Just So I Could Call You Mine

Chapter 5

Mac

I have her notebook.

I have her notebook and I've read it all.

I know I shouldn't have read it, but her writing is so captivating and romantic and... incomplete. Her story is incomplete and now I feel empty. I need to know how it ends, but I obviously can't ask because that would be admitting to my sins.

Fuck. Why did I read it? What if these were her innermost thoughts and I just invaded that? Mom found her notebook on a bench at Lillymount and told me to hang on to it for her, and I did.

The notebook had collages on the first pages and Jess' number. Time and love has clearly been up into this. And then the actual story starts.

It drew me in, its not my fault. I'm just making an excuse for my non-excusable snooping. As my mind spews different scenarios at me, I pace back and forth.

I really want to get to know her now, after the way she acted at the park, her notebook and even at my house, in my bedroom, she felt unlike anyone else. She feels different.

I mean like her personality and her vibe.

She seemed genuinely happy at the park, April and her smile's both just radiate glee.

I can't shake the first time I saw her in middle school and now I might have a chance. All this time she took no notice of me, when I couldn't stop being drawn to her. She seems too real that's why I busied myself with other people throughout the years.

I want to get to know her but that means letting her in and trusting her. I don't think I can do that anymore.

That's what happens with trust. You let people in and they destroy you piece by piece.

To everyone it's history now. But for me, whenever I close my eyes, it all comes back. It breaks my heart and mind to think my mom feels the same.

He broke me, and it makes me furious.

***

"So how was your project work with Jess?" mom asked after Jess left. She trailed after me as I let Jess out and she cornered me as I shut the door.

I really wanted to play it cool, but mom saw right through me.

"You like her?" mom asked while taking milk out of the fridge. I leaned against the counter and just tried to steady my breathing.

This week was like the first time I've talked to her, I need to get to know her.

"I don't know her that well," I admit. I've never been this soft.

A girl that I took on a few dates, I liked her a lot at the time, but I would intentionally cut conversations short and not talk about myself, and admittedly I wasn't very nice to her. It was all based on attraction and makeouts.

I need to pull myself together. I push myself off the counter and pad my way back up the stairs.

I take my guitar off my wall and start to play.

My fingers flick from string to string creating an abrasive tune. My calloused fingers welcome the familiarity of the stings and I continue striking my guitar, drowning out all my intrusive thoughts about my own internal struggles.

I get lost in the music, trying to only think about the sound that I'm producing.

Lately the demons in my head are as bad as when he was in this house. The feeling of terror that I have people to protect, I would never admit it out loud and refuse to fully realize it myself.