Dear Die-ary,
Tonight, I had a conversation with one of the girls in the back rooms. Normally, a conversation with these people result in a lot of screaming and incoherent babbles, aside from the one exception (and God rest his soul). This girl was 25 years old, with black hair and brown roots, and red eye shadow. She looked like Wednesday Addams.
I talked to her about nothing, as she was chained to my wall and really had no choice otherwise. We talked about her childhood, her loving parents, her small, barking dog, her stuffed Kermit the Frog toy that she keeps in her car still, things like that. I think there was a minor Stockholm syndrome happening. After an hour, she actually began speaking back to me. I almost forgot that it was some nobody I was actually talking to. Some nobody named Cynthia Cribbs. She wasn't as…horrified after a point. But then she looked up at me and smiled, and I saw a fleeting second of that same contempt she had given me in that little diner we met in, that small corner of her lips that twitched into a horrible little sneer. And so I snapped her neck.
Looking back, I am sure that I imagined that look of disgust.
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Tuesday: Miss home. Yes, I do very muchly. I miss the smell of old wood and rot. I miss the late night food runs. The blue raspberry freezies at 1 am. The sick, horror movies. The creak of old wood. The glass on the floor. The faint whiff of cheap, dusty perfume in the air every time he walked by. The look in his eyes when he's not a murderous rage. His seriously maniacal laughter through the bowels of the house that keep me awake at night. The white noise of a TV playing snow because we never turned that off.
My cat. Squee. My mattress. My hair, my fuckin beautiful blond hair. This entire house is fuckin tainted because nothing here is my own. I only have his sweatshirt, and it still retains that comforting smell of his sickness, I sleep in it every night and pretend Im being miserable on my stupid mattress back home.
Wednesday: Green hair. Its looks so weird on me. Tenna and Dev, they like it, kinda. My tongue ring hurt too much, so I removed it. Im being promised a job at this book place Dev used to work at, like, three years back. This is good news, as money is something I may need…you know…as a necessity. Because life just happens to work that way. Johnny spoiled me so much; I never needed money there.
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Dear Die-ary,
Interesting things. Found some hidden documents on my computer mere seconds before I decided to format the drive and trash the thing. A secret, hidden file deep within the roots of my drive. It was dated all the way from…last year. A good while, actually. Half-entries. I think, she hid them most of all, because they contain…secrets, I guess. Some pretty revealing things. All…about…me. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Nny, Mr. C, my name plastered all over these documents like…like "God" in the bible, though I probably shouldn't compare myself that way.
I think, Im really sure, she forgot about these things by now.
"…Instead, he dropped it and kicked me so hard in the ribs that I got winded. I couldn't catch my breath and could only hold myself and curl up, praying he wouldn't kick again. He cursed some and left the room."
Oh yes. I remember this. I was going to remove her skin and staple it to my wall that night, but I got too tired and, my head was aching as she had kicked the chair out from under me. I nearly broke her ribs because I crashed to the floor.
Saturday: Working at the book store. No time to write, No time to sleep. No time to eat. My god, is this how normal people live?
Tuesday: Bit my nails to the quick, and they hurt, badly. Half considering going home. I must stay here. No, bad Hailey, you're doing this to lead a normal life, damn you.
Cut myself on an x-acto knife opening a box of new arrivals earlier today at the bookstore, and god did it bring back memories. I smeared the blood all over this page, just because I actually began dripping. It wasn't that deep a cut, sheesh.
Monday: Ho hum. The day just gets better. Right now Im contemplating the fact that I have no friends. None at all. Johnny's in fucking sane, Dev and Tenna are…themselves. No one I wanna get close to. Psycho-girl and moody-goth? And I hate my hair.
Sunday: Big things happened.
Two days ago, I was about to leave the bookstore after a particularly horrible shift, when I happened across that kid. Squee. Lost. In the middle of the street, to boot. So I walk up to him, holding his nasty ratty teddy bear, and ask him how the hell he got there.
Im calling social services first thing when im not lazy, because that kid told me right there that his mother took him out and just walked off. So, figuring that Im such a good person, I told him we'd go for a walk back to him house. I piggy backed him after he got tired, not even 10 minutes into our trip.
"So, Todd," I said after he asked me to use his real name, "tell me, how do you know Johnny, exactly?"
"He comes over sometimes," he said into my ear, "but he left for a trip a while back and just stopped coming over so much."
"Oh."
"That's okay. Its good that he's got another friend. He breaks all my windows and gave my dad a concussion."
"…really?"
He stayed quiet for a while, as we walked through downtown.
"How do you know him?" he asked me.
"I dunno. I always have, I think."
"Nuh-uh," he said to me in that defiant way little kids do, "I remember when you moved in."
"Oh…really? I don't."
"You had long hair then. "
"Ug. I remember that. Johnny cut it all off."
"Why?"
I stopped and let traffic pass me by before talking again.
"I dunno. He was in a bad mood, I guess."
"I liked your hair. You were pretty."
I forced a laugh.
"And I'm not pretty now?"
"You look like everyone else now."
So, we walked, I walked, on in silence until we reached the burbs. I was so close, journal, so close to getting him home and me, in my home, and I…realized then that I wanted the excuse to go by my old house. My stupid little piece of crap house.
"This is my house," said Todd a little sadly when we carefully picked our way through the littered street. Johnny's house, my house, stood quietly and casually among the careful lawns and plastic flamingos.
"Um…thank you," he finished, sliding off my back.
"Yeah…see you."
"bye." He disappeared inside and I heard the sound of a dozen locks snapping closed.
And then madness ensued.
