Wow, what a week. I'm very excited to present to you four new chapters. Please read and review. You guys keep me writing. Special thanks to: Ranirose272; FanfictionFreak3694; GetInMeTomKaulitz; and bluebloodsrockandisthebest. Enjoy!


CHAPTER 29:

"No matter how far I drift
Deep waters won't scare me tonight."

Portishead (Deep Water)


We arrived at Vee's house after ten, closer to eleven o' clock. We made controlled strides up to her bedroom. My body was alive with adrenaline but something in me was dreading the forthcoming event. My morals pulled at me like a noose but my brain was telling me that this was the right thing to do. I needed to know, so badly, what happened during the two weeks that Patch went AWOL.

I pulled the diary from under my top and tossed it on the bed. In the light I could see that it had a turquoise-coloured cover and yellow pages.

Vee closed and locked her bedroom door then eyed the little book voraciously. I looked at her with one question, "Are you sure you want to read it?"

"There's no going back now!" she replied, positively thrilled. "We killed the cow; now we have to make a burger."

"Is that Lady Gaga?"

She nodded, unashamedly. "She was right though!"

She was. Not reading the diary wouldn't make the entire night less of a crime – breaking and entering and stealing were bad enough, we might as well just go for strike three.

But then I thought, how much of Patch's real identity did Marcie really know, if she even knew any bit of it at all? What if she'd written it in her diary? What if Vee found out? Would she hate me for not telling her? It's not my secret to share, Vee!

"Wait," I stopped her after she'd climbed on to the bed. "Whatever we read here doesn't leave this room. It stays between us two."

"Of course. We can't have anyone knowing that we stole the Book of Secrets, least of all Marcie," she agreed, crossing her legs.

"And, Vee," I added, "like I said before, it's probably... mostly... lies, so... whatever's written about me... or you or anybody, is not true." I tried to convince us both.

"Like you said," she retorted, "ninety-nine-percent is bullshit. I'm looking for that one-percent of truth. Besides, we'd know if she was lying about us in here 'cause we know each other's secrets, right?"

I swallowed, "Right."

"Now come on!" she called me on to the bed next to her.

There was no stopping her. She was going to know every piece of gossip that Marcie knew; every secret anybody may have tried to keep private. Behind the dainty and unimpressionable façade of the turquoise cover lay a thousand secret half-truths.