The Red Diary - Chapter 3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Every one conceals even the simplest secret. This is a story about a fragile, non-social schoolgirl and the red diary she was given by her dead grandma for times of emotional breakdowns. After the death of her mother, this girl unleashes her feelings of pain and suffering caused by her sick abusive father by writing passionately upon the frail pages of the booklet.

Submitted: August 31, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 31, 2012

A A A

A A A


"We suffer primarily not from our vices or our weaknesses, but from our illusions. We are haunted, not by reality, but by those images we have put in their place."

-Daniel J. Boorstin


Dear diary,

He hit me again, but today it was more brutal. The resonance of his rasping voice continues to mock me. The essence of the smoke he'd blustered loiters upon my lips, bequeathing them dry as bone. I can hear the uneasiness of his breathing, meaning his lungs are suffocating. As my body was forced to straddle his, his cheeks turned deep rouge too quickly. My father is sick in so many more ways than one.

Dear diary,

My head is throbbing and I'm afraid if I swallow that I may throw up my dinner. He kept striking right on my stomach, muttering harsh words. I couldn't exactly make out. My agonizing screams override them. When I lift up my nightgown, I can see the lines popping out from my pale skin in long purple streaks. They hurt when I touch them. So why is it I think they're so beautiful?

At the bottom right of page was smudge of dried blood.

Dear diary,

Right now I'm cradled into my bed sheets, listening to his pleading shouts for her. For my mother. His wife. Daddy's gotten himself drunk tonight and forgot about me. Not that I mind of course, being forgotten. It means I have more time to myself—to think and to heal. This may sound selfish, and God may make sure he punishes me twice as hard for even having this disobedient desire, but I wish he'd pipe down. His bawls are scaring me.

Dear diary,

He thinks I'm amonster. And I'm starting to believe him. Daddy's little monster.

Theword"Daddy" was distorted. The black ink was bathed by a single teardrop.

Logan latched onto his lower lip and reluctantly shut the diary. He dared his longing fingers not to open it again, a repugnant chill promenading along each ring of his spine as his minded pondered on her mystified words. Regrettably, he'd gone too far into the burial of a conflict she hadn't granted him permission to begin digging.


SELENA'S VELVETY AUBURN locks suspended in front of her bloated vanilla complexion, the strap off her bag nestled unevenly against her stomach, encircling her mid-bicep and right shoulder. Clutching a few folders and a composition notebook aimlessly, she looked down; the fragmented cement of the sidewalk under her sore feet faded into darkness and revived itself as her mocha eyes wilted behind their lids. Although the remainder of her school day went smoothly overall, her brain was psychologically fried from all the educational cargo her teachers assigned. Just thinking about the hours she'd have to waste in order to catch up made her back slump.

As she trotted up the walkway to her household, the alleviating tang of roasted chicken and sweet vegetables dissolved through the cracked entrance. Selena sucked in the tempting scent, rumbles abruptly emitting from her stomach as she turned her gaze to neighbors' dwelling; her appetite had suppressed up until now, being she was so consumed in her train of hectic thoughts. "Cathy," she said and shoved the door open, following the crackles coming from the kitchen. Her mouth watered and her nose squeezed pallor white from her savage immersed inhalations.

Cathy stood over the stove, her gorgeous raven hair fashioned into an untidy bun and a stained apron wrapped securely around her wide hips. She wavered her hand back and forth amidst the pasty steam ascending from the cooking pot when she heard Selena's footsteps. "Lena, there you are," she announced enthusiastically, her lime green spheres sparkling in unison with her prominent smile. "I was afraid you weren't going to show up soon enough. Food can only stay hot for so long." She laughed lightly, turning her attention back to the boiling plants.

Selena beamed softly. "You really didn't have to this. I'm not worth the trouble," she said, unraveling her bag over her head.

Cathy veered her stare to the brunette, unable to register the subtle slam of the bag as it hit one of table chairs from surprise. "Nonsense; you're happiness is worth all the time in the world," she claimed truthfully. She blamed the ruthless abuse from her father for Selena's lack in self-esteem, but sometimes wished she could see her perspective. Sympathetically, she thought how someone so beautiful and benign could regard themselves as a trouble.

