It's officially the dawn of another day…number two. My body shook awake from a nightmare. That's the least of my bottomless dilemmas. I've awoken from them since the first day a client scraped his putrid fingers along by body. On the bright side, it's fucking snowing! They day's fresh, one problem…many more to go.

My stomach growls, vibrating against my hand, "Where's the food?" I whine, quietly. I highly doubt I'll be out anytime soon, especially after that wonderful integrated lunch yesterday.

"I am hungry," I sing as I mush my face on the door window while knocking a beat, hoping that the nurses or my morning attendee will hear and not turn a blind eye.

"Soto," come my favorite monotonous voice from down the hall, "are you asking for yet another sedative?"

Considering she's an older woman and a distance away, I shout, "No but you could put on a sexy maid's outfit, a lovely tone of voice, and a plate of food."

Nancy drags closer, in my line of vision, apparently checking patients and what not, "This isn't a five star hotel. I am not humored by you. We follow rules and regulations and one of the clearly doesn't permit food in the rooms for sanitary purposes," she scribbles some more and walks back from where she came from, "Read, sleep… just don't kill yourself. I am on my second shit and definitely won't appreciate a hang up."

Oh the audacity! What runs through this chick's head? Am I in this starvation camp because I'm a bulimia case? My temper has flared, "Come back! If I thought of this shithole as a goddamn five star stay I'd gone through half of the hotel staff by now!" my shouting tones out her footsteps, "Bitch come back!" seeing as she's off, punch the door, "Bitch!" I growl. I've no intention on offing myself but my stomach is contemplating.

Sliding down the door, I crawl over to my notebooks. Figuring out more about this "Punk" character will quench my thirst for curiosity and distract my hunger, "November ninety-seven?" I guess I'll be hopping back a couple of months.

ΔΔΔΔ

September 12th, 1997

Happy Belated Birthday, Micks!

Skipping the meaningless school drama, Pops let me off the hook and even shoved me out the crib so I could celebrate the big day with my girls. It was Micks' big one-five!

For the special occasion I determined that I would tone it down so Micks would outshine everybody, it was her day after all. I donned my brand new flannel shirt, wife beater, stonewashed jeans, and scuffed Doc Marten's that my lovely Tio gave me for my birthday. I trust that I didn't come off as some type of floozy. I guess I've finally figured out why those ghetto ass girls at school detest me: I don't follow their norms of assimilating myself with their streetwalker chic or their incomprehensible ghetto dialect. Plus, it doesn't help that I'm more developed than most freshmen these days; it doesn't do me any good just gets me lusty, unwanted leers.

Regardless, Elle cruised into the driveway with her daddy's shitty ass whip. Her plan actually followed through. It felt pretty badass riding, unrestricted by seatbelts, blasting jams with my chicks: Micks, Dez, Piper, and Natalie –who really is more of an acquaintance- I would've shoved Fan our way but she's a buzzkill these days.

Mokena, apparently, was the place to be. The Brooks' brothers, who aren't ever around, were putting on a show with some of their guys. They're kind of a big thing out here. I would've been a fan but I've never once been to an indie wrestling show – except when it's on my TV. Micks also added Mike's presence and I was down for the count – he's a heartthrob.

We figured it was early so we detoured in a comfy Mom and Pop's pancake house. God will surely forgive but my thighs won't. The girls pitched in for my sorbet 'cus I'm broker than a joker – they're the best. We ended up making a thirty minute trip an hour power drive all because we couldn't hold off our gossip.

Moving on, we got to the big picture and it was swamped! Security oozed out of every entrance and was on the verge of not letting us in – all minors except Elle – but thanks to Elle's quick wit – showing her tits – we passed through without further hassle. The place was unhinged. Dim lights skirted around the outlines while obnoxiously bright spotlights illuminated the ring. It was a male dominated hotspot: they took over pool tables, crowded the bar, and cheered or jeered on the current combatants. The inescapable scent of cigarette smoke and beer permeated the air. Tone down the noise and it was a rather chill environment.

As we crowded a table, I spot a group of hoochies from school hopping all over a shirtless Mike's dick. The sight made me pull the girls out of their chairs and towards the ring to check out all the commotion. Our height played out in our favor; we were able to weasel through bodies and be up close.

Inside the ring was a bleached blonde dude, probably in Elle's age range, going up against a meaty brunette. It was a bit disheartening 'cus Blondie seriously looked outmatched! Visualize a jackrabbit being put in a chokehold by a brown bear. By the end though, I was rooting for Blondie. What can I say; I have a thing for underdogs – especially cute ones. Plus, he was pretty agile and charismatic. Micks and the posse seemed amused by my enthusiasm – they should check out Mondays with Pops, Uncle V, and me. The climax of the match came around when Grizzly low-blowed Blondie. Grimaces filled the crown as men tingled and groped their family jewels. The girls and I decided to bounce while Elle and Micks hung around to play groupie.

