Dear whoever,

4

JULY 23

Dear whoever,

Once again I'm stuck, not knowing exactly what to write. I don't pick up a pen and this journal because I suddenly know or understand what I'm feeling. I pick it up because I feel obligated to. I pick it up because she asked me to. I pick it up because deep down I know it helps.

Today I feel: relieved

relieved that I didn't give up on this notebook

relieved that it's actually working, in some miniscule way

relieved that Quinn didn't give up on me

I placed the book under my pillow and slid off my bed reluctantly. Sometimes I wish I could just rest on my bed for the whole day. Because the outside world didn't look any better than the back of my eyelids. That excludes Quinn of course; she made the worst situations seem beautiful.

The drive to work took longer than usual. There was an accident between a truck and a minivan that had occurred before sunrise. Both vehicles were destroyed. Dents and scratches and broken glass. Blood and tears and broken bones.

I finally got to work, but unfortunately I was nearly twenty minutes late because of the traffic. When I walked out of the elevator into the spacious office Quinn shot me a questioning look as I passed her. I shrugged at her before settling in behind my cubicle.

"Boss was looking for you this morning man. He looks pissed." Jerome whispered at me the moment I sat down. I could tell he was nervous because his fingers fiddled with the small silver hoop on his right eyebrow.

"Calm down mom. Boss just needs to get laid." I rolled my eyes at him, pressing the power button of my laptop and crossing my arms over my chest as it hummed to life.

"Nah man. This time is different. You're is some deep shi-"

"David!" A deep voice that I knew too well called from across the room.

I turned towards it and found dark brown eyes glaring at me. He nodded his head towards his office signalling me to follow him before turning away.

I sighed in annoyance. This is the first time I've been late all month. I'm really not in the mood for one of his 'you-need-to-take-this-job-more-seriously' speeches. Jerome sent me a sympathetic look before facing his laptop again, now his fingers were fiddling with a loose thread hanging from the beanie on top of his blonde dreads. I wanted to tell him that he had nothing to worry about. But half of me didn't care that he was frantic and the other half of me was frantic too.

I passed Quinn's working space on the way to his office. She glanced up at me in the most subtle way. But I caught it. Her hair was straight today, so it was harder for her to hide behind it. She looked strange with straight hair. Still beautiful, but in a different way. An unfamiliar way. I was so used to her curly, wild mane, that whenever she straightened her hair- which wasn't often- I caught myself staring at it unknowingly.

I'm pretty sure I have a hair fetish, thanks to her.

I opened the door slowly, stalling while racking my brain for good excuses. The room was maybe a little bigger than my living room at home, but it looked even bigger because Boss only kept a large mahogany desk in the center of the room, and a few filing cabinets in the corner. He was a bit of a neat freak. His tie was always positioned perfectly, like he took a ruler out every morning and made exact measurements and his hair was never out of place thanks to the pounds of gel he obviously applied to it. The guy was in his mid forties. Married judging by the wedding band on his ring finger. No kids, judging by the lack of flaunting picture frames and 'my-child-is-an-honor-roll-student' bumper stickers. His name was Bradley Boss, but everyone just called him Boss for short.