The door slammed shut, slicing through the air as Emma left, her departure casting the room into a hush.
I drifted onto the bed, gazing upward, lost in a swirl of thoughts. Turning my head to the left, I spotted an old shoebox, a relic from my last visit to Cold Spring.
I crossed the room and retrieved the weathered box, a faint smile playing on my lips. Dusting off its surface, I pried it open, unveiling a trove of nearly forgotten memories. Among the faded photographs lay snapshots of Dave and me, each frame immortalizing laughter and joy. A dried rose from prom was nestled alongside knitted bracelets, relics from our carefree days.
Beneath them was a weathered pink notebook, its pages whispering my bittersweet memoirs.
My heart ached with a sweet, melancholic nostalgia as each memory, vivid and colorful, played through my mind like old film reels.
My grandma's words echoed in my thoughts, a reminder of her advice: 'If you wish upon a star, pen it down; it won't happen if you don't believe in it.'
With bated breath, I turned to the first page.
15/03/2013
Dear Diary,
I'm in my room again, feeling the walls inch closer, their shadows looming over me like silent judges. Sometimes, I imagine what it would be like to stop breathing. I sometimes catch myself holding my breath, cheeks burning red, before gasping for air, desperate for a change.
Each day feels like trudging through an endless swamp, my heart heavy and my hopes dimmed.
Instead of drowning my sorrows in music, I'm pouring them out onto these pages. All I want is to escape—from my mom, from this suffocating town. I rarely share my troubles; they're my silent companions.
I'm constantly pondering whether my mom truly loves me, or if her way of showing it is just lost in translation. Her face, etched with lines of discontent, becomes even more so when Dad's away, which is the norm these days. The scent of cigarette smoke from the living room clings to the air, a bitter reminder of her presence.
Self-doubt haunts me, especially when I question my own worthiness of love. The girls at school, with their cruel laughter echoing about my worn clothes, only amplify these doubts.
We could afford new ones, but Mom chooses whiskey and cigarettes over me. Why did she even decide to have a child if her world revolves around her own vices?
Hoping for something better,
Stephanie
21/03/2013
Dear Diary,
I've got to spill: I'm completely smitten with James, the new guy next door.
He's like a walking dream, the most attractive guy I've ever laid eyes on. Today, I finally gathered enough courage to say 'hi,' but he just brushed past me, oblivious. I felt like a shadow, invisible and insignificant, longing to vanish into thin air. In a whirl of embarrassment, my feet took over, and I fled the scene.
Ridiculous, I know, but for a fleeting moment, his nod tricked me into thinking he had something interesting to say.
Then, Ashley, came out of nowhere, planting a kiss on James right in front of everyone. A sharp pang twisted in my chest, watching them, feeling utterly crushed.
They seem to be a thing now, and it's like the universe is mocking me, screaming, 'You never stood a chance!'
Sometimes, when I'm alone, I lose myself in daydreams of a future with someone like James– someone who sees me, truly sees all of me, flaws and everything, and loves me just the same.
Stephanie
14/04/2013
Dear Diary,
Today was an unforgettable day. Professor Boesky had me sit next to James in class, and it was even more incredible than I could have hoped. In just a few short minutes, he sparked something in me that hadn't been lit in ages.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I felt seen as Stephanie, not just some outsider.
'Hey, what's your name, ginger?' James asked, glancing up with a warm, inviting smile and extending his hand.
'Stephanie. But friends call me Steph,' I responded, my heart fluttering as a wave of warmth rushed over me.
'What a beautiful name, Stephanie,' he said, his smile reaching those deep blue eyes that seemed to light up the entire room.
As we were meant to delve into Dante Alighieri's words, I found myself captivated, longing to dive into the depths of his oceanic eyes instead.
'Do you believe in Hell?' I blurted out impulsively.
'Only on Earth,' he answered, his eyes twinkling with a playful mischief.
His response drew a genuine smile from me.
'That makes two of us.'
Though the professor's voice droned on about Dante, the few words exchanged between us held more weight than the entire lesson. Those moments, brief as they were, felt like a lifetime of conversations.