Grown men dropped by offering unsolicited drinks and lusty leers sprucing up our game of pool. Banter and laughter ensued until I caught wind of a certain bleach blonde with his arms around both Brooks' sisters. My heart almost went into cardiac arrest, but I feigned being absorbed into our game while keeping an eyeball fixated on Blondie. He was a mighty fine piece of ass – for my standards – I dug his tats which weren't generic but odd: a Pepsi logo on his shoulder, a cobra on the other, and "Straight Edge" semi-circled around his lean stomach. As they crept closer, I lost myself in those eyes…beautiful. They had a certain resemblance, the bunch.

"I hope that blow didn't make you sterile, kid," sniggered Elle and her younger sister barely contained her own laughter.

The tattooed guy shot them both a scornful glare, "I'll make sure to test that on Natalie tonight, sickos," he replied, sending a suggestive wink over to Natalie. Dez and Piper giggled at Natalie's expense. The poor girl just bowed her head in embarrassment. The sisters gagged and I woah'd.

"Phillip Jack, your disgusting," muttered Micks, "You too, Natalie, I see you!"

Elle nodded in agreement, "Little bro, you're far too expressive for your own good."

He was unrecognizable. It had been years since I saw Phil or Punk as he liked to be called. He and Mike rarely ever came home during the hours I'd visit or they'd be engaged in training or knocked out. Their parent knew how to do it, no doubt about that.

Punk blew them a raspberry and dismissed their comments as she went over to greet us and sling an arm around Nat, "Ey, I don't throw you shit about anything," he directed a finger a Elle, "and you've got quite a record, Eleanor Elizabeth."

"Bitch!" grunted said sister before she started on her manhunt.

Punk took off, "No quite!" he shouted as he laughed, even that was endearing. One thing led to another and I put myself, unbeknownst, in his way. His body collided with mine causing be to topple over…well almost, he caught me. There I was, eyes shut tight expecting a concussion. I opened my eyes when nothing happened and saw his greenish-brownish-goldish eyes and died, internally, "I am so sorry."

"Uh ye…yeah. Okay," I stuttered out. Thinking back on it, I feel like a fucking ass hat.

That stare he gave me was time stopping, not even exaggerating. His sweaty arms were still connected to my body. It was…I can't put my finger on it. All that starts has to end, somebody beckoned for him, "I…uh…I have to go. Again, I'm sorry. I…I'll see you…?"

"Marleene."

He acknowledged me once more before planting a kiss on Nat and whispering something in her ear; his sisters hugged him and wished him well.

My poor ears didn't hear the end of their fucking jokes, quips, and laughter. All was shits and giggles save for a sour-faced Nat that announced her moving away later on – it sunk our happy ship. We stuck around for Punk's match though. I don't wanna be conceited but…he'd glance my way every chance he got. Yeah, I consider myself a special bitch. How he went undetected beats me.

I'm off 'cus I'm about to pass the fuck out!

-Marleene

November 3rd, 1997

Boys, they really do have a way of getting my panties in a bunch. Some are just overgrown children, with their antics and shit. If I were miraculously to turn into a lesbian, I'd be thankful – I'd get to avoid these problems. Yeah, boys push my buttons. Especially those Neanderthals who put try to put dibs on you. Last time I checked, women were out of suffrage years ago – we're free to do as we please.

Who am I complaining about? Simple, Alfredo Reinosa aka the guy who I specifically proposed a "friends with benefits" agreement to. I thought I made it was sublime. I mean, these days I rather have a cordless phone than deal with the constrictiveness of landlines. Since I'm ranting, I was wrong, oh so wrong. With Fredo, you give a guy a side glance and you're already being slick. I thought guys liked that un-clingy shit!

Today while waiting for Fredo's laggin' ass by the benches downstairs, Punk dropped by. Well, he saw me and stuck around since he was waiting on Micks, he had the car. We just started off with small talk and gravitated to his birthday bash last Saturday and how bomb it was – the sisters planned it out for him and threw it down in Mokena. Why lie, he could've talked about apple and I'd be fully interested. He's an attractive guy and has a way of expressing himself. Punk's different. Different in the way he enjoys his free time: instead of get drunk out of his shit, he wrestles or goes to those punk/rock concerts, wrestles, and buries himself in games and comics. He walks to the beat of his drum – categorizes himself as a Straight Edge: he'll forever be a virgin to the bottle and methamphetamine. Punk's a breath of fresh air. It's nice to have somebody of the opposite gender willing to kick rocks with you without necessarily wanting your goodies. He's a cool cat.

Here's me pretending that nobody will ever read this: I like the guy. Far more than physical but lesser than love. We've chatted up a couple of nights since his sisters drag me along for his show. Safe to say we've hit it off. I get his asshole charm and humor and can follow along with his discussions. He digs my artistic side, book worminess, and enthusiasm for the sport he loves. Love at first sight is a bowl of shit but whatever I feel comes close; call it "Attraction at first sight". Thing is, he doesn't bring out the awkward in me; usually it comes out around people I barely know.

