everyone else? Alois only touches me when Claude is around, and I can feel his intense stare on me with every move that takes place.
I don't want to live like this anymore. My stomach aches constantly, my head throbs from all the crying I do behind closed doors, and when I see a knife or anything that could potentially take my life I have to fight the impulse to run off with it. I can't feel anymore; my body is numb to everything and I no longer feel sympathy, anger, pain, happiness, or even loneliness. I don't feel, I don't think, I don't sleep, I don't do anything unless I'm talking to you, and even then it's no more than a pen scribbling on paper. I miss...no never mind. Even the trivial action of writing his name is enough to make me cry for days at a time, and I don't know how to even begin telling you how much of myself he took with him.
I am a useless, broken toy and I need to be taken out with the rest of the rubbish. Claude would be more than happy to oblige...and I certainly do not blame him. I'm no better than the soiled food he takes out after breakfast, and it seems as if I'm only in the way here.
Oh! Alois is calling me back to bed. I couldn't sleep and it's well into the night as I'm writing this, but this is usually the best time to write so that I may hide you where no one else can find you; no one else may know of my secrets. To tell you the truth, you are my only real friend in this bitter situation. I must leave you now.
Goodnight,
Ciel