"Thanks," Selena murmured, her patches heated in an introverted flush. Pulling her hair behind her face and brushing it into the crook of her neck, she inquired, "So where is Steven?"

"My husband?" She teased, splashing a mischievous smirk across her mouth, "He works extensive hours on Mondays. You're gonna have to just settle for mwah tonight."

Selena broadened her smile, feeling her cheek muscles tauten. It hurt, she'd concluded, to smile because she hadn't in a while. There was a difference between a simple curve of the lips and a smile; a smile was outlined by waves of differentiating emotions. Fatigue sent ripples down her jaw; she ignored the numb sensation, and let herself feel what she wanted to. Cathy was the splitting image of her mother, or at least what she could remember of her—gracious, good-natured and wearing the remarkable qualities of a superior.

She gaped at Cathy. "Thank you," she whispered, sincerity and gratitude marking her words. Her hand rose to one of her temples, pressing against the unexpected mixture of dirt and sweat swamped upon her forehead. Recoiling, she saw the coat of moisture daubed on the nubs of her fingers. "Uhm—I think I'm just going to take a quick shower first. I feel disgusting," Selena affirmed, wiping the gloss onto her jeans.

Cathy sniggered, wedging a wooden spoon into the pot. "Alright sweetie. Be back down here in 10."

Selena nodded in response and reached for the base of top. Cathy's orbs did not withdraw from the stew.

Jogging up the stairs, she stripped off the shirt entirely her slim upper frame, shivering as her naked skin converged with the wintry air expelled from the conditioner. She stumbled into her room while unbuttoning her jeans, letting the loose-fitting denim sag to her feet, and she scurried into the bathroom.

The searing water frolicked as it bounced amongst her figure, bounding off it like diminutive ballerinas in elegant leaps to highlight their weightlessness. Selena sensed her limbs softening and she sighed, arching her neck, her scalp colliding to the hard barrier behind her. She closed her eyes.

She saw two children, a boy and girl, chasing one another in a carefree manner. The boy drew nearer to the girl and extended his scrawny arms, gaining enough speed to fully envelop them around her elfin waist and lugging her directly into his chest. He staggered backwards from the sudden force and they both toppled to the floor. The girl giggled, nails tracing over her pink lips innocently.

A vast shadow loomed above the two kids, making both of them lift their heads in curiosity. The voluminous hood restrained the haunting stature's facets, if any, and the youngsters gawked at him, pupils dilated. Interrupting the tense stillness was a sharp growl from his invisible mouth and he grasped the girl's hair, coercing her onto imbalanced feet.

The boy immediately tried to wrench his friend from the stranger's grip, but the harder he pulled the more voluble her earsplitting screams became. He ogled upward, taking note of the bristly arm enfolded to the girl's neck and her veins pulsing from her red-as-a-rose countenance. "Let go of her!" He whimpered, shaking them in panicked desperation. The hood slithered off the unknown's head.

First, Selena recognized the dark soiled irises and deemed they belonged to her father. But then she absorbed the rest of his face, hypnotized by the suntanned peel surrounded by silk russet tousles that combed perfectly to compliment his narrow maw structure and his inviting kissable chops, and knew it wasn't him. It was the seemingly courteous boy she'd formerly encountered.

Logan.

It was no longer the little girl screaming. It was her, she achieved, and her eyes unbolted in fear. She rapidly ran out of the bathroom, gliding against the fogged floor tiles as her knees buckled to snatch the nearest towel. Covering her nude body, the thought of unscrewing the shower nozzle completely slipped her mind.

"Selena, sweetie? Are you okay?" Selena heard Cathy's shout worriedly from the kitchen, her head scarcely protruding the open arc prior to Selena rushing past her and to her book bag.

"It's got to be in here," Selena murmured, her heart clobbering theatrically while the bloodcurdling visual of Logan's identical marbles to the ones of her father's still roamed.

"What does?" Clary tilted her head, brows knitted in bemusement.

Selena froze. "It's not in here. M-My diary."

Her life story was gone; out in the open for the whole world to read.

The atmosphere burnt.

