Unite Me

The journal drops out of my hand and onto my chest. I run my only free hand across my face, through my hair. I rub the back of my neck and haul myself up so fast that my head hits the headboard and I’m actually grateful. I take a moment to appreciate the pain.

And then I pick up the book.

And turn the page.

I stand up. Start pacing the length of my bedroom until I’ve finally worked up the nerve to keep reading. Then I take a deep breath.

And turn the page.

There was a time when things were better, when my father wasn’t always so angry. I was about four years old then. He used to let me sit on his lap and search his pockets. I’d get to keep anything I wanted as long as my argument was convincing enough. It was his idea of a game.

I almost forget that she still hates me, despite how hard I’ve fallen for her.

And I’ve fallen.

So hard.

Her words have been burned into my mind. I can’t stop picturing her as she must’ve been, can’t stop imagining what she must’ve experienced. Finding her journal has crippled me. My feelings for her have spiraled out of control. I’ve never been so desperate to see her, to talk to her.

Because the truth is, I am nothing but a coward.

I’m five feet, nine inches

Where even my own mind is a traitor.

This girl is destroying me

And suddenly this small, battered notebook means more to me than anything I’ve ever owned