Yours Truly, Ramona

chapter twelve | misery.

I'm deep into my dark thoughts when a young, blonde waitress suddenly appears over my table.

"Can I get you something?" she asks with a polite smile.

I take out one of my headphones and let myself process what she's asking.

"Uh—" I gather my composure, my mind ever so slowly coming back from my space-out. "No. I was just leaving."

I'm shoot up from my seat and am already walking away from her by the time she thinks of a response.

"Okay, well have a good day!"

My earbud goes back in and I don't even bother responding to her. It's not like my day is going to magically get better just because she told me to have a good day.

I hate when people say that almost as much as I hate when people ask if you're okay. It's useless small talk, and no one ever says what they're really thinking anyways.

The bus is early for a change, which I appreciate due to the cold weather.

I take a seat inside and try leaning my head against the cold window as it rumbles down the street, although my head ends up banging against the glass and I have to deal with sitting straight up to avoid brain damage.

As I arrive home I see Allen's car in the driveway, but Marta's is nowhere to be seen. I haven't actually talked with Allen since our little exchange in his car on the way to Mason and I's first visitation at the courthouse. He'd yelled at me to get out of his car after I got nosy about him and Marta, and he hasn't been home since.

I'm not complaining, though. He's an asshole and things are peaceful without him around.

I open the door to the quiet house, and immediately I can see him standing at the kitchen counter. He doesn't notice me, thankfully; his back is towards me and he's preoccupied with whatever he's doing at the counter.

My goal is to just grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I don't want to draw his attention, and as long as I mind my business, he shouldn't bother me.

It doesn't work as well as I had hoped it would; he notices me from the corner of his eye and exhales sharply as if my presence were annoying him.

"So," he begins. "I didn't know you were a fucking liar."

He doesn't take his eyes off of whatever papers he's sorting through, although the tone of his voice is enough to send a chill through my body. But Allen's a scrawny man, and I could probably get the upper hand on him if he wasn't expecting it.

"What are you talking about?"

I stay calm, opening the fridge door and taking a water bottle off of the top shelf.

"You know what I'm talking about."

This time he turns to face me, staring intensely into my soul with his night-black eyes. I actually have no idea what he's talking about, so I play innocent.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He takes a step closer to me, which makes me uncomfortable despite our similar physical size.

"Let me tell you something, bitch. I know about your little journal."

He must see the shock on my face because his dry, chapped lips curve up into a smile, exposing his rank breath.

"H—how?"

I'm speechless. He must have gone through my things just to find that journal. But how did he know it even existed?