Fallen

Chapter 1 "Mister Ouija"

August 24 – 9:57 p.m.

Dear Diary,

okay so maybe a poem? idk.

you (ugh did I say "you" or "they"?? whatever)
made my chest feel stupid-light,
like those sad $$ tree balloons from some kid's birthday two doors down—
still hanging on the fence days later,
half-deflated but somehow still floating.
(crossed this out later—it was dumb),
and my face went red—
not sunburn red—
the other kind.
the kind i couldn't hide,
even when i faked a yawn
or stared at my phone like it was life or death
or like i'd just run into my crush at target wearing pajama pants.

you didn't even know my name
but you were in my head all day.
i wished i didn't feel that way
(ugh. rhyming? really??).

i wanted to hate you.
but... nope.

okay so first of all, i was an idiot.
like, full-on shoulda-known-better idiot.
but did i care?

nope.

not even a little.

cuz i'm in love.
i think...
maybe?
i guess
#idontknow

And before you started guessing—no. I wasn't telling you who. (lol nope, keep dreaming.)
It wasn't some cheesy crush on the guy who sat in front of me in math, the one who smelled like mechanical pencils and Axe body spray.
No. This was bigger. Messier.
Like Romeo and Juliet if they had more drama, fewer daggers, and way more text bubbles left on read at 2:13 a.m., the kind where my stomach flipped every time my phone lit up—only to find out it was just my aunt sending me a recipe.

It was the kind of love that felt like I'd swallowed a whole lightning storm and now my ribcage was trying to keep it from escaping.

⸻

ANYWAY. I'm Lydia. Bronx born. New York for life. Well... except my life was stuck in Texas now. My parents had dragged me there two years ago. There were cows. Real ones. They just stood there chewing and staring like they had beef with me (#citygirlproblems).

I missed the city so bad—like, I could still smell it if I closed my eyes. Hot pretzels steaming up the freezing air, dollar pizza dripping grease onto the paper plate, roasted nuts from the cart guy who low-key hated everyone. And the deli? OMG. I could get a sandwich so big I had to hold it with two hands—pastrami stacked like a Jenga tower, mustard all over my fingers, bread still warm like it had just left the oven.

The noise was life—subway brakes screaming, cabs honking like they were in a competition, some random dude freestyling through a busted speaker outside the bodega. Even the nights had their own playlist—sirens in the distance, wind cutting down the block, someone yelling at their cousin from a fire escape (#onlyinNYC).

Texas smelled like grass clippings and tractor exhaust. And at night? Crickets. That was it. In February, I missed summer like it was my BFF who moved and never texted back.

So that day, Tabitha came over. She used to be my best friend when she lived across the street, but now she was way across town and... different. I still liked her, but she was bossier now. And prettier. Unfairly prettier.

Her hair was pale blonde and glossy, the kind that swung perfectly when she turned her head. In certain light, it almost winked at you. Her tan belonged on postcards. Her nails were painted coral—probably called something like Sunset Desire. And, yeah—she had actual boobs. The kind that made a T-shirt look designer.

The worst part? She knew it. She strolled in like she was on the lease, flipping her hair as her bag hit my bed without so much as a glance. Her voice dripped slower now, stretching each word just enough—same game we used to play back when I first moved in across the street. Even her laugh was different. Quieter. Like she was saving the good one for someone who actually mattered.