"Selena . . . you look a little—"

She would never know the rest of that sentence; her vision fell to a crisp and she crumbled to the floor, surrendering to the sinister night of her mentality.


THE NEXT MORNING, Miley was dropped off early at school. It was ridiculous, she deliberated, that the coach demanded the squad get up beforehand like they weren't already losing precious hours of sleep by setting the alarm for six, just to add in another half hour of practice for cheer. The practice consisted of insignificant warm-ups no one had the energy to perform, and then it was off to homeroom. Quietly, she swayed her hand to and fro as her father pulled away from the curb, stopping when his vehicle took the left at the streetlight.

Her uniform, well-fitted to show up her lean body and matching hourglass curves, signified the brilliant logo of the school, overlaid in classic green and gold hues that stood for freedom and grace. However the tight fit of the inflexible fabric around her waist didn't exactly give her much freedom to breathe; plus the skirt was awfully short, barely able cover her ass and she was constantly tempted to yank the hem, cautious of revealing too much cleavage to any man.

She strode to the gymnasium, her gaze focused on the collar of her outfit to stretch the cloth hugging her neckline until she rammed into another person. Miley gasped tersely, rising her head to fasten her oceanic globes on a brace of spectacular chocolate pools. Nervous and giddy, she unwillingly tore away from the memorable eyes of her desirable prince charming that, as of now, was not her property. "S-Sorry," she stuttered, batting her eyelashes ineptly and inwardly swearing for being weak, "I can be a klutz."

Nick grinned, amused by her candor. "It's fine. I wasn't really paying attention either. Didn't think many people showed up this early." His eyes scanned Miley's civil facial traits, smothering his expression of readability. "You're that Cyrus, girl, right?"

"I'm here for morning cheer practice. And its Miley," she corrected impishly, licking her lips and crossing her arms.

"Miley," he repeated and she couldn't help the tumbling sensation in her stomach, heart fluttering at how charitably he said her abnormal name. "Sexy," Nick said, the ghost of his infamous smirk seeping.

She thanked that they stood adjacent to the door of the gym, using the knob as a foundation to prevent herself from melting into a muddle. Her inner fan girl sighed dreamily, hand depressed between her breasts and compassion thumping affectionately through her arteries. "Right."

Shoving the door open and gesturing her inside, the handsome boy winked. "I believe this is your stop."

The hollers of the various coaches and the screeches of jumping feet slapped Miley out of her fantasy. She smiled politely, taking hold of the door. "Thanks," she said appreciatively.

"Run into you soon again, Cyrus," he played alluringly.

Miley glanced at him and for once, felt confident. "Count the hours if you want, Jonas," she countered and swung her hips seductively, unaware of her skirt rising openly in front of him.


IN THE VICNITY of the high schools exterior, Demi badgered, "Joe, will youpleasehurry up? I think a snail is about to pass us." Her arm sagged slothfully on the mount of the window, ajar, and the cool wind cleaning her poked-face in tender pecks.

Joseph rolled his eyes and steadily grappled the steering wheel, color eluding from his knuckles. "You know, Demetria, I don'thaveto drive you to school each morning."

Demi bit in her cheek, feeling the gentle pull of the slippery tissue against her teeth and sweltering saliva. "Fine. I'm sorry, baby," she admitted, "but these traffic lights are getting way too long." The car steered into drive but she groaned, only to see the light ahead of them flicker red.

As the car came to another halt, Joe averted his stare from the road to his impatient girlfriend. He grimaced at her puppy pout and her dull eyes which generally shimmered with pursuit; he'd do anything to get that back. Without a second thought, he bowed over the shift stick and kissed Demi amorously, warming both their lips.

Demi blinked, startled, but eventually absorbed Joe's sizzling breath. Draping her arms loosely around his neck, she fished her hands into the bronze stubbles of his hair, digging her fingernails into the top of his head in the form of a massage. He grunted into her ear vehemently and a prolonged moan fled from her tongue as his mouth left wonderful love bites on her neck, aligning his signature and blotting his territory on the maiden.

Joe had begun to slide his hand up her shirt when the couple was ultimately separated, jerking apart because of the disquieting unfriendly honk from the van behind.

