A week later?
It's amazing what people are driven to by starvation. I'd probably be driven to devour a rat if I could catch the wretched things. Heaven knows what they eat in these molding walls…
No idea…
Blood stains all over this book. I'm going mad with the hunger. My stomach is screaming. My nails are sharp. I tear, rip, bite my arms, trying to release some of the red substance inside. It's warm and sour, trickling down my chin. This page is hopelessly ruined. I'm so hungry. So terribly hungry… Aro would laugh to see me now. God, how he would laugh!
Sometime in December…
Demetri visited me today. His hair was tousled and wet, and bits of frost stuck to his dark clothing (hence the assumed date). He only had one question for me.
"Is your answer still no?" he asked shortly.
I looked up through bleary eyes. "You're damn right it is."
His lips curled into a sneer. "Very well, then." He left, slamming the door so hard I heard the rats scatter. I was glad to see him go. His eyes were coal-black. Like an empty space on a page. Considering my recent maddened state, I'm not sure it's the best idea for any vampire to see me, anyway.
"Is this what it felt like?" I ask the air, but I'm talking to my parents. Was it quick and sudden? Or did they know the semi was coming, skidding across the road in a violent effort to keep control, while my parents watched in slow-motion?
The pains are quieter now. All I do is sleep. Restless, yet merciful sleep.
Later…
Forgive my kindergarten scrawl. I'm doing my best.
A horrible thing happened today. I woke up to something tickling my shoulder, then screamed when I realized it was a rat's tail. There were two of them, crouching by my arm and licking the swollen cuts. I knocked them back with all the force left in my body. And yet… I must confess I felt pity. They are starving, too.
Have to stop now. This pen is like jelly in my hands.
?
Strange dreams… some terrible, some not. Clouds and hills rolling together, swimming in a myriad of pinks, grays, and indigos. A world without sunlight. Dad holding my hand, buying me my first stick of cotton candy. He laughed when I did, slurping up the airy sugar. Hunger. Pain. I saw Mom's face at one point, only it became my own, sunken beyond recognition. A hand reached out, dripping with wax, and I woke up screaming.
?
I'm so cold. I think Aro found out about the robes, too. My fingers have no feeling, nor does the rest of my body. My chest gasps now and then, haunted by pain, but for the most part I'm silent.
I'm afraid I've failed you, dear diary. I promised I'd hang on—I promised Renata, my parents, and even myself. Am I? I don't know. Could you call this "hanging on?" Could you even call it fighting back? What can we do but fail in our courage when our own body has failed us? Well, I have a secret. I can't do it anymore. I will not fight anymore.
I've lived here for not even a year, and yet I think I've aged more than a lifetime. I've watched everything I hold dear crumble to little shards, lodging their pointy fingers into my body. They are there, not to help me forget, but to make me remember.
They are cruel.
I have watched the supernatural grow out of nothing. I have watched demons—more terrible in life than any religion—seize and demolish the very beauty and sweetness of what is known as human life. I have watched them take my own life, for the mere sake of manipulation.
My arm is shaking. I cut it again last night in an effort to feed, and the loss has made me weaker. I can't even cry for my own sake now, much less for anyone else's. My tears are as dried up as my body.
No… don't stop, Aster. Don't stop… Mom and Dad, if you're listening, I just want to say that I love you, and as corny as it may sound… you are my world. Dead or not, they can't take from me what I hold tight in my heart. You can't rip out a soul. The only way to do that would be damnation, and I have said "no" to them again and again…
I love you, Mom and Dad. I love you, Renata… Marcus. Yes, I even love you, Uncle David, because you suffered a fate similar to mine. I love you, Aunt May; my cousins, friends… I even love this book. I love the blood on it, the tears. Each page is scarred with a different memory. Some are unbearable, but they are MINE. Mine to read. Mine to possess.
"Damn you, Aro!" I cry out. I'm laughing. The tears finally come, falling and healing. "Damn you! You do not own my heart! You will not have my soul!"
Oh, gosh, this feels wonderful. I'm alive, I'm here. I'm still breathing. I love you, Mom. Love you, Dad. My heart is going to burst from love…
Good-night.
