Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Sixy: Dear diary

*THIS DIARY IS THE PROPERTY OF VIOLET LOCKWOOD SO KEEP YOUR FILTHY FUCKING HANDS OFF AND DON'T READ IT --OR I WILL CHOKE YOU AND DROPKICK YOU TO THE FLOOR*

December 24th

Dear diary,

I've decided I quite like graveyards.

I'm sitting in one right now as I write this, on a bench opposite my mother's gravestone. In the summer, I amuse myself by decorating it with daisy crowns and lillies (lillies especially, considering those were her favourite flowers), but seeing as it's currently December and the weather is being a bitch, her gravestone has to make do without any affectionate decorations.

I feel guilty just looking at it.

I don't care if my fingers freeze off either, while I stay sitting out here: I'm not leaving until sunset at the very earliest. Because today marks the nine year anniversery since her death, and I believe nobody -- dead or alive -- should have to spend their anniversery in solitude.

I need to spend as much time here as I can, while I still can.

I had a diary before this. Only, I chucked it in the bonfire last new years eve because I was suddenly paranoid that somebody would find it and read of all the awful things I write about.

God knows, they'd lock me up in an insane asylum if they read one paragraph from this journal, and from what I can recall of those places from when I used to go and visit my mother there once a week, they aren't all that nice at all. Prison-like, is an accurate term I'd use.

But I suppose, seeing as I'm much more careful in hiding my belongings these days, it would do no harm to write an update in this new journal. Nobody will find it, and if a stranger were to do so, then it wouldn't really matter -- they won't know who I am.

Now, to begin: my dad re-married two months ago, to a nasty, vermin of a woman called Lisa. She's one of those woman who are all for eating avacados and doing yoga. I can't fucking stand avacados and I can't stand yoga and I can't fucking stand Lisa, either.

Bitch.

Yet the thing which struck me hardest was the fact my father didn't even ask me if I wanted to move in with her (he knew the answer would have been a sharp no)-- instead, he simply ordered me to pack my suitcase, "do it, or else" and that settled it. A new house. A new life -- two new step siblings: Rosie and Mason Brocklehurst.

Even their last name is fucking atrocies atrocias- fuck it I can't spell that one.

The first week of moving into their perfect, perfect house on the prestigious Whiteshore estate, things were fine -- but that's only because we all avoided one another.

Aunt Lisa liked to ignore my existance, and I was more than okay with that; I often like to ignore my own existance, too. But then, on the second week, it started. Oh god, did it start.

Not at home, but at school. School, where teachers wear blindfolds over their eyes and everyones true colours start to bloom.

Rosie and Mason were one year below me but that didn't deter them from going out of their way to torment me. Now I will waste ink detailing a brief list of all the lovely things Rosie and her friends have done for me so far:

Cut my hair off sitting behind me in art class; made up a rumour that I had slept with a boy in the year above for money, (which is completley false, of course, because I'm still a virgin and now that I think about it, I don't think that title is ever negotiable to change -- I wouldn't want it to. Sex looks pointless.)