March 4th 1976
My entire body is on fire. There's a strange heat in the pit of my belly, burning lower and lower until it begins to tingle. I tightly shut my legs and try to squeeze it away, but it never stops throbbing.
That man is much older than me. He's even older than my father. I know it's disgusting and it feels so wrong, yet it leaves me with a strange quiver of adrenaline. I feel drawn to him. Even as I'm writing this my palms are moist and my throat is dry.
His voice is harsh like gravel, erecting goosebumps on my skin. Whenever he is near, I can feel a shock of electricity igniting my soul. I splash cold water on my face, though it does little to ease my rising temperature.
He's not married, or if he is, then he chooses not to wear his ring. I noticed this when he nursed my burn. At first it didn't really concern me, but now that I think about it, I'm kind of glad. I'm not sure why, but it fills me with a sense of relief.
His handkerchief is still in my possession. I forgot about it until just now, but I really must wash it when I get the chance. Not here though, where mom can find it. She'll ask too many questions. Pry into my business. I don't want that.
Will he be mad?
I said it wouldn't stain, but it probably will. It is coffee, afterall. Silk is expensive, and I don't have the money to replace it. But he gave it to me, so surely he knew what would happen? Regardless, I'll wash it with the rest of the laundry tomorrow.
There are days when I still yearn for my past. Singing, dancing, performing on stage. Not a moment goes by when I don't ponder what could have been. Yet I am also happy to receive the opportunity that has arisen.
I'm young, but I'm not stupid. I've studied hard for this, I deserve a chance to prove what I can do. Maybe now I'll be able to help those people. Wrap bandages and clean cuts. Stitch wounds and sooth burns. Real help, not simply providing them with food and medication.
When I told mom about the job, she was overjoyed. She couldn't stop talking about it. Anybody who saw her would have thought she was the one getting promoted.
It's ironic, really. Despite craving her attention, I felt strangely empty upon receiving it. A hollow victory, that's all. She praises me when I do well, but I rarely ever accomplish the impossible standards she sets for me.
This is the first time in weeks that I've done something she's proud of. If it weren't for her, I could have been elsewhere right now. I could have gone to university with the rest of my friends. I wouldn't feel this crippling loneliness creeping up on me.
I'd be free.