House of Paper and Wax

4

I'm not certain if I was actually all that relived when he called, because what he said next left me even more perplexed.
"Kat," he continued, "I want you to make sure your car is in the garage and that the drive way is clear of debris when I get home."
I was stunned. What kind of bullsh---
"Kat?" Max's voice sounded through the receiver.
"You what!?!" I yelled. "What does that have to do with anything about anything? Do you realize you have had me in a panic? I have no idea what the hell your note even meant! Why would you leave a note like and just vanish without even telling me where you are or if you are ok!?! And then you call me with some dumb order to clear the drive way like you are some fucking kind of king and I'm your fucking mai---"
"Kat! Kaaaaaat!!! Kitty Kat!" He tried to stop my rant. "Kat, slow down. I can explain."
"Ok then! Tell me what the hell is going on!" I yelled through my teeth. I was in no mood to play games.
"Ok babe. I will explain more when I get home. Tomorrow. I got us something. I am fine, and the note was only to distract you from knowing I was getting the surprise. So I---"
I was seeing spots. Black and white flashes , just like stars when you knock your head on something too hard began to flicker in my view. I felt sick to my stomach.
"Max," I cut in, "you have had me thinking our marriage was in jeopardy or as if I had done something wrong. I was genuinely worried. I don't know whether I want to hurt you for scaring me like that or be happy you are ok. Or if I might want to hurt you even more bc you aren't even going to come home until tomorrow."
I could almost hear him smiling through the receiver as he spoke again.
"My lil Alley Kat. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to scare or worry you. I should have left another sort of diversion to try and throw off the surprise. You know I've never really been that great at these sorts of things."
"Are you kidding me!?!" I calmed only slightly "Max. I don't even know what to say."
"Then don't say anything. Just trust me. You will love this, I swear. I'm sure this will definitely make it all up to you."
"Ok. I guess so. I'm so confused. I'm glad everything is ok. Gosh, I--- I am glad YOU are ok. That's the most important part, right?" I said.
"Right, babe." Max agreed, "Now listen, I am safe at Mom and Dad's house. I don't want to spoil the surprise, so I want you to stay home. Can you do that for me?"
"I guess..." I sighed.
"That's my girl." Max replied. "One more thing, though. I don't want anything given away but the hints I gave you. So please, don't text tonight unless it's an emergency. Ok? I'm gonna head straight to bed anyway, and after breakfast with Mom, I will text when I'm on my way home."
"Ok hun." I reluctantly agreed. "Max?"
"Yes, my love?" Max asked.
"Promise me everything is ok. That
WE are ok?" I pleaded.
"I promise, my beautiful wife. Everything is great. No more worries. I love you. Goodnight."
I sent back my love and said goodnight.

But what I really wanted to say, was not even close to what was going through my head.

I have always been accustomed to  releasing my racing thoughts through old-fashioned pen and paper. Nothing felt better than to drag my pen across the notebook paper, carving and pressing the ink into the page; equal in comparison the intensity of my mood. The energy that had me out of sorts during a writing session,  leaked out of me, as the ink bled passion all over a once blank sheet of white paper. It was the most effective coping skill I had ever developed. For me, anyway.
I had to learn the hard way that this was not, however, effective if someone stumbled across my journals.
I started writing my rants when I was a teenager. I went through a rough bout of anxiety and started counseling to cope with it all. My therapist recommended I write all my thoughts down, and it really seemed to help.
Writing wasn't something that worked for everyone, but in my case, it absolutely helped. It became my obsession.
The first time I put my pen on the page, I felt a surge from my heart and mind shoot through my arms and fingers and onto the page. I let everything roll out of me, every chance I could get. It was the biggest purge of my entire existence up until then. I don't think I put the pen down for two weeks. One day, I came home from school only to find my mother in my room sitting on my floor. A pile of lose papers surrounded her, along with a journal I had already filled laying open by her side. She was sobbing, with her head in her hands.
"Are you that unhappy, Kathryn?" She cried aloud, as I stepped in the room.
I froze in the reality of the situation at hand.
She stood up and started reading some of the hateful things I had written about the family. Things I hated about her. Things I wanted to say to my father to hurt him. Things I hated about everything and everyone I knew.
I was so angry at her for invading my privacy. But that didn't compare to how awful I felt for saying such mean things. Just because I thought those things at the time of writing it, didn't mean I meant it, and certainly wasn't meant to hurt anyone. I tried to explain, but my mother was too angry and hurt. I would have done anything to take it all back.
From that day on, I became much more careful in hiding my journals. It was rare someone would run across them after that.
But time went on, and my hoard of journals began to grow. These were things I couldn't just get rid of. Aside from my rants, I had other writings and poems that were worth keeping. And even re reading things from past rants would help me get through a difficult situation later on. The day I moved out of my parent's home, I left with at least 20 journals no one but me had ever seen. Nor would they, I decided. I purchased a locking chest, and filled it for years until I met Max.
We always had the understanding that he would respect my privacy and not to get into my journals unless I wanted to share something with him. He really respected it. I had never once caught him trying to snoop. But even if he did, I still couldn't bear anyone knowing all my thoughts, so I keep it locked anyway.
After Max hung up the phone, I knew it was definitely a time to break open the chest and throw a few words down on paper.
I poured a glass of wine, opened my chest, and got out the latest journal. The lock was acting a little stiff, so I made a mental note to spray some oil on the old lock. I joked to myself that this may be my coping skill, but it was Max's saving grace. It was a sheer fact that he was lucky my journal was going to get the verbal lashing, and not him.
I let out a sigh, and pressed the red ink into the thick, soft paper, and began to write.

***NOTE: This is a VERY ROUGH FIRST DRAFT. Grammar and spelling are left untouched on this version of the story on Wattpad.
The corrected copies will be released upon fully publishing my final copy of "House of Paper and Wax". I will keep readers posted on the final process, but the joy of reading this story on Wattpad  is that readers and fans will be able to read on weekly as the story is written!
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