August 12, 2016
Jeff and I fought last night.
After class, I dropped my car keys on the kitchen counter, slid my shoes off, and dove onto the couch. The remote and Netflix had my name written all over it. I glanced down at the coffee table to stare directly into the eyes of temptation: Jeff’s journal.
It was lying peacefully on the rectangle glass top. I told myself “No Derek no.” But I needed to know what he was saying about me, if he even started writing in it. I peeled the cover back a few centimeters. Closed it slowly. Then I lifted the cover quickly swiftly and slammed it back down. I saw words.
“He is trying.” I thought to myself with hope.
As I was about to turn the television on, I looked back at the barrier masking Jeff’s thoughts opinions. I couldn’t resist anymore. I picked up the notebook and read the first entry. I was pissed. He can’t live up to my standards?? I don’t think I ask for much. I’m hurt that he thinks I’m so dramatic.
Like a best seller, I flipped to the next page in a heartbeat. Feeling pissed off became an understatement. I didn’t get to read the whole entry because the first thing I read was that he lied to me about the other night. While I was home alone, thinking about him, thinking about us, he was acting like a jackass gallivanting around with his buddies.
When Jeff entered the door, I threw his journal which passed his face and hit the wall.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled.
“Why do you always lie to me?” I accused him.
“This is why.” He stomped into the bedroom and slammed the door.
I ran scurried over to our room “We’re not done talking!”
I turned the doorknob with difficulty. He locked the door. I fell to the ground and watered the woodwork. No apologies, no remorse, nothing.