Dear Diary,
It’s been years since I’ve written an entry. Two, to be exact. I have no idea why I felt the sudden urge to write in you again—perhaps I just need to vent. You were always a good venting mechanism for me.
I lost a friend who was close to me, and the memories of my gruesome parents have come flooding back to the forefront of my thoughts. Last night, I remembered the time I got the scar above my eye. I suppose a lifetime of abuse will leave scars, mentally and physically.
Some days I’d like to think I’m past it all, but then it rears its ugly head and brings me slamming back down to Earth, face first on the pavement.
Rebecca was one of my best friends. How am I supposed to move past her loss?
Lewis came around last night, and we had a good, but very gloomy, catch-up. Now that this horrific thing has happened to our friend, it just shows me that there’s something out there that’s much more evil than them… my parents. Yes, they were the evil in my childhood, and now there’s evil in my present.
I love you, Rebecca. I hope you hear my constant thoughts about you, and the laughter of our memories together.
Well, it’s time to get ready to face the day, and Violet, after my unprofessional outburst last night.
Being near my parents’ place has really affected me, even more so this week. I always get a twinge in my heart when I go to Suzie’s, but yesterday was the tip of the iceberg, and my ship crashed right into it, headfirst.
Things will improve—one can only wish.
Until next time.
Closing my notebook, I place it in my bedside drawer and lie back on my bed. My clock reads 6:30 a.m. I don’t start until nine, but I thought I’d go in early today and try to earn some brownie points with Violet. I still can’t believe I lost my cool. That’s a first for a while. Usually, I’m cool, calm, and collected, but not yesterday.
Dragging my butt out of bed, I step into the kitchen and tip some muesli into a bowl, followed by milk. The coffee percolator sounds and I pour myself a steaming hot cup of black. Settling myself in my favorite spot on my window seat, I soak up some sun through the window and enjoy watching the bustling street below.
This is where I stood last night with Lewis when that sense of being watched made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my skin littered with goose bumps. Lewis knew something was up, so he went out and picked up more alcohol when we finished what I had, and we enjoyed a night of each other’s company, as friends. As bad as the situation is, he can still make me laugh, which puts my mind at ease, if only for a while. He left in the early hours of the morning, and I already know tonight I’m going to be ready to pass out as soon as I get home from work.
Once I’ve finished breakfast, I shower and dress in a simple slim-fitting cream dress that sits just above my knees. Not too revealing, but beautiful, and with the right accessories, it’s perfect.
Putting on my jacket and flip flops, I place my red heels in my bag to slip on when I arrive at work. I lock everything, and check it all twice. It’s a ritual—I check every window and make sure I’ve locked the door, then I do it over again. I was never allowed locks on my door at home; my parents would punish me if I tried to block them from handing out their agonizing strikes or terrible punishments.
One day, that all changed. I grew a spine and stood up for myself. I couldn’t take it anymore. From that moment on things were different.
When I arrive, I spot Violet in her office. Crap! She’s here early. Silently, I attempt to put my stuff under my desk and swap my shoes over, and as I’m about to bolt out the door again to rummage up some coffee, her cold voice echoes out to me.
“Elenore, come in here… please.” She hesitates on the please. Manners don’t come easily for her.
Holding my breath, I slowly step into her office, waiting for something to happen. It’s as though I’m tiptoeing on a minefield, waiting for one wrong step causing them to blow. I’ve seen her mad before, especially when people have done something seriously wrong.
For what seems like forever, she doesn’t speak, but continues fussing over paperwork strewn over her unorganized desk.
Hang on a minute. Is that her outfit from yesterday?
“Umm… Ms. Vi? Have you gone home yet?” I hesitantly ask, as my fingers twirl in knots with each other. She drops her pen and takes her glasses off, dropping them on her desk. Her gaze is fierce.
“After our little chat last night, I was so frazzled because I could not find those damn photos and then, I had to finalize all pages for the magazine to go to print today. So, no, I haven’t been home yet.”
My eyebrows shoot up in shock. I specifically remember telling her where those photos were. I press my lips together to refrain from saying anything.
Violet’s eyes burn into me. I must choose my words wisely. “Ms. Vi, I’m sorry about yesterday. If you had listened to me last night when I told you where those photos were…” I take a step toward the desk and pull out the red folder from under the mess she’s accumulated overnight. I’m becoming concerned for Ms. Vi, perhaps it’s the stress of work and Rebecca weighing on her. She snatches them from my hands and returns back to what she was doing.
“Ms. Vi, go and get freshened up before everyone arrives.” Stretching out my hand, I place it over hers, and she takes a moment and closes her eyes, hanging her head then releases a sigh.
“Okay. I’ll be back in an hour.” Rising from her seat, she strides around her desk and stops in front of me. My chest is moving as though I’m breathing, but it feels as if my throat is a thin straw. Is she going to fire me?
“Elenore, thank you. Please, will you straighten this paperwork out while I’m gone? We’ll get it all sorted when I get back.”
Before I manage to respond she’s out the door, and I’m relieved I still have a job. I get to work, checking my phone one last time before putting it away, and there’s a message from an unknown number.
Unknown: You look beautiful today, precious princess. See you soon.
Fear threads its way through my veins. Someone’s watching me. I glance around and I’m alone in the office. I step away from the large window. I type a reply.
Me: Who is this?
My hands shake as I hit send. I wait anxiously for a response, but one never comes.