The Coldest Summer✓

Eight

Dear God,

All I hoped for was a nice and relaxing vacation, which has been the case by far. I appreciate everything I've seen here and our hosts have been so kind to us that I'm afraid I may get too attached. I like Mrs. Eleanor a lot, if I were to have another mother in this lifetime; I wish she would be just like her. I dare say that all is well, except for one thing . . .

I'm yawning audibly as I place the diary back in my suitcase. Writing has been my therapy whenever things overwhelm me emotionally. It was Dr. Snape's idea and it helps me alot. Hugging my pillow tight, I try to forget all my torments and get some sleep.

I wake up abruptly from a horrible nightmare. It was the accident scene from when I was seven. The blood, the shredded pieces of glass, and the fire outbreak make my heart pound fast as I sit comfortably against the headboard of the bed.

It was horrible. Sometimes I wonder why God allowed such a thing to happen. Why can't he just let me forget it altogether? I despise thinking of it, and even more, dreaming of it. I'd rather live in oblivion than experiencing this horrific m.

Despite the time passing, I still can't connect all the pieces together. I don't have a clear recollection of some facts—like how I managed to survive and so on. But I do remember something vaguely, that we weren't alone inside the car.

Tired of the past, I pace towards the balcony. I'm welcomed by a gush of soft wind that blows my curls slightly. It's already past midnight, and everyone must be fast asleep. That includes my neighbor next door, whose room seems to be dark for a change.

Maybe he's dreaming right now, I smile.

Staring at the twinkling stars, I end up captive of their merriment. I love doing this, and it always hypnotizes my mind. I feel relaxed in an instant, but coming to the knowledge that there's still a long way until morning makes me in need of a new strategy.

Perhaps a good or boring book will do, I conclude.

With utmost discretion, I walk towards the library, for the second time, after a little self-tour I gave myself earlier in the afternoon. I know just what I need and where exactly to find it. Reaching the entrance, my heart almost sinks. The lights inside the library are on.

Did they forget to switch off? Or is it that someone is actually inside? I flounder.

When I walk in, my heart freezes.

"It can't be him again," I mutter soundlessly.

Why is it so hard to escape this man's invisible web?

I find Liam sitting in one of the twin chairs. He's holding a book, and I realize that he's dozed off. Wow, what a sight! He is so calm, so absent, and so handsome. I peek at him closely; he's seated cross-legged, his head resting on the right fist, supported by the elbow that's placed on the armrest.

Right now I see zero degree of his cynicism, and it's a marvel.

I should just take my book and leave, I decide, by slowly turning my toes further into the library. Wide wooden shelves are filled with books, and that old paper smell attacks my nostrils.

I love it.

Either I'm not as discreet as I'd like to be, or someone's never really sleeps at all. I try to walk past the chair but Liam suddenly gets ahold of my wrist, making me shudder to the cores.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, and his voice tone is neither cold nor calm.

But it's still tempestuous.

"I just came to borrow a book, I didn't mean to intrude," I reply, feeling his grip tightening my wrist and it begins to hurt. Oh no!

Liam comprehends and immediately frees my hand, remorseful. "I'm sorry," he utters, panting slightly as though he's been trapped between reality and somewhere unearthly.