No Broken-hearted girl (Crushing Hard Series Book 2)

Dear Diary 09/02/2013

Saturday
18:00 PM

My siblings and I have officially moved in with my dad. His two-bedroom flat with my stepmom and half-sister Asanda feels... cozy. Not in the cute Pinterest way, though. More like, “I can hear you breathing in the next room, and it's not cute” cozy. My face hurts from all the forced smiling, trying to seem carefree and easygoing when, inside, I’m a human Jenga tower ready to collapse if someone so much as sneezes.

Dad has no clue I had a boyfriend, let alone that I'm currently dragging my heart around like a deflated balloon. Not a soul on this side of the family knows about my relationship. Why? Well, if I accidentally mention Scott to Asanda, she might blurt it out to her mom, who would obviously tell my aunts, and then it would inevitably get back to my dad. And you know what that means? A virginity check! Yes, Diary, I’d probably have to stand trial for my sins in front of the elders, who’d be more than ready to give me the "burn her at the stake" treatment once they discover I'm not a virgin. My dad would likely kill me, bring me back to life just to kill me again. So yeah, I’m suffering in silence. The drama, I know.

Honestly, the thought of living with my dad makes me a bit anxious. He’s all about order and structure, like a walking military base. His place, his rules. I tried to tell my parents that campus was actually closer to my mom’s house, but they tag-teamed me into silence. Great. Just great. And I'm still heartbroken! Do they not realize I need parties, not prison? I’m not ready for the life of a nun. How am I supposed to sneak out, drink overpriced cocktails, and dance like nobody's watching when I have a 5 PM curfew at my dad's?

The only saving grace? My stepmom. She’s been all sugar and rainbows, welcoming me into the fold like I’m the prodigal daughter returning home. It’s sweet, but I can still feel the undercurrent of awkwardness because my mom has some very "meh" feelings about her. On one hand, she’s grateful that my stepmom treats us well. On the other hand, my stepmom is the reason my parents got divorced.

The tea, though, Diary, is how it all went down. My stepmom got involved with my dad while he was still happily married (or so my mom thought). Things blew up when stepmom dearest showed up at my mom’s workplace, baby bump and all, spilling the beans about the affair. I mean, the drama could fill a season of Days of Our Lives. Mom was heartbroken, obviously, and left Dad. Now, Dad’s happily playing house with wife #2, and we’re all just supposed to be cool about it? Ha! Life's rich with irony, isn’t it?

In reality, there is a deep animosity between my parents, and it wasn’t hard to see why. My mom was full of anger and resentment, which, honestly, who wouldn’t be after everything? She was betrayed, left heartbroken, and completely blindsided. My dad, on the other hand, seemed to always be angry at her too, and I could never figure out why. Maybe it was guilt—like, some kind of misplaced guilt he didn’t know how to handle. I mean, my mom’s still a total MILF; it’s hard to believe he’d messed that up. But I guess love has a way of turning sour and twisting people up. I always felt like I was stuck in the middle of their mess, trying to dodge the crossfire.

Despite all that, my stepmom’s been really sweet since I moved in. She's trying hard to make the place feel warm and welcoming. It’s strange, though, being here, knowing the history and everything that happened. But, hey, I’ll give her credit—she’s making an effort. The Talk about household responsibilities came up. Apparently, I have to pitch in with cooking. Cooking. I can barely manage toast without setting off a fire alarm. And now I have to boil rice. Does rice even boil? I’m not sure, and I’m too scared to Google it. My stepmom said it all so sweetly, but the panic I felt was real. I just nodded along like I wasn’t about to set the kitchen on fire with my lack of skills.

I mean, how do people do this? Cooking seems like such a normal thing for everyone, and I feel like an alien watching humans perform some strange ritual in the kitchen. “Boiling rice,” “simmering stew”—what do those words even mean? The kitchen is basically a disaster waiting to happen when I step foot in it. Cue the food poisoning incident of 2013 in 3... 2...

I miss my friends so much. It's hard not knowing what's next in my life. That was the comfort of high school: I knew everyone, I understood the teachers, and I had a sense of what to expect day in and day out. Monday is fast approaching, and I have no idea how to navigate this new life with college, new family dynamics, and trying to rebuild the pieces of my sanity.

I remember when we started grade 8. My siblings and I were entering a new school, and we didn't know a single person. I was nervous but didn't want to admit it; I was afraid it would make me sound like a baby. My mom, bless her heart, walked us to the bus stop that day. She has no idea how much that gesture meant to me. With her by my side, I felt braver, more secure. As soon as we arrived at the bus stop, I spotted a kid wearing the same uniform as mine, and I knew I'd found an ally. I ran over to him without even glancing back at my mom. She didn't hang around with us for long; I think she sensed that we would be okay.

Now, as I prepare to start this new chapter on Monday, it feels wrong that my mom won't be there. My dad will be driving us to campus, and while I appreciate that, it's just not the same. He’s more like the Grim Reaper than a comforting presence. Where’s my security blanket when I need it?

But, Diary, here’s the thing: I’ve survived worse. I’ll get through this. Somehow. I’ll figure out how to balance cooking without killing anyone, endure living with my dad’s rules, and maybe—just maybe—I'll stop missing Scott one day. Hopefully.

Here’s to new beginnings, whether I like them or not.

xoxo,
Thandi