"Joe, you're DRIVING!" Demi shrieked, urging him off with a discomfited blush snaking into her cheekbones.

He chuckled. "You didn't seem to mind that a few seconds ago," he mocked and bent the stick forward. Veering to see how far they were from the school as the car paused once again, Joe saw the pallid wordsMound St.printed upon the green sign. "Mound Street," he mumbled inaudibly, and then said, "Isn't this Selena's neighborhood?" a little louder for Demi to hear.

Recalling the mention of the street name during one of their multi-subjected conversations the day before, she cracked a smile and the hot tint to her face faintly diminished. "I think so. Let's give her a lift."

Joe parted his lips as if to throw a rebuff as she punched the dials on her cell phone, but pinched them together to retain the brief silence, deciding it against it. He returned his heed to the road.

"Hey, Selena? It's Demi…"


SELENA TRAINED TOWARD the running vehicle, her curls rocking within its ponytail with ever step. Unlocking the door and wriggling into the backseat, she planted her bag next to her. "Thanks for offering the ride guys," she said sincerely.

The nightmare of the two children and the cloaked man recycled like a film through the preceding night and she awoke with sweat splattered across her forehead, distinguishing Cathy's shuddering hands wringing around her in consolation. Selena was emotionally exhausted, and she couldn't swipe the vision of her father's eyes lodged into Logan's sockets. Or maybe they were just his. That part remained ambivalent.

"No problem," Demi said, beaming, and glimpsed at Selena over the headrest. Her face rapidly twisted sordidly. "God, what happened? You look like you were hit by a bus."

Selena moaned; she wasn't too pleased with her reflection this morning either. Hair untamed, orbs bloodshot from her manifold outbursts and skin tone inadequate, anyone would have assumed that she'd gone nights without sleep or had a visit from the devil. She set her eyes outside her window.

In that moment, destiny assaulted her. Selena spotted the boy, whom meandered inside her heartrending traumatic dreams, marching nonchalantly along the footpath. Vomit wanted to swim back up her esophagus. Contained in his hold was the little scrap of her crimson diary she vaguely been able to outline, poking out between his thick hand digits.

Selena, drained off life, witnessed the dark soiled duo.

"Might as well been."

"We suffer primarily not from our vices or our weaknesses, but from our illusions. We are haunted, not by reality, but by those images we have put in their place."

-Daniel J. Boorstin


Dear diary,

He hit me again, but today it was more brutal. The resonance of his rasping voice continues to mock me. The essence of the smoke he'd blustered loiters upon my lips, bequeathing them dry as bone. I can hear the uneasiness of his breathing, meaning his lungs are suffocating. As my body was forced to straddle his, his cheeks turned deep rouge too quickly. My father is sick in so many more ways than one.

Dear diary,

My head is throbbing and I'm afraid if I swallow that I may throw up my dinner. He kept striking right on my stomach, muttering harsh words. I couldn't exactly make out. My agonizing screams override them. When I lift up my nightgown, I can see the lines popping out from my pale skin in long purple streaks. They hurt when I touch them. So why is it I think they're so beautiful?

At the bottom right of page was smudge of dried blood.

Dear diary,

Right now I'm cradled into my bed sheets, listening to his pleading shouts for her. For my mother. His wife. Daddy's gotten himself drunk tonight and forgot about me. Not that I mind of course, being forgotten. It means I have more time to myself—to think and to heal. This may sound selfish, and God may make sure he punishes me twice as hard for even having this disobedient desire, but I wish he'd pipe down. His bawls are scaring me.

Dear diary,

He thinks I'm amonster. And I'm starting to believe him. Daddy's little monster.

Theword"Daddy" was distorted. The black ink was bathed by a single teardrop.

Logan latched onto his lower lip and reluctantly shut the diary. He dared his longing fingers not to open it again, a repugnant chill promenading along each ring of his spine as his minded pondered on her mystified words. Regrettably, he'd gone too far into the burial of a conflict she hadn't granted him permission to begin digging.


