The outside heat had stepped indoors, shaking awake the small child, with whom I bunked, from her sleep. She tossed once more, gazing over at me, sleep still present in her big brown eyes before her small fist brushed away its presence. Nessie sat up on the lower bunk—my bunk. She’d slept with me last night after I woke her coming in late—snuggled comfortably, mouth open with a light snore pressed to my ear.
I was already awake, already jotting thoughts down in my gifted diary, amongst the scribbles of its previous owner.
“Are you coming to the bathroom?” Nessie asked, climbing out of bed, her little fingers pressing into my leg for support. She waited for my answer, waiting to know if I was coming to sit bath-side and chat while Wynter gave her a morning bath. Apparently, now that the nights were getting darker, Nessie preferred them to the night-time ones.
“I’m just going to finish up here.” I lifted the diary, waving it in the air.
Nessie nodded like she understood, collecting clothes from her drawers at the far side of the room, just as Wynter called. She left the door open on her exit, enough for the smell of breakfast to seep into the room. Hopefully, it was strong enough to minimize the smell of rot that constantly lived on one side of the kitchen.
I made myself comfortable, sprawling out on the bed, my rumbling stomach—hungry for whatever had created the delicious waft—flat to the sheets.
I read over my cursive, taking in the words, smiling, as I did when I first woke up this morning. . .
Dear Diary,
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I had another amazing day.
I still feel guilty for such feelings, for burying the pain of my father’s death. But I know he’d want me to be as happy as I can be, in these circumstances. And right now, I feel happiness.
I feel like me.
So, my dear diary, let me tell you why.
HE KISSED ME YESTERDAY!
On the roof—a place for just us, underneath a blanket of stars.
The whole day was perfect, but the night was beyond that.
My heart is still fluttering like the dancing wings of a butterfly!
We’d been out all day, allowing Nessie to play as we tag-teamed her in a game of hide and seek. We never rushed to find her. Woodrow told me that she enjoyed the thrill of thinking that we couldn’t, but that was a lie. . . he wanted some “us” time.
While Nessie was hiding, while out in the deepest, darkest part of the woods, surrounded by supplies that I’d help carry, Woodrow amended the hutch he’d previously built—a smallhome in the wild for his furry friend who was always with us whenever we were away from the house. Sometimes, I wondered if he preferred her company to mine. Bonny! The bunny had a name now. . . but that’s getting off subject.
After an hour in the forestry, an hour spent with our carrot-eating companion, he asked if I wanted a walk, and I did. I desperately wanted this time with him. Time without anyone else. Without Bonny, who stayed behind examining the alterations to her home. Without Nessie—as much as I love her.
We walked through the trees, his hand holding mine as he asked a million questions about me and all the stuff that made me exactly who I am. I love that he takes interest; I love that he’s nothing like every other guy who’s ever tried to do more than hold my hand.
We were close to the clearing when I returned a question, asking him something that he’d already asked me, to tell me something that no one else knows. A secret.
He pondered for only a moment, taking in the scent of the earth around us, and then a small breeze trudged him towards me. His hands moved up my arms, only to steady himself, but I felt tingles everywhere, and he noticed it, too! He noticed my reaction to his touch. He noticed how my eyes lingered on his lips for a second too long. He noticed my interest in him, and it gave him courage.
He told me the most honest thing, “No one understands me. No one cares enough to try, except Nessie, who is too young to do that. No one until you. You see the real me. . . and I know all versions of who I am will fall in love with you one day.”
My eyes darted around the swirls of Nessie’s drawings that interrupted my words on the page. The child would never make an artist, bless her. I laughed to myself.
He said,“I have one more thing to tell you. . . something that no one knows.”
I waited with the patience of a kid on Christmas morning, a kid told not to open her presents just yet.
“You’ll never understand what you are to me. . . to us.”
“Us?” I had to question, just one more question. Because I hadn’t met all of the people living inside him.
And he told me the rawest truth. “I have no idea what goes on when the alters takeover. I have no memories, no knowledge of their goals, of their motives, but I know they all need you beyond reason. I feel it.”
I didn’t need to ask him what I was to him, to this version of him. The version he was born as. . . I hope I’m wording that right. (I’m still learning) I don’t want to offend you, Woodrow, if you ever snoop and read my diary! But, do know, bad boys will be punished, (wink, wink). Though I think you’d like that.
