There were so many questions swirling in my head—did he have siblings?What did his parents do?What were his hobbies?The only thing I knew for sure was that he was part of that gang, and that was confusing to me.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I almost missed my stop.I leaped off the bus, catching a glimpse of Emily disappearing into the crowd.I walked toward the main entrance, and I noticed Zane on the other side of the street, partially concealed behind a tree, engaged in conversation with someone—a girl.My heart sank, and the ground beneath me seemed to shake.
As I got closer, I could see Zane was visibly emotional as he spoke to her.Then he leaned in—to kiss her?No, it was a hug.Still, she pulled back and walked away in the opposite direction of the school.I was breathless, and I felt like an absolute fool.The nickname“dummy”suited me perfectly.
I couldn't deny it—the girl was Valentina, or Vendetta, as many called her.Why was Zane talking to her?Did he have feelings for her, or was he trying to win her back?What was their history?But then why had he approached me, claiming he liked me, if he clearly had feelings for someone else?
The way he looked at her was filled with affection and concern.Even if she was manipulative and cruel, he still regarded her with that same warmth.Everything felt so tangled, and I began to doubt whether I wanted to be part of it.Was I just another player in his game?
Our eyes met, and his expression was filled with anger.The school bell rang, prompting me to dash inside and not stop until I reached English class, where I caught my breath.I settled down on the opposite side of the room from Emily, who pretended not to notice me.
Mrs.Davies was already at her desk, writing down notes in her journal.She was a tall, slender Englishwoman in her forties, with straight, thick blonde hair, thin lips, and large brown eyes.She once shared with us that she met her husband, an Italian man, while on vacation in London.Shortly after, he relocated to London to be with her, and they married a year later.
Unfortunately, they couldn't have children, and after numerous doctor visits and treatments, they decided to move to Italy over a decade ago to start anew.Since then, Mrs.Davies had been teaching at our school, and she was one of my favorite teachers.
We often engaged in profound discussions in English.She had encouraged me to watch movies in English with Italian subtitles and to read books, even if they were simple or meant for children.I felt confident in my abilities, even considering myself the best in my class in this subject.Somehow, I had a feeling that my skills might be useful one day.
That afternoon, my dad and I visited my mom as we had planned.I hadn't seen Zane since that episode this morning, and honestly, I was fine with that.I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what he had to say, yet at the same time, I felt an unsettling curiosity about it.
When we entered the room, my mom was eating something that looked utterly unappetizing.She greeted us with a warm smile.
“How are you feeling today, my love?”my dad asked as he took her hand in his.He called her “my love” as if nothing had changed, as if the world hadn't turned upside down lately.
“Like I've been hit by a truck,” she joked, and we all chuckled lightly.“Actually, I feel surprisingly better.Maybe it's the painkillers, but they let me walk for a while today, so that's progress,” she said, flashing a smile.Her bruises were shifting colors, some a sickly greenish-yellow while others remained dark blue and purple.
“Did the doctor say anything else?”I asked softly.
“He mentioned that Christmas is less than two weeks away and promised I'd be home next week.I can't leave you two starving during the holidays,” she replied with a grin, and her humor was a comforting sign that she was on the mend.
We spent the next twenty minutes in her company, sharing a little conversation before we decided to head home.My dad mentioned he would go back to work the next day, as her assistant had rescheduled his appointments, meaning he would work over the weekend.
“We should stop by the studio for a bit.Andrea has been calling me non-stop.I need to thank him for the basket he sent over,” my dad said as we approached town.I recalled seeing a large basket on the kitchen counter filled with snacks, wine, and other goodies, but I hadn't asked who had sent it.
Dad parked right in front of the glass doors, and we stepped inside.I noticed Andrea hurrying out of my mom’s office.
“How is she?”Andrea asked my dad without even a greeting.
“She's doing much better and is coming home next week,” he replied.
“Good, I'm relieved to hear that,” Andrea said with a look of relief.As they exchanged more details, I wandered around, taking in the new decor.The studio was quiet, with a new red backdrop on one wall and a festive Christmas one on another.
Then, I heard a ticking sound that felt oddly familiar.Turning toward the back, I spotted a white clock similar to the one in the hospital.I found myself staring at it, almost entranced.It felt like it held a memory I couldn't quite grasp, something buried deep within me.
“Luna, are you ready to go?”my dad’s voice broke my focus.I turned and walked towards him.Andrea gave me a sympathetic smile and then unexpectedly pulled me into a hug.
“Poor child, everything will be alright.If you ever need anything, just let me know,” he said, releasing me with a warm smile.I thanked him and returned the smile before heading back to the car.
Outside, I noticed Elias standing in front of his store, smoking.His expression was somber, and I read the words “I'm sorry about your mom” on his lips.He raised his fist in encouragement, as if to say things would be okay.I nodded in gratitude before climbing into the car.
On the way home, my dad picked up some pizza for dinner, but I felt a gnawing unease within me that couldn't be ignored.I needed to write in my diary, something unsettling was stirring inside, something I had forgotten but needed to confront—something deeply buried and frightening that had caused me to erase years of my life.
I opened my diary to the first entry I had ever made.I was twelve, and it began like this:
Dear Diary,
I decided to write so I could have someone to talk to—someone who wouldn't judge, laugh, or tell anyone.I have secrets buried deep down that I'll never reveal, even to you.If I keep them to myself, maybe they'll disappear, as if they never happened.Perhaps it'll all be just a bad
nightmare.