Best day in a while,
Stephanie
18/05/2013
Dear Diary,
Today was beyond devastating. With Dad gone for a year, Mom's anger erupted like a volcano, scorching everything in its path, and I was the main target. For the first time, she struck me, her hand coming down repeatedly until it seemed to lose its feeling. But when her physical strength waned, her words took over, slicing through me like razor-sharp icicles. Each phrase, each stinging slap, felt like jagged shards of glass piercing my skin and soul. I collapsed, a heap of sobs and shattered pieces, crying until the well of my tears ran dry.
In my quieter moments, I find myself lost in fantasies, like a scene from Doctor Who. I imagine the TARDIS materializing just outside, ready to carry me away from this unbearable reality. I remember one particularly desperate day, waiting, eyes glued to the window, half-expecting to see that blue box appear. But reality crashed over me like a cold wave. Doctor Who was just a tale, a comforting fiction in my tumultuous world. The truth hit me with a crippling force—I'm trapped, dangling in a limbo between the will to live fully and the struggle to simply survive.
Longing for escape,
Stephanie
20/05/2013
Dear Diary,
Today, I tasted coffee for the first time: it was a bittersweet symphony on my tongue, a moment truly worth remembering. Yet the melody was fleeting.
Mom was a storm cloud ready to burst—and burst she did. She unleashed her fury upon me, her hand striking with such force that I stumbled back, hand pressed to my burning cheek. This time, I didn't linger. I bolted to the front porch, tears streaming down my face as my hands attempted to shield my soul from the harshness of the world.
'Hey, are you okay?' whispered a voice, so gentle it was almost lost in the wind.
'No,' I confessed, without even a glance, not recognizing it was James until he seated himself beside me.
'What happened?'
'It's nothing,' I lied, cradling my reddened cheek.
'She shouldn't treat you like that, you know?' he said, his voice laced with a righteous anger that wasn't his burden to bear.
'She doesn't know any better,' I murmured, the words barely escaping.
James reached out, his touch gentle as he wiped the tears from my face, his palm a comforting weight against the sting.
'Next time she starts yelling, stand up for yourself,' he urged me.
A faint smile touched my lips, a spark in the shadow. 'It would only make things worse.'
'Steph, if it happens again, I'll be right there with you,' he promised, his words a warm blanket around my chilled heart.
He made me smile—not just a fleeting curve of lips, but a genuine lightness that lifted the weight from my chest, if only for a moment.
'I should get going. But remember, if you ever need an escape, my grandma and I are right next door,' he offered, standing up.
I could only say, 'Thank you, James. Thank you,' my gratitude spilling over.
He mounted his bike and pedaled away. Watching him go, I felt, perhaps for the first time, that the universe—or maybe even a higher power—had sent James just for me. A guardian angel in a world where solitude had been my only companion.
Gratefully,
Stephanie
Top of FormI shut the diary pages, done with memories flooding my mind. It's a silent wound, unspoken to anyone. I only let out bits and pieces that others have already seen, but James—he knew it all.
James was the typical bad boy, always on his bike with a leather jacket hugging his arms, perpetually in black. I used to think he belonged to some street gang, but I didn't know he was part of one.
His hair was long on top but almost shaved at the sides, a mix of beach blond with a few streaks of brown. His eyes were blue, framed by the longest dark eyelashes I'd ever seen on a guy, making his eyes beautiful. Like any high school athlete, he had a perfectly shaped body, and his tall stature made him even more attractive to me. Toxic to everyone else, but in my world of toxicity, he was the perfect fit—a perfect friend.
He lived with his grandma next door because his father was in the army, and I barely saw his mom—maybe once, when she brought his half-brother Gabriel for a visit. His parents were divorced, a topic he spoke about with a bitterness that lingered.
A tear slid down my cheek as I remembered him. He was the brightest part of my teenage days. At seventeen, two years older than me, he had a few extra years from getting expelled twice. I was fifteen, naive and shy, but together we were perfect friends in an imperfect life. We formed a bond that forever held a special place in my heart.