You Are Mine: You Are My Everything

Chapter 11: Privacy

18. Why does he believe he owes the world for his father's crimes? He is not his father. — It doesn't matter he isn't his father. That is just a lingering manipulation of the man.

19. What will he do when he finds out I am pregnant? — I think he will be happy. Really happy.

20. If I don't go back to him will he keep the baby from me? — I don't think so.

I frown softly, some questions have jotted answers next to them. Others have been crossed off. I gaze at question eight. Does he love me? —? Does she truly doubt my love for her? I know I said I was incapable of love... and yes, I still believe I am. But my feelings for her are not fake, not forced. How do I make her see that I... that I care about her. That my heart beats for her, that everything I do feel, the good, the hurt, the pain, I feel it all for her.

I grit my teeth turning to the next tab.

1. Why did Joyce start doing BDSM?

2. Does she love Gael?

3. Does she really love Colin or is he just another person she is manipulating?

4. Is it because of what happened to Colin's mother? Or did this start after her?

Joyce gets a page of questions too? Why does that make me a little jealous? At least she has fewer questions about her.

I turn to the next tab letting my eyes drift over the list of books she has written out. I smile a little making a mental note of the ones that she has put stars beside. I will have to remember them and buy them for Christmas or her birthday.

I flip to the bucket list.

· Travel out of the United States.

· Publish my own book.

· Finish my TBR.

· Go on a Safari

· Ride an elephant

· Build houses for Habitat for Humanity

· Go skinny dipping

· Hike the active Pacaya volcano in Guatemala

· See the Northern lights

· Swim with dolphins

· Visit all seven continents.

· Swim in all of the world's oceans

I smile a little looking over the list. I want to do all of that with her. I want to be the person she completes this whole list with. I will take her to do all of this the moment she asks. Maybe we can do one of them this year, well technically we have already. I took her out of the United States, perhaps I can take her to my house in the Caribbean, and she would be able to swim in the Atlantic Ocean there.

I place the journal on the table beside me and glance at the door. The shower is still running. What is she doing in there? Women take so long to get ready. She doesn't shave. She doesn't like it. She prefers the waxing that I offer to pay for.

I hesitate a moment gazing at the second journal before I grab it and turn to the first page.

April 15th, 2023

I haven't done this in nearly two years. I miss it. Writing my thoughts and feelings out helps me make sense of them. They help me put everything into perspective and see the good. See that even in the thick of the worst moments there is light. There is good. Writing out my worries and my problems, letting it all settle and being able to put it into perspective, my mother taught me that and it served her well. Even when she was broke, worrying about how to keep a roof over my head she would still take fifteen minutes every night and write about her day. Write about her worries and her problems, her feelings. I remember her doing it.