Tell me a lie

Chapter 7

Yelena

"Are you saying that someone broke in here!?" She asks, while sitting up from the bed. She looks around in horror.

I take a deep breath before speaking. "Yes, because my diaries! They were here before and now... now they're fucking gone! GONE!!" I yell, my hands starting to shake uncontrollably.

Mare eyes go from me, then to the shelves. She blinks a couple of times, probably not believing her eyes. She then looks back at me, watching all my anxiety unfold. She gets up from the bed rushing to me. She takes my hands into hers to stop me from shaking, "Please, Yelena. Try to calm down." She whispers as if I'd break if she raised her voice. I look at her with panic. I take my hands away from hers and to my throat. My throat keeps closing, not letting any air come through to my lungs.

"I can-can't breathe."

I've written all my darkest and most time consuming thoughts. There's a lot of personal thoughts and confessions. I've written all about my feelings for Nicolai and the shit my mom's put me through. All the times I was bullied in school and forced into a corner. Kids shouting awful things to me until they'd see me cry. They wanted to see tears shed so they did. And now, all those memories both disgusting ones which I want to be buried, are in the hands of some thief. A criminal.

I even wrote about that night. The night of Nicolai's disappearance.
And all of my conspiracy theories to why and who might have been the reason for his disappearance.  And now they're no longer my memories. They're not mine, they're theirs. And I hate them.

I turn my back once more, looking back at the empty shells on the wall.
I don't know why I wince seeing the shelves empty. I thought maybe this whole thing is a nightmare and the books would appear back. Wishful thinking. The harsh reality makes me feel like sinking to the ground and never seeing the daylight ever again.
Mare's arms embrace me, holding me tights like I'd fall without her arms. "Calm down, Please." She says calmly against my ears.
"We have to call the police or the guards. Call Anyone!" I yell,before breaking myself from her arms. I walk to my bag, reaching for my phone. I unlocked it, dialing 911. Mare's soft voice stops me from pressing the call button.

"I think it's better if I speak." She's probably right. I can't even form a sentence without my voice cracking or stuttering. I reach my hand out, handing her my phone. Mare presses CALL, she puts the phone to ear and everything after that seems insignificant.

A couple minutes after the phone call, the police showed up. They scanned the room and checked the cameras and left as fast as they came. The reason why they left shortly after is because there was no evidence of forced entry and that the hall cameras hadn't caught anything susipicius. There was simply nothing left for them and for us to do. I just have to come in when they're gone. Forever.

My father's words reappear in my head "If anything happens, you call."
I should call him. I don't want to wake him up and worry. And he'll probably regret sending me to college. There's also no need to bring my brother into this mess, he'll only make it bigger. He'd talk to father and convince him to take me back home. I know that my brother cares for me but I can't help but wonder if he thinks it's annoying to have his sister attend the same campus.

I deserve a normal college experience. Mare's dead asleep in her bed, though I have to admit that she was fighting for her life trying to keep her eyes open, but she finally fell asleep not without a fight, of course. I told her that it's fine, and said that she probably doesn't want to wake up with eyebags on the first day of college and that convinced her.

Leading me here, laying flat on my back in bed. Staring at the blank seiling, letting all my thoughts consume me to the point where I feel scared closing my eyes. I decide on staying up all night, thinking back to all the things I wrote in my diaries. I probably spent hours  counting all the confessions I've written , at least that's what it felt like. It's easier to stay awake and try to remember all the ink on the papers than remembering the memories that caused them.
I've maybe been writing diaries since I was ten, so that makes 9 years worth of memories. I can't help but feel stupid for ever writing them but my reason to it made sense, even a couple of hours ago. It helped me organize my thoughts and understand them more. I stopped writing for a while, especially after Nicolai disappeared, I mean died.