A/N: All the Things She Said by t.A.T.u

Monday 6:34 PM

5th of November, 2012: First Entry

I held a wine glass in my right hand; a cigarette in my left. My sister knows I drink when stressed and smoke when nothing can destroy the pile of issues clouding my mind. What she doesn't know is that no amount of words can change my ways. Yet she tries and she nags and I want to tell her to fuck off—but I can't.

It wasn't my mother's fault. He made her drink. The man I refuse to call Father ruined Maman's life and abandoned us without a consequence. Every night, sobs echoed throughout the empty apartment, shaking my young soul until tears covered my face as well; I don't know what truly happened, but her pain was clear.

When Papa adopted us, he told me what happened to my real parents the same way adults tell kids the dog will never wake up again. He said having a baby had worn her out so much she left Earth and asked God for a break. Maman died of childbirth. Papa said Maman was an angel and God promised her rest if she took care of tasks that would keep her from home for eternity. I believed it for a while. Bailee still does.

"Why is Bailee weird?" I'd ask Papa. I found it strange how she slurred her words while speaking; how her body tumbled like a palm tree swaying in the wind. Maman's "lifestyle" caused Bailee brain damage.

"Her brain is sick," he explained, "Don't bother her about it. She can't help it." It didn't take long to understand her habits, even though I've started to hate the "you have to be gentle with her when you speak" rule. She isn't a child anymore. She can handle it. Yet I can't bring myself to raise my voice; to shove her away. I have to remind myself that she's not doing it on purpose.

"Francis," Bailee called from the door, "Come back inside." She spoke with a smile on her face, slurring her words a bit. Nodding, I told her I'll go in a minute. My cigarette had gotten pretty short, anyway. I flicked it to the ground with a sigh, ground my shoe on it, and walked inside. Then, I sauntered across the living room to sit next to Bailee who watched TV.

"What did you do today?" I asked genuinely. I do care for her after all.

She faced me, thin-framed glasses delicately placed on her nose as she pulled a thoughtful expression. "I watched TV, walked Belle- she was funny today. She didn't like the sun. I went to see babies with Henry, and now I watch TV again."

"Babies?"

"Yeah, Henry wants a baby." Bailee smiled. "He said we can't have a bilolical one, so we had to look for some at the baby shop."

I laughed and corrected her, "Biological. And it's called an orphanage." She didn't mind that I laughed, waving it off with a light-hearted scoff.

"Yeah, that."

"A baby," I thought out loud, "Sounds like a hassle." A grin sneaked its way onto my face, making it clear that I was only joking. At least I wanted her to believe I was. Having a baby with a man she has yet to move in with? Bailee, you're smarter than that. Even if it weren't a problem, Bailee can't take care of a baby all by herself, and I'm not sure I want Henry to raise a child. He only cares about work and Bailee's hospital bills getting paid. Not loving at all.

I sighed in my head, feeling like a jerk. He's not bad for being too stoic. Bailee explained that he's afraid of vulnerability, which is silly because Bailee is the complete opposite. Still, he's not the parent type, and I don't want to be responsible for my sister and her child. A sigh escaped me again as I realized my opinion didn't matter.

"You're a hassle!" Bailee laughed.

"Of course I am!" I scoffed a few times, each one sounding more dramatic. "Who the hell thinks otherwise?"

She giggled. "Oh, dummy! No one thinks otherwise!" I smiled at the way she played along, used to my dramatic outbursts.

"Did you choose a baby?"

"Hmm, there was one that I liked a lot. He was blond and had blue-er, yeah, blue! Blue eyes and blond hair. He was super tiny, too," Bailee recalled, scrunching her nose in frustration. Her memory isn't the best.

"That's nice." I smiled. "Does he have a name?"

"Matthew. Sounds like math, but when you sneeze," Bailee commented nonchalantly, "The lady said he was too small and sick to buy now, so she will text us-oh, well, you- when he's all good again."

You gave my number to a stranger again? I almost let out a sigh, but caught myself, silencing it with a sip of wine. "How old is he?" I asked after a moment.

"Um, less than one."

"I see."

Soon, the only sound in the room came from the TV. Cartoons. We are big fans of Spongebob Squarepants, even though Bailee can't understand most of the jokes. It's nice to watch TV as a family, but our bond is weakening and I find myself growing distant. I need more time for myself—to think, to figure out my next step will be. There's no time to waste, and I need her to understand that.

"Bailee," I called for her, "I have to tell you something about me. About why I've been acting different." She tore her eyes from the screen.

"I don't know what my path in life is. I don't like being a cashier and I can't stand the people I work with. They're so boring and don't understand my sense of humor. I don't even think I've ever seen them smile! They're really judgemental too, I can see it in their eyes when they look at me. I want to quit but I'm not sure if I should. And that's not all of it." I wanted to feel the satisfying sensation of light shoulders, but they still ached under tons of weight. Bailee watched me as my words seeped into her brain. I made sure to speak slowly.

