Vice (H.S)

CHAPTER 11 - DEAR DIARY

I did something bad. I gave in to the moment. I kissed him again.

I still cannot write his name; I don't want to admit to what I know is true. He is dangerous. He threatens everything that I've been raised to become.

When I'm with him... I wish I was someone else. I wish that

I scribble out that last line.

If I am honest with myself, I knew what would happen when I showed up there. I knew I would see him; or, at least, I had hoped that I would. And when I did... I knew that I would do whatever it took to be alone with him again.

What have I done?

What is wrong with me? Why am I acting this way? Why am I going against everything I've ever known, everything I've ever been taught, on some whim? I am dizzy with fear and I am sick with longing. I have never felt more lost.

I feel like I am two different people. One version of me watches while the other burns everything to the ground. One watches as the other throws it all away.

When I'm with him I want time to stop. I want to wait in that moment forever. When I close my eyes, it's as if I return to him. When I close my eyes, he is there, always.

I can't help but hope that I will find myself alone with him soon.

I want all of the things they tell you about... ruin and damnation. The curious part of me wants to know what would happen if I weren't so afraid. How far would it go? Would he

Again, I use my pen to make long, dark scratches through my words. I sound ridiculous.

I want to be made to feel beautiful by him.

I want to make love with him. I want him to

I cross through the words again, ink bleeding through the thick paper. The page of my diary is a mess of black lines, the pages marred with mistakes and words I wish I could take back. Words I wish I didn't mean.

I know that I shouldn't feel this way. I should be content with my blissful life of ignorance and silence. I am destined for a life of quiet— motherhood, family business, and servitude beside the governor. The governor. I am getting married soon. That is what I should be spending my time thinking of, marriage and wedding plans. This is what I want. I want to marry him. I have to. Even though, lately, he has been different. He is distant. He is cold.

But instead, I want him, even though I shouldn't. Even though

"Elwin?" Mother's voice, followed by a soft knock, interrupts my writing.

I clear my throat. "Come in."

I tuck my fountain pen into the crease of my journal, folding it closed and concealing it beneath my pillow.

She enters my bedroom in full evening wear, hair piled high and lips painted a deep red. I can count the number of times I've seen mother without makeup on one hand. She isn't a 'casual' sort of woman.

"Your father and I are having dinner in town," she says breezily, sitting on the edge of my bed beside me.

I nod. "Okay. I can manage. I'll have the cook make something light." She pats my hand and moves to get up but pauses, a frown crinkling her weathered face.

"Elwin, your necklace," she purses her lips and reaches towards me.

I frown, looking down at my chest. "What is it?"

"Your locket," she coos. "The hinge broke. You must've lost the other half. Here, turn."

She spins me around, using her long nails to undo the clasp, letting the chain fall into my waiting hands. The gold is warm against my skin. I've only taken it off a handful of times since I first put it on more than 7 years ago.

"I... hadn't even realized," I try to hide the disappointment in my voice.

"I'm sorry, pet. But it was rather old; maybe you should send out for something new. You could stop into the jewelry store tomorrow morning before it opens, pick out something nice." She would never understand why I want to hold onto something so ancient; the woman doesn't have a sentimental bone in her body.

I nod in response, ignoring the sore spot in my chest.

"We'll be back late," she kisses my cheek lightly. "See you in the morning."

I give her a small smile as she leaves. Using my thumb, I trace the image inside the remaining half of the locket: a dolled up, eighteen-year-old Peggy and Winnie. I've always loved this photo. We went to a picture studio in palm springs, just the two of us. We borrowed a car from father's garage— he has more than ten, he never noticed it went missing. We were so young, so full of hope and wonder for the future, for our world. That day, that road trip, was the only act of rebellion I'd ever been part of.

"Oh, Winnie," I whisper to the photo. "If only you could see me now."

Young Peggy, beside her, smiles at me. It's as if she knows.