SELENA'S VELVETY AUBURN locks suspended in front of her bloated vanilla complexion, the strap off her bag nestled unevenly against her stomach, encircling her mid-bicep and right shoulder. Clutching a few folders and a composition notebook aimlessly, she looked down; the fragmented cement of the sidewalk under her sore feet faded into darkness and revived itself as her mocha eyes wilted behind their lids. Although the remainder of her school day went smoothly overall, her brain was psychologically fried from all the educational cargo her teachers assigned. Just thinking about the hours she'd have to waste in order to catch up made her back slump.

As she trotted up the walkway to her household, the alleviating tang of roasted chicken and sweet vegetables dissolved through the cracked entrance. Selena sucked in the tempting scent, rumbles abruptly emitting from her stomach as she turned her gaze to neighbors' dwelling; her appetite had suppressed up until now, being she was so consumed in her train of hectic thoughts. "Cathy," she said and shoved the door open, following the crackles coming from the kitchen. Her mouth watered and her nose squeezed pallor white from her savage immersed inhalations.

Cathy stood over the stove, her gorgeous raven hair fashioned into an untidy bun and a stained apron wrapped securely around her wide hips. She wavered her hand back and forth amidst the pasty steam ascending from the cooking pot when she heard Selena's footsteps. "Lena, there you are," she announced enthusiastically, her lime green spheres sparkling in unison with her prominent smile. "I was afraid you weren't going to show up soon enough. Food can only stay hot for so long." She laughed lightly, turning her attention back to the boiling plants.

Selena beamed softly. "You really didn't have to this. I'm not worth the trouble," she said, unraveling her bag over her head.

Cathy veered her stare to the brunette, unable to register the subtle slam of the bag as it hit one of table chairs from surprise. "Nonsense; you're happiness is worth all the time in the world," she claimed truthfully. She blamed the ruthless abuse from her father for Selena's lack in self-esteem, but sometimes wished she could see her perspective. Sympathetically, she thought how someone so beautiful and benign could regard themselves as a trouble.

"Thanks," Selena murmured, her patches heated in an introverted flush. Pulling her hair behind her face and brushing it into the crook of her neck, she inquired, "So where is Steven?"

"My husband?" She teased, splashing a mischievous smirk across her mouth, "He works extensive hours on Mondays. You're gonna have to just settle for mwah tonight."

Selena broadened her smile, feeling her cheek muscles tauten. It hurt, she'd concluded, to smile because she hadn't in a while. There was a difference between a simple curve of the lips and a smile; a smile was outlined by waves of differentiating emotions. Fatigue sent ripples down her jaw; she ignored the numb sensation, and let herself feel what she wanted to. Cathy was the splitting image of her mother, or at least what she could remember of her—gracious, good-natured and wearing the remarkable qualities of a superior.

She gaped at Cathy. "Thank you," she whispered, sincerity and gratitude marking her words. Her hand rose to one of her temples, pressing against the unexpected mixture of dirt and sweat swamped upon her forehead. Recoiling, she saw the coat of moisture daubed on the nubs of her fingers. "Uhm—I think I'm just going to take a quick shower first. I feel disgusting," Selena affirmed, wiping the gloss onto her jeans.

Cathy sniggered, wedging a wooden spoon into the pot. "Alright sweetie. Be back down here in 10."

Selena nodded in response and reached for the base of top. Cathy's orbs did not withdraw from the stew.

Jogging up the stairs, she stripped off the shirt entirely her slim upper frame, shivering as her naked skin converged with the wintry air expelled from the conditioner. She stumbled into her room while unbuttoning her jeans, letting the loose-fitting denim sag to her feet, and she scurried into the bathroom.

The searing water frolicked as it bounced amongst her figure, bounding off it like diminutive ballerinas in elegant leaps to highlight their weightlessness. Selena sensed her limbs softening and she sighed, arching her neck, her scalp colliding to the hard barrier behind her. She closed her eyes.

She saw two children, a boy and girl, chasing one another in a carefree manner. The boy drew nearer to the girl and extended his scrawny arms, gaining enough speed to fully envelop them around her elfin waist and lugging her directly into his chest. He staggered backwards from the sudden force and they both toppled to the floor. The girl giggled, nails tracing over her pink lips innocently.

