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Dear Diary,
Saturday morning was mega shitty. I really don’t feel like summarizing everything that had happened, but ever since Noah had brought me back from Evan’s place, things between us remained awkward. I think he’s been avoiding me on purpose. I had kept my promise and apologized to my stepmom, which hadn’t been easy, but she wasn’t mean about it, and accepted my apology. I was grateful.
Yesterday, I called Jess and invited her over. We hung out by the pool and sipped on virgin cocktails while sunbathing all afternoon. When I had mentioned Noah’s “anonymous text,” she told me that Steph had been the one who contacted him because she had boasted about it the following morning. I’m no longer friends with that backstabbing bitch anymore. Thankfully, I’ll be graduating soon and won’t have to see her face again.
I got accepted at two of the three universities I had applied to. I wanted to go to Berkley because it’s in California, and that means I wouldn’t have to leave Noah. But ever since the drastic revolution in our relationship, I decided to accept Columbia’s offer of admission last week. I would have beenhappy to study abroad, if only it were possible. My chosen field was liberal arts. I’d love to learn languages, though—Italian, Greek, Spanish, Arabic, French—that’s not an exhaustive list. I didn’t think it would be possible to be fluent in world languages within this lifetime. Living in Paris or Italy to launch a modeling career would be amazing… But it’s a farfetched dream. However, Evan could always help me reach it (should I decide to ditch academics).
I guess I’ll figure out my major next year. I’m hoping to qualify for that entrance scholarship once my marks are submitted to Columbia. It would be such a relief because I won’t have to depend on Noah to pay for my education. I’d rather bus tables part time than to accept a penny from him. I just need a clean break. I can’t be in his life, and he can’t be in mine. Not when I feel this way about him. It hurts too much, and he can’t understand it no matter how many times I explain.
I was surprised to find a professional email from a “Dr. A. Grey” in my inbox this evening. I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I didn’t reply—but I archived his email for later reference. I hate how Noah is still pushing therapy on me. I don’t want or need counseling. I know exactly what’s going on with us, and I don’t need some quack to lecture me about it. Yes, it’s hard to feel this way about Noah, but it’s not like I can magically make it disappear. I’m in love with him, and I thought he was in love with me, too. I never thought I’d be in a situation like this. I’m positive that if Noah had raised me, I never would have felt this attraction. I can’t look at him as a father figure. One: he’s dead handsome, and two: the sexual attraction I feel is too intense. It’s so hard to ignore. Most days I want to cry, and usually I do… at night… like I am right now. How many more diary entries do I need to smudge with tears before I give up altogether? I’m done. I’m justDONE.
Yours truly,
-A tortured soul :(
I closed my diary and wiped my tears before I turned on my crystal lamp and reclined in bed.
Why do I always do this to myself?I glanced at my iPod.People listen to music to feel better, not to trigger more pain and cry their eyes out.
Maybe I really was an emotional masochist. I’d been raping the replay on this one song for the past week: “Killing Me Inside” by ATB & Sean Ryan.It was remixed by Amurai, and it made me cry every time. Sean’s voice was too amazing to skip on my playlist, even though his lyrics opened the flood gates inside.
My room looked cozy, bathed in warmth from the flickering flames of cinnamon scented candles along my dresser and nightstand. Sleep would not sneak up on me soon. Staring at the ceiling, I lost myself in a maze of thoughts when someone knocked on my door.
That better not be Vanessa. I’m not in the mood for some lame-o girl talk,I thought, warding off a mood swing.
“Aria, it’s me.”
Oh no…
“May I enter?” Noah asked.
Why did he want to see me? I wasn’t blasting my music, so that couldn’t have been the reason. Sitting up, I ran my fingers through my hair before I answered him.
“Come in.”
My bedroom door opened, and I stopped breathing. I was in the presence of a god. His attire was nothing special—ripped jeans and a black undershirt. But he still looked out of this world attractive.
“Hey.” Noah smiled sheepishly.
“Hi.” I tried to mime his expression but failed. “You don’t look like you’re dressed for bed.”
“I know,” he answered. “I was about to turn in—thought I’d check on you first.”
“I’m all right… just can’t sleep—listening to music.”
“I used to do that whenever I had trouble sleeping—wasn’t the case when I got locked up in solitary confinement once upon a time.” He slid his hands in his pockets and scanned my room.
“Wait, what?” I looked at him in shock. “You were incarcerated?”
“Cocaine possession and bar fights. It’s not on my record, fortunately.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it was years ago—gave me the kick in the ass I needed to get my shit together. Anyway, let’s drop that subject.”
“You sure? I’m here if you need to talk about it.”
“I’m good.”
