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I don’t even know if he came back because I was up until quite late and never heard him come in.
I fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, so he could have come back home then.
This is a nightmare. All of it. As is he.
Yesterday, I was so upset I stayed in my room all day and barely ate anything. Again. I can count the things I’ve eaten this week on one hand. The week hasn’t ended yet, and I’m already a mess. A mess in my mind and body.
It’s one thing to agree to this shit charade, but not knowing how long I have to do this for is killing me. It’s eating away at my insides and making me crazy at the same time. Even convicts know when they can leave prison.
Even when they get the life sentence, they know the only way out is death.
Will it be the same for me?
Am I to stay with this man for life for the two million? Is that what he intends?
It’s that worry that played in my mind over and over again all through yesterday and then today.
I don’t know how long I’m going to be here. I don’t know if Dad is okay, and I have to be real—I probably lost my job.
I wanted that chance to do the interview on Coral Winters for more reasons than the prestige it would carry. She’s famous for her notable charity work across the world. She’s one of those strong women who help people.
Doing an article on someone like that would be amazing. For me, it’s a little more personal than that. She wrote a few books of inspiration to heal the soul.
Her words helped heal me.
Simple words that spoke to me.
Remember who you are and never give anyone permission to treat you less than that.
It was those words that snapped me out of my funk. A slump I’d been in for years, something I never thought I would break free from. With my mind damaged and my heart in pieces from all the things I saw and all that I lost and was done to me, I don’t know how I made it back.
This whole thing… being here with Vincent feels like I let myself down.
Today, I could only calm my troubled mind by going to the library. The goal was to read to escape the shit my hard-fought-for life has turned into.
Everything is shit, and I’m so worried I think that by itself will kill me. That along with its friend—helplessness.
I stayed in here the whole day reading Shakespeare. I’m shocked Vincent has such books, but he does.
The library is quite big for a house, and I wonder if the woman who lived here before created it. I look around the rows of shelves and see good books, old books. All the classics and more.
Today, I read Julius Caesar and King Lear. They’re my favorites. I’ve read every single play and sonnet written by Shakespeare because in my household it was a must. My parents wanted me to read the greats and be strong minded.
I moved on to Macbeth an hour ago, but now I am really tired. It’s super late.
At eight, Marguerite came in to ask me if I wanted dinner, the same as she did a few times today to ask me if I wanted something to eat. Each time, I told her no.
That last time she was prepped for the answer and came with those cookies I liked when we first met.
I ate those, but since my appetite is screwed, I couldn’t taste the flavors.
It must be after midnight now.
I close the book, get up, and place it back on the shelf. I’ll just go to bed and hope that tomorrow will be different. Just like last night.
I’m about to leave when my gaze lands on the other door across the room. It’s between the shelves with the encyclopedias.
Curiosity takes me over to it.
