Maxxie: Keeping a diaryMature

It never fails to spark my curiosity when I see Cay writing in his diary, but since I read it that first time, I've not really dared to look. I had expected it to be filled with him complaining about him having to be there and how the doctors won't let him eat as much as he normally does ‘cause they think he's got an eating disorder. I hadn't expected that I might come into it at any point.  Don't get me wrong though. I'm not saying that ‘cause I'm in the first entry that I'll be in all of them - I'm not that egotistical. I just... well I guess a part of me is too chicken to find out if he's written about how he feels about me and Hadley.

If I could go back and tell myself one thing... I'm not sure what I'd say. Either ‘get ready for a really tough year' or ‘go to a different fucking bar and save everyone a whole lot of pain'.

I worry about Cayden, though. I worry about him like he's the brother I was always s'posed to have. Something's up with him - he's not been very talkative the last week or so. I mean when I went last week with Hadley to go give him that candy, I hadn't expected him to be talkative; but this week he's said about as much to me as he would say to Hadley.

Maybe that's being a little unfair, he's said more to me than that, but it sure feels like it.

I was vaguely considering starting a diary again the other day. Might help to keep my head clear of all the shit that's flying around inside it. I was never any good at keeping one though. I used to try as a kid. Mainly because my counsellor said I should. But I used to forget to write or where I'd put it, or I was too worried to write in it what I really thought ‘cause I was convinced that my dad would read it and explode at me. He probably would, mind, if he knew what used to go on in my head while I was still living there. S'pose there's more to write about now, though, than there was at school. I'd just end up writing one entry to apply to the whole year. It'd be something like:

Date: All year.

Today, diary, the same shit happened that always happened. I woke up, got told by dad that I look like a poof, skipped breakfast and went straight to school. I managed to keep my head down most of the day. Finished that coursework that was due in last month. Even got through lunch without having it knocked out of my hands or spat in. Maybe. After that, I got beaten up by the kids in the year above me and called a disgusting faggot, among other things, more times than I care to remember.

Oh, and Dr. Fairfax? Stop trying to tell me that my homosexuality is a phase or a mental illness. It's not.

Cheerful, huh? That was when I was thirteen. After I was fourteen, I s'pose I'd've whined about how Alex feels the need to save me from everyone in his year. I don't think Alex ever did get a mention in my diaries. I'd never admit I fancied him in there and by the time we were friends, he'd told me there was no point in humouring the psych, because I can't help who I am, and no amount of therapy would stop me from being me.

I sigh and roll over, pushing the thoughts of keeping another diary from my head as I catch sight of my plane ticket sitting next to Hadley's on my bedside table. Two days til we go to London. Three days til my mum is going to insist on meeting up and getting to know Hadley. Granddad said he might be there too. He wants to see for himself that me and my mum are actually talking again, even if it is horribly awkward and generally no fun for anyone. Which reminds me. I've been ignoring her emails again.

I can't tell what Hadley thinks about going to London. I haven't asked. I'm not about to wake him up right now and ask, though. Last time was okay, when I went with Cay. Even though it went to shit. But I'd actually wanted to go - I'd been homesick and honestly felt like going. This time, all I want to do is sell my house and get out of there. I don't want to be meeting up with my mum or granddad, or fucking around with anything else. I mean, I'll take Hadley around if he wants to see stuff, but he's the only reason I'd be even vaguely willing to make this trip more than going to an estate agents to sell the house.

I close my eyes and try to ignore that my brain won't shut up worrying about Cayden and whether my dad will turn up or not.

I'll go see Cay tomorrow. Maybe I'll get him to talk to me about what's on his mind.

Or I'll steal his diary. 

 

The End

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