The Journal of Beatrice Grace Parker

You're Gonna Hate Me...

Guess whom did I run into when I stalked out? Yes, Theo. Theo with his cute asymmetrical smile, asking how my session had been. Theo, saying that he knew I was to have a session with Dad, and yet he’d gone to the park, just to check if I needed company. And there, unheeding of Gloria the receptionist and my Mom, I just chucked the journal onto a seat and gave him a hug. He didn’t hesitate for even a second before returning it back, his solid, strong, steady arms around me, the smell of his overlong dark brown curls, the colour of coffee without milk. Tactfully, Mom and Gloria busied themselves, and I rescued my journal, my other arm still around Theo. Wordlessly, I pushed it towards him, knowing that he had to read it to believe me. But before he opened it, he whispered in my ear – “I didn’t give you your answer yesterday. I say good-morning to my car every single day, as I hug her bonnet, and I say goodbye to her when I leave her in the garage. She was my best friend till you came along.” Somehow this hurts. Because now I’m sure he’ll hate me. And it’ll take me forever to come to terms with it. He didn’t make it easy. I just left him with the journal, telling him to meet me in the park the next day if he still felt that way about me after reading it. I felt I was giving him a fair warning. But he only made things tougher by drawing me close and still whispering in his satiny voice “You think you’ll get rid of me that easily, girl? Nothing that you write in that little diary of yours can make me push you away.”

“It’s not a diary.” I replied in a small voice. Why was life so difficult? Why was my best friend underestimating my capacity to hurt? Maybe he did misunderstand me. He thought me to be better than I am. Serves him right then, for trusting the wrong girl. I went out of the door, not turning to look whether he was hurt or angry. I was sure he’d be both by the time he’d finish reading my journal.

And I'd be back to wondering whether life was worth all the trouble.