When There Was Me and You

CHAPTER FOUR |:| BRIGHTER FUTURE

C H A P T E R  F O U R  |:|  B R I G H T E R  F U T U R E

a month after and a year before 

March 25, 2012  

May 25, 2011

Dear Diary,

I can't believe I'm writing this date; it's today. A lot has happened. I am now stuck in a hospital. A hospital. I can't even believe I am writing a sort kind of diary. But the doctors told me to, so they handed me a notebook and a pen to write down everything I know as of today. I will be writing this book for as long as I am "recovering." Which feels strange because I felt like I woke up from my bed, just with so much headache and stitches that can be seen all over my body.  

I woke up feeling like in heaven with everything so white, which made me feel uneasy. I wasn't prepared to be in heaven yet. One, I have a lot to live for and haven't done yet. Two, I am going to be so dead to my mom, but not literally. Three, I just missed my mom's party, which I don't know if I should be happy or not.

All I remember was yesterday I met someone vaguely familiar at the police station. But I don't know why I was there in the first place. It was just a hazy thought that came to my mind when the doctor asked me what happened the day before. All I know is that today was supposed to be April 1, 2011. It has to be.

I look at first page of my diary. It has been a long journey since I've first written this. I sigh and push my hair back. I take my pen out and open the first empty page.

March 25, 2012

Dear Diary,

It has been exactly ten months since the accident happened. If I was told before that I am going to be hit by a car and a tree at the same time whilst running late for my mom's party, I would laugh at them. But I guess the joke is on me.

"Mase, you better not be just sitting in your bed doing nothing!" I can hear my best friend's voice as she nears.

I close my notebook and hide it away on the drawer below the lamp desk.

I hear a very loud knock and I roll my eyes, "The door is open. You know that already. We've been doing this for four years."

"I know, I was trying to be polite." Chrissy opens the door and quickly sits beside me as she relaxes.

Chrissy looks nice wearing a pink shirt dress and a hat, which she is now taking off. The hat, I mean. I, on the other hand, was wearing a very loose black shirt with a yoga pants.

"Okay, okay. So, did you bring the paintbrush?" I smile at her sight, remembering the agenda we have for today.

"Uh, yeah," she says in a monotone. "Now, get off your bed and wear your ugliest outfit because we're about to do something crazy."

After seventeen years of my life, I get to do something as wild and free as this. I got up and removed my clothes and walked into my closet.

I rummage my closet, looking for the oldest shirt I have. At the bottom of the pile, I found a white shirt that doesn't look like mine, but it suits me well. It smells weird. It smells like Cheetos and old toys. I wore that shirt since it doesn't look like mine and I don't plan on keeping it any longer.

I make my way outside, grabbing the paint and turning on the music.

"To a better future!"

"Massie, we're just going to paint your bedroom," Chrissy says dully.

"To the better looking bedroom!" I scream in joy.

After four and a half hours of painting my walls, long gone was the bright Barbie pink, and hello white and black walls.

"It reeks," I say, for the nth time.

I have always admired Chrissy's handwriting, so I didn't bother thinking twice to ask her to write some quotes everywhere. On the left side of my bedroom, the walls are painted white, and the other side, black.

"'Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.' -Thich Nhat Hanh" was written in black cursive at my white wall.

"Now, we can put up your pictures," Chrissy says as she hands me a long trail of tie and I stand up from the small chair to reach up the highest point.

"Don't cover the quote with the pictures!" I remind Chrissy.

I put the Polaroid shots one by one on the tie and the pictures stand out immediately from the black wall.

Written in white on my black wall was,

"'I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.' - Marilyn Monroe"

"Why would I even want to cover my beautiful handwriting?" I roll my eyes at Chrissy's admirable modesty.

∞ 📷 ∞

It was nine in the evening and I can't help but sit at my bedroom and watch the lights that Chrissy and I decorated flash through the dark place.

Pictures were lighting up and I couldn't help but feel like I'm staring at the stars from the roof right now. Like the words written on my walls are just my exact same thoughts, it's like an open diary and‒

Diary.

I quickly got up and open my drawer, and there it lays my diary that I haven't finished writing for today's part. I took it out and just when I was about to close it, I found a very old picture.

It wasn't a Polaroid shot, just a small Kodak one but it looks very very ancient. I took it out and let my fingers run through the picture. My heart began to sink and I know exactly why.

I know why I never threw this away. I know why this picture holds so many good memories. I know why I made it hidden from the real world. I know why I kept it in the dark.

And I know where I am going to place it now.

I put my diary at my bed, not wanting to forget it, and place the picture at the very end of the trail of tie and clipped it there.

Away from the present pictures, away from the happiness Chrissy and I made, away from the light that brightens up my room, and away from me. But it's still there, enough for me to remember the good days that I had when I was younger. It reminded me of the past that made me who I am right now.

Because only memories stay, and people change.

Christian wasn't an exception.

I open my diary, as the memories are still clear in my head, I wrote everything I know until my hands grow tired. And until my eyes are tired from crying.

I have trouble remembering the memories, because they were contradicting, some that were years ago when we were still okay, and some were when we started fighting. I felt like I just saw him, but I know it was years ago when we had a normal conversation. Before it happened.

∞

A U T H O R' S   N O T E :

Thank you for reading this chapter <3 I totally appreciate it!

This chapter is dedicated to LaurelFletcher  because her story "The Maxim Journal" makes me swoon <3  

Question of the Chapter:

1. What do you think of this chapter? 

2. Why do you think there's a diary written on 2011? What happened?

3. Do the quotes have to do with anyone? Mainly on Christian?

Now's your time to click on that star button called vote and feel free to comment down below! :) 

edited by AdorerLaVie :)