"I'm lonely," I continued, "In a romantic way. I've tried to be in a relationship for at least three months, but it never works out. London doesn't have the best guys, it seems. Though, I guess that's what I get for finding guys at bars and clubs. They're just looking for sex, alcohol, and drugs. I don't want that. I want to be loved. I want to get married. And to know that I will never have that makes me sad."

Bailee frowned. "Don't be sad, Frankie. I can help you get a boyfriend!"

I might've sighed in my head again.

"I know what will help," she continued, "Online dating! You can meet guys out of London, and not in bars and clubs!"

I had to smile. "That's a great idea, Bailee. Will you help me create a profile?"

She nodded with excitement and leaped off the couch to go look for her laptop. I gasped, expecting her to fall on her face from the leap, but she was fine. Even if she did fall, she would've laughed it off. Her laptop sat on the coffee table, the bright pink stickers on it reminded me of my little sister's energy. For someone with heart problems, she likes to move around a lot.

"What website?" Bailee asked, seeming to be talking to herself as she chewed on her manicured nails, "Maybe match .com!"

"Can't I just download Tinder on my phone?"

"But I wanna see what happens! I don't want you talking to creeps."

I blinked once, unsure if that was a good idea, but I nodded anyway. "Okay, it is." Is this her way of protecting me? My chest felt warm and I was flattered, but what if someone tries to sext me? Is she just gonna watch? I shivered at the thought. Gross.

Bailee typed in the URL with one finger, lifting her face up after pressing each key to check if the letter was there. I sighed out loud and crossed my arms. Clicking my tongue, I taunted her, "Looks like someone needs typing lessons."

My sister laughed, finally pressing on the M key to finish off. "A waste of time! You know I will never learn; my hands are bastards!" A giggle escaped my lips. Bailee hit the Enter button and smiled at the blue link that popped up, "Here it is!" She clicked on it, and the login screen showed up immediately.

"View Singles" showed up on the screen. Bailee pushed the laptop in front of me, asking me to take over. Now came the fun part.

"Specific age?" Bailee read. Would I be okay with dating a fifty-year-old man who's probably going to die before I reach my 40s? Absolutely not. Imagine how boring sex would be. I need a man with energy. Would I be okay with an immature eighteen-year-old boy with a video game addiction? Fuck no. He'll ask me to suck him off while he plays video games. So boring and tasteless!

Nodding to her question, I considered my options, "Hmm, I'll set it from twenty to… thirty. I can't be too picky." That made her giggle.

"Don't forget you're almost thirty!"

I gasped dramatically. "How dare you say such a thing! I obviously just turned eighteen! Can't you tell by my lack of wrinkles and grey hairs?"

"Thirty isn't that old!" Bailee laughed. I moved on to the next step: height. My man has to be taller than me. If he's my height but really hot and sweet, then I might make an exception. I set it from 5 '9, my height, to 6'10. Once I set up my preferences, it was time to create my bio. After that, I clicked on the arrow below to continue and saw that I already had matches.

"What the hell?"

"Oof, maybe they're desperate," my sister suggested. I smiled, thinking: I am too.

Once my profile was set up, I started "liking" people, hoping they would "like" me back. I wondered if the process would've been easier on Tinder and considered making one behind my sister's back. Later, I decided. I was surprised when men started sending me messages, though they were dry and simple "Hello"s. Better than nothing. I messaged a few of them back and they seemed nice enough. Others were rude and said I looked like a woman. They mentioned several transphobic slurs as well. It was confusing and infuriating. None of the men I've been with thought my femininity was a problem. Or, at least, that's what I think.

Nate: why is ur hair like tht

Me: Because I like it long?

Nate: u look like a grl

Me: I can assure you that I am not a girl

Nate: then ur a trap

Me: No. I just look feminine.

Nate: i don date gender confused traps srry

Okay, he didn't say trap. I can't make myself write what he did say. Bailee made me block him immediately.

Others were creepy. The first thing they mentioned was my femininity and treated it like a fetish.

Terrence: is the rest of u as prett y asyour face

Me: Oh I wouldn't want to sound too narcissistic lol

Terrence: ibet u have abig ass and nice thigghs

Me: I can't tell whether that's a compliment or not

Terrence: and a tihgt,, smooth boy psusy

Me: Excuse me?

Terrence: jusstf thunking qbout it makes me hortny

Bailee made me block that guy too.

Some just asked for nudes. Or sent them. I didn't mind staring at dicks, but it would've been nicer if my sister wasn't looking as well.

"Ew, what the heck!" my sister shrieked once it showed up on the screen. I grimaced.

I love my sister, but her idea isn't working.

Monday 8:56 PM

5th of November, 2012

My therapist said I should write my feelings down whenever I can. She said it helps. I don't know if I believe that yet, but I don't want to disappoint her.

But I'm not whining about my feelings like a dumb teenager. No "dear diary, I am very sad" shit. This thing I'm doing right now will stay on this page and only this page.

I would hate for someone to find this journal in the future and see nothing but pages covered in pathetic cries for help. I want them to know my story.