We meet again. I apologize in advance for disappearing. Malfoy and Zabini hid my journal all these years only for me to discover that it was under my four-post beneath a fuck ton of clutter and clothes.
'Why the vulgar language, Lorenzo Charles?'
I've been through fucking hell and back these past 2 years, diary. It's all muscle memory for me to spit out obscenity and such.
I don't apologize for it, either. You live and you learn. You get older. You see new things. Do new things.
Changes.
I hate to admit, but I underwent a lot of changes.
Do you want to know what I did when I turned 14? Or how about the part where Draco and I acted like nothing happened?
Lucius took us to a dreadful place with worn out ladies. Care to know what happened? I'm sparing the details. You don't need to know.
It's for your sake that you don't know, diary. I would kill to erase the memory out of my bloody head.
It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here at school surrounded by people who love me. What happened to me doesn't define me. I won't let it.
You live and you learn.
But I can still-. I can still smell the horrid room. I can still taste her lips. I can-. I still remember.
The Slytherin Clique - Lucille, Draco, Blaise, Onyx - are out at the Astronomy Tower doing fucking monkey business. Being out past curfew.
I'm here back at the dungeons writing because no one else is going to listen to me. I mean, why the fuck would I tell anyone what happened to me? What happened to Draco? It's not my story to tell on his part.
Besides, they'd tell me to suck it up and be a man.
Well guess what? Fuck you! I am a fucking man even without having forceful sex with a worn out woman! Fuck you! I am a man!
Sex doesn't making me a fucking man!
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And now here I am fucking crying. But crying doesn't make me less of a man. Crying is okay. I don't give a bloody fuck about what anyone else has to say about my masculinity. Ruined my fucking pages with my fucking tears. The ink is all fucked up now.
Enough about me.
No, not enough about me. This is my journal and I can write whatever the fuck I want. Say whatever the fuck I want. These are my pages. My lines. My quill. I have the power in this journal.
No one else.
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I took a break to recollect myself. I'm back now. New ink. Aside from the trauma I've endured this summer, I received a letter from my father.
Mr. Berkshire made me a sole beneficiary to all the shops and buildings he owns in the wizard & muggle world when he dies.
Pardon me for saying this, but I hope he dies soon.
Not for the wealth. I couldn't care less about the wealth.
I'd rather have no parents than two absent ones.
I promise to never leave my children. I promise to choose the right person when having children.
I promise.
I know nothing about love, but I think it's more of a 'You'll feel the love when it's there' type of thing. As of now, I have no feelings for anyone. I don't feel love for anyone in particular.
Maybe it's too soon. Or maybe I've passed up the opportunity already.
No, that's bullocks. I'm only 14. I know nothing of love, and that's fine.
Though I've had an inkling about who my potential love interest could be.
Certainly isn't Onyx De Loughrey, though she's outrageously beautiful. She also belongs to Blaise. It's all just an assumption. Both are in denial about it, but my ability to foresee the future never lies to me.
It's a shame how I have no control regarding the whole ability to see the future. It just chooses to show me whatever it wants to show me as it pleases. Hopefully one day I'll be able to utilize it at my own beck and call.
Back to Lucille Granger though.
L.G. changed over the summer; dramatically. I mean, her physique, her lips, her breasts. I'm trying to be as respectful as possible, but I find myself glancing at her over and over and over and over again.
Was her voice always this sweet?
Merlin, this is horrible for me to say this, but does she taste sweet, too? Her lips, I mean. No, like-. Her lips on her face.
And as for Onyx De Loughrey. Has she always been that gorgeous?
Fuck, all the witches look gorgeous. What was in their water? Curves are coming in. Lashes are getting longer. Lips are getting fuller.
Draco noticed, too. He even told me that Lucille looks different, but he refused to admit that he liked how she looks. Just say it, Malfoy. But you have to know that she's mine, first.
I've always thought Lucille looked stunning. I also think that Lucille Berkshire has quite a ring to it. To this day I still think that name sounds nice. Rolls off the tongue swiftly and effortlessly.
Like silk.
I'll remember to write in here more often. I'll also remember to keep this journal away from Malfoy and Blaise. Those cheeky fucking gits.
I also have to confess something before I leave.
I didn't choose a pureblood that night.
It was a muggle born witch.
I despise the derogatory m-word. You will never hear me say that fucking word.
You will never.
***
THE SHOW MUST GO ON.
D I S C U S S I O N
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