has an alibi, and it’s my word against his. Daddy is right. It would destroy our families and hurt his reelection. I want him to be proud of me for helping him. I don’t want to disappoint him.
When will the dreams stop? When do I feel better? I shouldn’t have been drinking. I shouldn’t have worn that dress. I wanted to feel beautiful that night and instead, ended up broken. Shea’s speech is right. It is my fault. I didn’t even have to be there that night, but I was.
I don’t know what to feel.
I set the pen down. Is this supposed to make me feel better? Nothing really seems to. Although, I kind of like the freedom of being able to say whatever I want without worrying what Dr. Thompkins or Chris or anyone else will think.
Picking up the pen again, I continue.
Daddy gave commendations to Dom and Kiesha. I saw it on TV last night while I was in my closet. It was so cool to see them again and I’m glad Daddy did the right thing for once.
Dom is taller than I remember and strong. He’s really handsome. I just remember his eyes were pretty and I liked how safe I felt with him. It’s weird - he looks like he’s the same age as Robert Connor, but they’re so different. Dom is really nice and a good person. He’d never hurt anyone. Dr. Thompkins said I shouldn’t tal k to him again, because I need to learn to heal without leaning on anyone else and something about how people who get hurt will cling to their rescuers and it’s not healthy or something. Kiesha is so tiny and shapely with large eyes and a bright smile. I so wish I could wear that lipstick. Her nails matched. I wonder if I can find some like it somewhere.
My journal entries make me laugh. Is this how they’re supposed to be written? Maybe it doesn’t matter, because no one will read them anyway. I put the journal in the desk and get ready for bed.
I’m still thinking about her nails when I drift to sleep in the closet. As odd as it sounds, I’m looking forward to writing in my journal. I’ll try to do it daily, but we’ll see.
Tuesday, August 27 th
Dear Diary,
Mama hasn’t come home, and Daddy is still too busy for me. They make me so mad! Even Chris talks to me more than they do and of course, Dr. Thompkins, who is driving me crazy. Feelings … feeling … feelings. Ari comes to visit every day. I love her!
Still can’t sleep through the night. Been taking lots of naps. The Joan of Arc supporters are outside the gate. I thought they were strange at first, but I kind of like seeing them now. They’re taking care of me or guarding me or something.
I was putting on makeup this morning and noticed something weird. All my bruises are gone, and I look … normal. But even without the bruises, I’m not me yet.
I hate that feeling. I hate that I jump whenever I hear a door close and look under the bed several times after dark to make sure they aren’t there. I know they aren’t, but I can’t stop the fear.
My phone vibrates, and a message from Chris pops up on my screen.
I’m sending the car. We have an appointment. Be ready in 15.
I roll my eyes at the message. I don’t want to go out, and it takes a lot more than fifteen minutes to get ready. Whatever this appointment is, I’m not going to go looking as badly as I feel.
I put away my journal then wash the make-up off my face and redo it and my hair. The bruises may be gone, but I can’t help double checking to make sure they don’t suddenly reappear, like the dreams I keep hoping will go away for good. I take more care than I ever did before getting dressed. My first choice is a v-neck sweater.
As soon as I put it on, I take it off. I feel … dirty showing off my chest. Daddy always says a woman who dresses without respect for herself will end up in trouble. I know now that he’s right. I stare at myself for a long moment, wishing I’d never bought or worn that dress. Wishing I’d never gone to the party. Wishing I could just wear what I
When will the dreams stop? When do I feel better? I shouldn’t have been drinking. I shouldn’t have worn that dress. I wanted to feel beautiful that night and instead, ended up broken. Shea’s speech is right. It is my fault. I didn’t even have to be there that night, but I was.
I don’t know what to feel.
I set the pen down. Is this supposed to make me feel better? Nothing really seems to. Although, I kind of like the freedom of being able to say whatever I want without worrying what Dr. Thompkins or Chris or anyone else will think.
Picking up the pen again, I continue.
Daddy gave commendations to Dom and Kiesha. I saw it on TV last night while I was in my closet. It was so cool to see them again and I’m glad Daddy did the right thing for once.
Dom is taller than I remember and strong. He’s really handsome. I just remember his eyes were pretty and I liked how safe I felt with him. It’s weird - he looks like he’s the same age as Robert Connor, but they’re so different. Dom is really nice and a good person. He’d never hurt anyone. Dr. Thompkins said I shouldn’t tal k to him again, because I need to learn to heal without leaning on anyone else and something about how people who get hurt will cling to their rescuers and it’s not healthy or something. Kiesha is so tiny and shapely with large eyes and a bright smile. I so wish I could wear that lipstick. Her nails matched. I wonder if I can find some like it somewhere.
My journal entries make me laugh. Is this how they’re supposed to be written? Maybe it doesn’t matter, because no one will read them anyway. I put the journal in the desk and get ready for bed.
I’m still thinking about her nails when I drift to sleep in the closet. As odd as it sounds, I’m looking forward to writing in my journal. I’ll try to do it daily, but we’ll see.
Tuesday, August 27 th
Dear Diary,
Mama hasn’t come home, and Daddy is still too busy for me. They make me so mad! Even Chris talks to me more than they do and of course, Dr. Thompkins, who is driving me crazy. Feelings … feeling … feelings. Ari comes to visit every day. I love her!
Still can’t sleep through the night. Been taking lots of naps. The Joan of Arc supporters are outside the gate. I thought they were strange at first, but I kind of like seeing them now. They’re taking care of me or guarding me or something.
I was putting on makeup this morning and noticed something weird. All my bruises are gone, and I look … normal. But even without the bruises, I’m not me yet.
I hate that feeling. I hate that I jump whenever I hear a door close and look under the bed several times after dark to make sure they aren’t there. I know they aren’t, but I can’t stop the fear.
My phone vibrates, and a message from Chris pops up on my screen.
I’m sending the car. We have an appointment. Be ready in 15.
I roll my eyes at the message. I don’t want to go out, and it takes a lot more than fifteen minutes to get ready. Whatever this appointment is, I’m not going to go looking as badly as I feel.
I put away my journal then wash the make-up off my face and redo it and my hair. The bruises may be gone, but I can’t help double checking to make sure they don’t suddenly reappear, like the dreams I keep hoping will go away for good. I take more care than I ever did before getting dressed. My first choice is a v-neck sweater.
As soon as I put it on, I take it off. I feel … dirty showing off my chest. Daddy always says a woman who dresses without respect for herself will end up in trouble. I know now that he’s right. I stare at myself for a long moment, wishing I’d never bought or worn that dress. Wishing I’d never gone to the party. Wishing I could just wear what I
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