harry,
raelynn's death wasn't your fault physically, but mentally it was. you killed her slowly, tortured her to the point where she thought that there was nothing left to live for.
you killed her boyfriend, and left him in the basement with her. every day she had to look at her constant decaying boyfriend who also started to smell. she watched as spiders and rats would climb over his body, and he would sit there, staring into space as his chest was non-moving and his eyes were no longer filled with life.
she hated you. she despised you on another level, one that went beyond hatred. you thought that she loved you? you were wrong, so wrong that you didn't even know what right was anymore. she loathed you, harry.
but, you never saw that. you literally saw her as a beautiful girl who you wanted, and nothing got in the way of what you wanted.
that's where i come in.
i was seventeen when you first saw me, dated june the ninth, nineteen fifty-five. you were twenty-one, and it was a few months after you found raelynn hanged.
the library on rodgers lane was where i would stay every night until eight o'clock on a school night and all day on weekends. it was my happy place, the only place where i could truly be myself. reading books was one of the only pleasures i really indulged in.
you came in to speak to janine, the librarian, so you say. a beautiful woman in her late twenties with dark hair and caramel skin. you never specifically said you were into older woman, but you weren't really. you liked girls younger than you, because you liked being in charge. it was your only nature.
i apparently side tracked your initial ambitions, and you saw me just as you opened your mouth to flirt with janine. i was young, my hair in two french braids, glasses perched on the bridge of my nose with a tendency to scrunch it up. i was a stereotypical nerd, but i wasn't. people assumed that because i wore glasses, i was a dork, when in reality i was as thick as sheeps wool.
it feels strange to write about myself in third person but i'm going off your diary here, the only thing i have left of you.
you became curious of me instantly, noticing that i had black and blue marks on my arms where my jumper had ridden up. your eyes also ran down my body until you stopped at my legs, which were bare except the denim shorts i had on.
and those shorts, were the beginning of our twisted tale.
