MAUREEN POV.
"Shit!" Maureen yelped as she stubbed her toe on the coffee table. She had spent the previous night asleep on the loft's lumpy, worn couch.
Maureen walked over to the large suitcase that held her belongings. She reached around for some fresh clothes, but instead hit something hard. Intrigued, she reached in, and felt what seemed to be a book. What's a book doing in my stuff? She pulled it out. It was a neat leather bound book. She flipped it open. She immediately recognized Joanne's neat, curvy handwriting. This is Joanne's diary! She pulled it out. Should she read it? No, she knew better than that... But still, Joanne would never know. And what if she wrote something about her? She's bound to have said something about me.
As she mulled ethics and curiosity, she heard "Maureen? Is everything OK out there?" Mark. She really should thank him. Not all of her exes would let her sleep on their couch.
"Everything's fine!" Maureen yelped, slamming the book shut, guiltily. She felt her voice rise.
"Are you sure? I heard you yell." Mark called from the other room.
"Mark, I swear I'm fine!" She said. Well, physically she was fine. Maybe heartbroken.
JOANNE POV
Joanne grudgingly got out of bed. She hadn't slept any the night before. She was so used to having a body next to her that trying to sleep alone left her awake and cold. She had finally given into exhaustion around 3 am.
Joanne made her way into the kitchen carefully stepping around the spilled contents from the table that had fallen the night before. She fixed her own coffee, something she hadn't done since she had started dating Maureen. Maureen had always had the coffee made and was usually wide awake by the time Joanne had gotten up. Maureen was the morning person, something Joanne never understood.
As she waited on the coffee she decided to pick up the mess left from the night before. She returned the knick knacks that Maureen had collected to the table before noticing a pink book that had been shoved under.
Joanne picked up the book, knowing immediately that it was a diary, due to the fact that the word diary was scrawled across the cover.
She opened it, running her fingers over the familiar loopy handwriting. Turning back to the kitchen she noticed that the coffee was ready. She put the book back where she had found it, but it didn't stray far from her thoughts.