Death Diaries || A Dork Diaries Fanfiction ☑️

Entry 07

Disclaimer: The Dork Diaries series is owned solely by Rachel Renée Russell. This is only a fanfiction -a new take on the books, made for the purpose of entertainment and self-expression. I do not wish to offend anyone, including the author and readers of the book.

Cautionary: This story may be gruesome, appalling, or disturbing to some audiences. Please read at your own discretion.

In Our Bedroom After the War
(pt. 2)

"B-Brandon?" My eyes welled up with tears. I ran towards him and wrapped my arms around his torso. I couldn't believe my eyes, he was here. He's alive, he's okay, he's looking at me and— and smiling? I look up at him, tears still brimming, "Y-you're not mad at me?" I hiccuped.

He smile only softened further, "How could I ever be mad at you, Nikki?" He tightened the hug and peppered light kisses on my hair. "How are you feeling?"

I stifled a laugh, "I should be the one asking you that, silly." I mean he's the one still in the hospital. I really thought I'd lost him that night and I really thought I'd never see him again. I continued to sob in his arms as he rubbed one hand up and down my back. His warmth, this feeling, I missed this, so so much. "Brandon," I had to say it, I needed to say it, "I love you too." And his triumphant grin just made everything all the brighter.

That day in the hospital, the door burst open to reveal the glum faces of my family. Dad had a very disappointed look on his face, I know everything came as a shock to everyone but can't they give me the benefit of the doubt? They were my family, weren't they supposed to be on my side? Won't they let me explain?

I was about to tell them what exactly happened on the ice when my mom broke the silence, "I can't believe you did that, Nicole." You just know how serious she is at the moment, she called me by my name; no Nikki, no honey, nothing but Nicole. "What were you thinking?" She asked a little loudly than her previous sentence.

I turned to look at dad, he was shaken. The sad look in his eyes told me just what he felt right now: disappoinment, sadness, disdain, and— and fear. Dad, if I told you I defended your honor, would it make a difference?

Mom, if you knew I tried to protect the one I loved, would you be less revolted?

And Brianna. Brianna couldn't even look me in the eye, she was forcing herself to look at anything and everything in the room besides me. She was young but I was sure she understood what was going on: why police officers are guarding by the door and why I'm handcuffed to the hospital bed.

As fast and as sudden as they came, they left, without a single word. No goodbye, no we'll come back tomorrow, no we'll let you explain, nothing. They just stood up and walked out the door and it was clear, that was the last time I'd be a Maxwell —at least to them. There goes my family, my last source of strength.

The day after that, the doctor said I was ready to be discharged. I was dreading that moment, when I'll be hurled from the bed and practically dragged roughly by the arm and into a blue police car. I would've never thought I'd ever find myself sitting there. A thief, a defiler, a murderer sat here just like how I am now —the latter is exactly who I am now.

As we drove to the detention center I kept my head down and stared at nothing but my lap. I was scared that if I looked at the window, I'd see the eyes of the people that practically screamed profanities and disgust. I felt tears pooling in my eyes once again. Saying I was frightened was an understatement —I was terrified. Nothing will ever prepare anyone for where I'm going and I'm barely even twenty. It was supposed to be a wonderful with just me and him. I was supposed to be preparing for college, my scholarship request is neatly perched on my desk at home —if I could still call it that.

After all the necessary documenting, I was put in a holding cell. Thankfully, I was alone. I didn't know I would've done if there were other people, I wasn't in the mood to talk or even imagine what it'd be like to be in one room with other people potentially like me. Were they big and scary? Did they have a crooked grin plastered on their face? Were they skinning me alive in their heads?

I know it's hypocritical of me to think that because I wasn't any different. For one, some of the people who've been in this cell might have been falsely accused, but I couldn't help it. The fear was eating away every last bit of my composure. It was like bile was rising in my throat and my body wanted to eject it.

The cell reeked of sweat and it didn't look like it was cleaned in a long time —or it wasn't cleaned thoroughly. There was a small bed in the corner and a sink and toilet on the other. I didn't want to stay there, so so bad.

But I told myself, you have to get used to it, Nikki. At this point, your fate here was inevitable.

Nights in the cell weren't the best. I had a hard time falling asleep and there were noises every now and then. Sometimes it was the inmates banging on the bars, sometimes it's the guards talking about the warden so loudly, there were siren noises too. When new people came in, the jailbirds made a ruckus. And I just kept saying get used to it, Nikki over and over in my head like some sick mantra that I had to live with for the rest of my life.

On the day of my trial, I felt glued to the floor. I was afraid of what will unfold in the courtroom, especially hear guilty roll out of the judge's mouth.

I wasn't ready, but really, who ever is?

Note: To be honest, I haven't reread the whole story. I just couldn't bring myself to do so. I'm afraid my fave would be stuck on cringe mode even after I read it. So far, I'm pretty proud of myself of how this revision has turned out. I have finally grasped at Nikki's innermost thoughts and shared it with the readers.