Leaning back to the story: we're just giggling and fucking around when my FWB rolls through giving me a nasty glare like I've killed his dog or something. Within seconds his arms are around me and lips sucking my face off. It was em-ba-rra-sing. He was groping me while Punk lingered pretending like nothing was going on! Being the dignified girl I am, I pushed him off and muttered that he should hold it off for later. The dude came off all intense about it asking what I was trying to hide and the whole fuck…like really? We're just messing around; I'm not your girlfriend…really?

Things go from A to motherfuckin' Z in a second. He had the nerve to push me and go off on me. The scene itself raked in students and faculty that were trying to get out and home and they stopped to watch some bastard belittle the girl who specified him as a friend with certain benefits! Things catalyzed once the word "cunt" spilled out his mouth. Unbelievable.

Call me the whole alphabet in cuss words but "cunt"? He kisses his grandmamma with that mouth? It shot me up through the roof, Punk got riled up as well. I felt disgusted at the fact that Fredo was going Verbal Rambo on me while Punk was witnessing. Punk spoke up though, he told Rambo to cool it because he was disrespecting a woman. Alfredo laughed…cackled. He responded all hurr-durr about it, said that Punk needed to mind his own business. And I'm just there, the catalyst, standing hoping that they calm down. Punk grabbed Fredo from the collar and told him off before somebody's face met his foot. Micks arrived in time to both ask and drag Punk away from the scene – he towed me along.

My inner-girly girl is still shrieking. He fucking defended my honor. Give him some armor and a while horse, please! He's single. Natalie moved just in time but its taboo to try anything on him: bestie's don't fool around with bestie's brothers.

-Marleene

December 31st, 1997

I really wish this cheap ass notebook came with a recording device: my shriek is Oscar-worthy. Today has probably been the best day ever, in a while.

Being that it's the end of the year, Micks and I always get together at some grub place to have ourselves a mini-celebration before we go home to our families and actually welcome in the new year. So, this year, Micks invited Elle and her man, Fannie and her fling, and me. I felt like a black sheep, a fucking seventh wheel, I forgot to mention my boy, Wesley, who's been with Micks for some time now. Last minute, Punk decided to roll through which induced me with happiness – I even happy-danced, in my mind. My growing crush on him has me acting all weird, fuck.

Wesley suggested we do our little gathering somewhere familiar, Charlie's. As we trudged through Winter Wonderland, we had no ride, Punk took the liberty of putting an arm around me. My coat couldn't protect me against the goosebumps that rose. I felt warmth and safe. You wouldn't expect that from a guy who dons dude-line, dyed hair, and goes by the alias "Punk". The frigid temperature saved me from ridicule as it covered my blush.

When the clan finally arrived, Punk held the door open for me. How fucking chivalrous. We chose a booth and squished together on the end and thus began our feast and light conversation. Everybody had entered their own chatter, while I contemplated what to even say. The waitress swung by all merry and took our orders. Punk seemed impressed by my not holding back with my order and there's where we began. Conversation flowed seamlessly. We blended in as almost a couple. It was a swell dinner.

Afterwards, we all decided to host a snowball fight. Girls against boys. Punk and I had each other on lock. We chased each other like hunters, looking absolutely ridiculous. My dumbass tripped and Punk crashed down atop of me, sucking all the air from my lungs. He got on his elbows and our lips almost touched, give it a centimeter apart. I laughed at his bashful expression and dunk his head into the snow and rocketed off.

Everyone split, well went to the Brooks' household. They don't have family around and Elle's man and Wesley were invited to spend it with them; Punk strayed away to walk me home, not that I asked but he mentioned how late it was getting. Ice cubes and all, we trudged home. Along the way, his hand subsequently took mine. It felt like a scene from one of those over-the-top, cheesy, teen flicks but it was sweet nonetheless. We stalled as we reached the front of my house. I told him how fucking awesome the day'd been and kept rambling. Out the blue, he kissed me. The heat went bone-deep. When we lifted for a breather, he mentioned something about getting together more often. Brain-dead from the effects of his skillful lips, I just stood there. He chuckled and nudged me homeward bound. Once I got to my porch I looked over my shoulder to see that he was still there…waiting. He's precious.

Inside the house, Caro heckled me relentlessly; the little bitch has observed the whole damned thing. Fannie snitched though, fucking bitch. Dad felt the parental obligation to introduce me to what we know as "the birdies and the bees". I am traumatized. Uncle almost shat himself from the hilarity.

Happy New fucking Year!

-Marleene

ΔΔΔΔ

My pillow almost asphyxiated me as I smothered my girlish squeal. I can't believe any of this is real; nope, not at all. It's funny, really, it is because I could see flashes of grainy memories reel by but not fully picture anything more than a few moments.

Mister Stomach growls once more and I decide to shove my journals to the side and force myself into a coma or something, this all too very energy draining. I still wonder, does Phil even remember this?

A/N- What y'all think? Are these entries piquing your interests? Things are going places, that's for sure! Sorry for any typos!