Neverland [ ✓ ]

Day 10

ENTRY:
3:32 AM

It's been three days since I last wrote in here. Not because I haven't wanted to, it's because I can't find words to write. It's like an expansive blank space between the naive state of childhood and the angst of becoming a teenager. Should I just skip to where it's started again?

High school.

That's where I've begun to remember again, as frustrating as it is to be unable to remember the time before, the few ghost years.

ENTRY:
8:03 PM

A first year, I was fourteen.

In High school, I took the bus, but my trek back and forth on foot amounted to three miles total a day. For that, I was kept fairly in shape for being someone as lacking in athletic ability as I'd been. By that time, I maintained odd jobs, working and earning where I could. Since it was just me, I could do it. I managed.

During all of that time, no one knew about my mother. I suppose that no one really cared enough to wonder. She was the town's most prominent druggie before she mystified the place one last time by pulling a final disappearing act. It was just a matter of time to them, I guess, before she crawled into a sewer somewhere and died. Gone, my mother was, down the drain. She'd had no friends, no close family; all she'd had were the men she sucked and fucked, sometimes for cash, sometimes for fun. After everything, I never thought such a sick aspect would save me the trouble of giving an explanation, save me all the trouble it could've stirred had she been loved by anyone but me. 

ENTRY:
9:10 PM

Halfway through my first year of High school, I obtained my first boyfriend; a memory I should think of fondly, most women would by this age, but I do not think of it as such. It was a mishap of young romance that could've been avoided. Though, no difference would've been made had I spared myself the experience, because I'm sure that if it hadn't been him, it'd have been another. So I suppose that I cannot complain about the ignorance of a girl as young as I was; such play only came naturally.

His name was Alex, a third year, whom I'd met in Russian Literature.

He was a beautiful person, if my memory serves me right. He was broad and much taller than I was, a minty eyed gem with features sharp as a knife and hair blacker than coal. With everything he did he seemed sure of himself; opening his textbooks, crossing between classrooms, even doing something as trivial as speaking with his pale lips and silver tongue. Naturally, I fell for all of it, as most girls that age do. As it turned out, he'd had an eye on me, too. 

Before I could bat an eye, we were dating, strutting the halls like couples do. 

I didn't know him all that personally when I accepted, but after two weeks of officialism, I decided that I knew him well enough. For the very first time, I invited Alex to stay the weekend, explaining an intricate lie; my parents were visiting Moscow for the weekend and I didn't feel all too up to being by myself for two days. Eagerly he accepted my offer, driving the both of us there in his paint chipped navy-blue pickup truck the Friday after my invitation.

That night, we'd lain together on the couch, watching movies and talking nonsense. Holding each other, touching whenever it was an available option, tongue-kissing because it felt right. He was good and experienced, not nearly as new to the dating scene as I was, I could tell. 

Being with him that lone Friday night, innocence and affection mixed at it's best.
I could've sworn that I loved him.