A vast shadow loomed above the two kids, making both of them lift their heads in curiosity. The voluminous hood restrained the haunting stature's facets, if any, and the youngsters gawked at him, pupils dilated. Interrupting the tense stillness was a sharp growl from his invisible mouth and he grasped the girl's hair, coercing her onto imbalanced feet.

The boy immediately tried to wrench his friend from the stranger's grip, but the harder he pulled the more voluble her earsplitting screams became. He ogled upward, taking note of the bristly arm enfolded to the girl's neck and her veins pulsing from her red-as-a-rose countenance. "Let go of her!" He whimpered, shaking them in panicked desperation. The hood slithered off the unknown's head.

First, Selena recognized the dark soiled irises and deemed they belonged to her father. But then she absorbed the rest of his face, hypnotized by the suntanned peel surrounded by silk russet tousles that combed perfectly to compliment his narrow maw structure and his inviting kissable chops, and knew it wasn't him. It was the seemingly courteous boy she'd formerly encountered.

Logan.

It was no longer the little girl screaming. It was her, she achieved, and her eyes unbolted in fear. She rapidly ran out of the bathroom, gliding against the fogged floor tiles as her knees buckled to snatch the nearest towel. Covering her nude body, the thought of unscrewing the shower nozzle completely slipped her mind.

"Selena, sweetie? Are you okay?" Selena heard Cathy's shout worriedly from the kitchen, her head scarcely protruding the open arc prior to Selena rushing past her and to her book bag.

"It's got to be in here," Selena murmured, her heart clobbering theatrically while the bloodcurdling visual of Logan's identical marbles to the ones of her father's still roamed.

"What does?" Clary tilted her head, brows knitted in bemusement.

Selena froze. "It's not in here. M-My diary."

Her life story was gone; out in the open for the whole world to read.

The atmosphere burnt.

"Selena . . . you look a little—"

She would never know the rest of that sentence; her vision fell to a crisp and she crumbled to the floor, surrendering to the sinister night of her mentality.


THE NEXT MORNING, Miley was dropped off early at school. It was ridiculous, she deliberated, that the coach demanded the squad get up beforehand like they weren't already losing precious hours of sleep by setting the alarm for six, just to add in another half hour of practice for cheer. The practice consisted of insignificant warm-ups no one had the energy to perform, and then it was off to homeroom. Quietly, she swayed her hand to and fro as her father pulled away from the curb, stopping when his vehicle took the left at the streetlight.

Her uniform, well-fitted to show up her lean body and matching hourglass curves, signified the brilliant logo of the school, overlaid in classic green and gold hues that stood for freedom and grace. However the tight fit of the inflexible fabric around her waist didn't exactly give her much freedom to breathe; plus the skirt was awfully short, barely able cover her ass and she was constantly tempted to yank the hem, cautious of revealing too much cleavage to any man.

She strode to the gymnasium, her gaze focused on the collar of her outfit to stretch the cloth hugging her neckline until she rammed into another person. Miley gasped tersely, rising her head to fasten her oceanic globes on a brace of spectacular chocolate pools. Nervous and giddy, she unwillingly tore away from the memorable eyes of her desirable prince charming that, as of now, was not her property. "S-Sorry," she stuttered, batting her eyelashes ineptly and inwardly swearing for being weak, "I can be a klutz."

Nick grinned, amused by her candor. "It's fine. I wasn't really paying attention either. Didn't think many people showed up this early." His eyes scanned Miley's civil facial traits, smothering his expression of readability. "You're that Cyrus, girl, right?"

"I'm here for morning cheer practice. And its Miley," she corrected impishly, licking her lips and crossing her arms.

"Miley," he repeated and she couldn't help the tumbling sensation in her stomach, heart fluttering at how charitably he said her abnormal name. "Sexy," Nick said, the ghost of his infamous smirk seeping.

She thanked that they stood adjacent to the door of the gym, using the knob as a foundation to prevent herself from melting into a muddle. Her inner fan girl sighed dreamily, hand depressed between her breasts and compassion thumping affectionately through her arteries. "Right."

Shoving the door open and gesturing her inside, the handsome boy winked. "I believe this is your stop."

