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November 2nd, 2007

I have come to the decision to make a movie about my life. Or, you know, one of those books you read and wonder out loud, "Was this person on crack when she wrote this?"

On Monday, I found out Dad is dating some weird pot-head lady who happens to live in La Push. I don't know how they met and what the hell he sees in her, but I know she looks a lot like Renée (we're not allowed to talk about her) and that kind of scares me a little. We were eating breakfast silently and he just blurted that out, like nothing was wrong in what he's doing.

Wanna know what's more surprising? The fact that Emmett already knew. He just forced a smile, shrugged and looked at his cereal again, continuing his emo behavior. If I weren't in that same phase a week ago, I would slap him across the face. Why Rosalie? Why, of all people, Rosalie Hale?

But the issue was never discussed again. Dad seems cautious around me – which I think is hilarious – and never brings the dating thing up. I just hope he doesn't bring her home to meet us. That would be really awkward.

On Tuesday, things were normal. Alice rambled on about this project she wants to be a part of but, unfortunately, I tuned out. I hate that I can't be there for my best friend when she needs me, and I despise the fact that I can turn off on her so easily because of a guy. That's incredibly unfair, and if she knew, she would be mad as hell.

The day was going particularly well when, suddenly, I saw Rosalie coming out of the janitor's closet. I don't need to explain why my day was suddenly ruined, do I? Everyone knows what girls and boys do in the janitor closet or any particularly dark or enclosed space. And everyone must have done it, too.

Well, everyone except me, the Virgin.

You can also guess who came out right after her.

Yes, it was Edward.

And when he grinned at me, beet-red embarrassed, I felt like punching him. But I just blinked and looked away, hoping that my face didn't betray me, because that's one of the things I hate the most about me. I'm an open book, like Renée always said, and I do tend to show everything that I feel. To me, that's awful, not because I can't ever beat Emmett at poker, but because people can play with my feelings however they want.

But in this case, Edward isn't really playing with me, is he? I'm just a person in his ridiculously busy life, and Rosalie is the main character – the one person his whole life revolves around.

I wish I had the guts to confront him and tell him how much I love him and how much I hate him for making me so weak. But that's love, right?

No, it's not.

Love is not that. And even a sixteen year old like me can see that.

Love is candles and roses and loving someone so much it hurts. Love is making it through the hard days by knowing that person will be there by your side. Love is what I feel for Edward and what he can't feel for me.

And I'm tired of this constant state of self-pitying he puts me through, even though he doesn't even realize it. I'm getting more and more frustrated and even Alice can see that. How do I get over this insane crush? Or – even better – how can I make him love me?

And the rest of the week was nothing compared to Monday. I just felt empty and cold, feeling the need to prove myself.

To whom?

As I said before, no one seems to care anymore.

B.S.

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