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Chapter Two: The Stakeout

Chapter Two: The Stake-Out

I’ve done it. I’m in. It was tough trying to figure out how to break into his room, but those YouTube tutorials help a lot. To my deepest dismay, he hadn’t even gotten into the room yet, so I couldn’t just get it and go, problem solved. All my work using that bobby pin for nothing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I would take anything that didn’t belong to me. All I want is my diary back, and then I’d leave him alone. I’m probably doing very illegal things by breaking into his room…wow; I never realized how BA I am.

            Now it’s time to wait for him. I’m just going shove myself under his bed and hope he arrives before I have to pee. I’m really very equipped to handle this. I’ve got binoculars, in case he puts his stuff on the other side of the room or something. I’ve got a camera, albeit a bad one from the gift shop that I purchased for 10 bucks. That way I’ll remember which bag it’s in. And, in case I get hungry, I brought Fritos! They’re salty and delicious and wonderful in every way. Oh dear, it’s gotten so bad, I’ve turned to junk food for love. How sad.

            I guess I’ve held it off long enough. It’s time to explain about my history. I’m not going into too much detail, no need to dig up ALL my feelings. So my dad wasn’t the best. He liked his beer way more than he’d ever liked me. Though he wasn’t picky; the man would suck up anything on hand: vodka, wine, any mind-numbing alcohol with the magic power of changing me from his daughter into his punching bag. After a while, I got sick of always having to find excuses for the fresh bruises. So I left. I started living out on the streets, waiting for the moment when I’d be completely safe.

Eventually I figured out that I needed to ditch the rats and get an education. I enrolled myself into the nearest public school, making sure everyone thought I still lived with my old man. I graduated and worked 3 jobs until I had enough for a crappy apartment and kept working from there. I scrimped and saved until I could afford the vacation and the fake moustaches. I’d left home 5 years ago, and I was 17 now.

That’s why I want to become an author and to be rich. Not for the nice things, though they’d be great. But to prove him wrong. To show my father that I hadn’t needed him, that I was someone he should’ve tried to keep around.

I don’t want a privileged celebrity to be the first to know about that. I don’t want someone who could never understand be the person holding my feelings, the ones I could never show, in his hands. I’m not going to try to be an angsty teen and say no one will understand because I know there are people who have had it worse. I know there are a lot of people who could understand. I’m just not sure that Niall Horan could.

But, since I’ve got nothing to lose, I might as well say some stuff about me that no one else knows. So keep it on the down low, okay? One, I love lasagna. Two, I want to get married at the beach, if, you know, I even find someone who’s all “oh, of course I’ll marry you, you goddess!”. Three, my greatest fear is that my father won’t recognize me. If he even realizes I’m gone. He probably thinks the couch is me, probably punches the living daylights out of it, the way he did me.

So, you see, I don’t really trust the male population. My first and last boyfriend ended up cheating on me and humiliating me. In my experience they just let you down. It’s only a matter of when and how.

That’s my explanation for why I hate that Niall Horan has my diary. He’s going to hurt me; it’s just a matter of when and how. I probably seem really cynical and mean. I’m really not. Cynical, that is. I’m plenty mean; I stop just short of eating babies. Kidding! See? I even know how to make jokes. This is a proud moment for me.

Gee whiz, I really know how to get off track. I’m supposed to be doing a CIA grade stakeout, not an Oprah interview. Mental face-palm right there. But on the bright side, now my past has been cleared up, along with why my diary matters so much. I’m even more proud of myself. See that? I was just optimistic. I’m on a roll today.

But back to the stake-out. It’s been 1.5 hours and I’ve almost finished my entire bag of Fritos. Where is that boy? I’m so thirsty…

Oh look! He’s opening the door.

Author’s note:

I hope you enjoy this story as much as I did writing it. Please tell me if you like the main character. I’m trying not to make her over-dramatic. And Niall will be coming in the next chapter. Please comment, fan and all that fun stuff!

-The Author.