The hollers of the various coaches and the screeches of jumping feet slapped Miley out of her fantasy. She smiled politely, taking hold of the door. "Thanks," she said appreciatively.

"Run into you soon again, Cyrus," he played alluringly.

Miley glanced at him and for once, felt confident. "Count the hours if you want, Jonas," she countered and swung her hips seductively, unaware of her skirt rising openly in front of him.


IN THE VICNITY of the high schools exterior, Demi badgered, "Joe, will youpleasehurry up? I think a snail is about to pass us." Her arm sagged slothfully on the mount of the window, ajar, and the cool wind cleaning her poked-face in tender pecks.

Joseph rolled his eyes and steadily grappled the steering wheel, color eluding from his knuckles. "You know, Demetria, I don'thaveto drive you to school each morning."

Demi bit in her cheek, feeling the gentle pull of the slippery tissue against her teeth and sweltering saliva. "Fine. I'm sorry, baby," she admitted, "but these traffic lights are getting way too long." The car steered into drive but she groaned, only to see the light ahead of them flicker red.

As the car came to another halt, Joe averted his stare from the road to his impatient girlfriend. He grimaced at her puppy pout and her dull eyes which generally shimmered with pursuit; he'd do anything to get that back. Without a second thought, he bowed over the shift stick and kissed Demi amorously, warming both their lips.

Demi blinked, startled, but eventually absorbed Joe's sizzling breath. Draping her arms loosely around his neck, she fished her hands into the bronze stubbles of his hair, digging her fingernails into the top of his head in the form of a massage. He grunted into her ear vehemently and a prolonged moan fled from her tongue as his mouth left wonderful love bites on her neck, aligning his signature and blotting his territory on the maiden.

Joe had begun to slide his hand up her shirt when the couple was ultimately separated, jerking apart because of the disquieting unfriendly honk from the van behind.

"Joe, you're DRIVING!" Demi shrieked, urging him off with a discomfited blush snaking into her cheekbones.

He chuckled. "You didn't seem to mind that a few seconds ago," he mocked and bent the stick forward. Veering to see how far they were from the school as the car paused once again, Joe saw the pallid wordsMound St.printed upon the green sign. "Mound Street," he mumbled inaudibly, and then said, "Isn't this Selena's neighborhood?" a little louder for Demi to hear.

Recalling the mention of the street name during one of their multi-subjected conversations the day before, she cracked a smile and the hot tint to her face faintly diminished. "I think so. Let's give her a lift."

Joe parted his lips as if to throw a rebuff as she punched the dials on her cell phone, but pinched them together to retain the brief silence, deciding it against it. He returned his heed to the road.

"Hey, Selena? It's Demi…"


SELENA TRAINED TOWARD the running vehicle, her curls rocking within its ponytail with ever step. Unlocking the door and wriggling into the backseat, she planted her bag next to her. "Thanks for offering the ride guys," she said sincerely.

The nightmare of the two children and the cloaked man recycled like a film through the preceding night and she awoke with sweat splattered across her forehead, distinguishing Cathy's shuddering hands wringing around her in consolation. Selena was emotionally exhausted, and she couldn't swipe the vision of her father's eyes lodged into Logan's sockets. Or maybe they were just his. That part remained ambivalent.

"No problem," Demi said, beaming, and glimpsed at Selena over the headrest. Her face rapidly twisted sordidly. "God, what happened? You look like you were hit by a bus."

Selena moaned; she wasn't too pleased with her reflection this morning either. Hair untamed, orbs bloodshot from her manifold outbursts and skin tone inadequate, anyone would have assumed that she'd gone nights without sleep or had a visit from the devil. She set her eyes outside her window.

In that moment, destiny assaulted her. Selena spotted the boy, whom meandered inside her heartrending traumatic dreams, marching nonchalantly along the footpath. Vomit wanted to swim back up her esophagus. Contained in his hold was the little scrap of her crimson diary she vaguely been able to outline, poking out between his thick hand digits.

Selena, drained off life, witnessed the dark soiled duo.

"Might as well been."


© Copyright 2017 TheAngelmalik786. All rights reserved.

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