The City | GirlxGirl

thirty seven ➳

The second was only half a page.

I hate how Greg-the school counsellor-makes me write in this. It would make sense if he wanted to read it, or something, but he doesn't. He says I should just write down how the abuse makes me feel. And he says I should just write about the abuse like it is, and I'll feel better. Something about getting it off my chest. But it doesn't make me feel better, it just makes me more angry. Greg knows what my father is doing to me, and instead of actually helping me, and getting me out of that house, he tells me to write down my feelings. He's pathetic.

Jude could feel Thom's anger beneath these words. He was betrayed by someone who knew this secret, by someone who could have helped him, and chose not to.

Jude had so many questions. When did the abuse begin? How often did it occur? Jude had never noticed. Maybe it had stopped by the time they started dating? If this was still ninth grade, it could have been a few months before they got together.

A thought occurred to Jude, then. Although she started dating Thom in ninth grade, she didn't see him without a shirt until tenth. And then, every time she saw him shirtless, it was dark. She couldn't recall ever seeing him in the light.

Was this a red flag? Should she have picked up on this? Did she, like Greg, have the power to help Thom, and fail to do so?

Jude was sobbing. Covering her hand with her mouth, she listened to the sound of her heaving sobs, so loud she wouldn't have been surprised if one of her neighbours came knocking on her door and told her to be quiet. But she couldn't help it.

And she couldn't have helped Thom. There was no way she could have known. It was a secret so well kept that it ended up killing the person it belonged to.

After a moment of trying to gather herself, she turned to the third entry. This page was dotted with circular marks, that left little wrinkles in the paper. Some of the ink was smudged. There had been tears on this page-Thom had been crying as he wrote this entry.

Jude banged her head against the back of the couch. She had never felt so bad for someone. Thom was dying, slowly, in his own home, killed by his own father. And the memory of it had been preserved in a diary that now belonged to Jude. It was useless. Reading the entries was never going to bring Thom back-it was far too late for that, Jude reminded herself with another sob-but it did answer some of the questions she had about the man she once loved, and the man who she had never known.

I haven't written in here in so long. I've argued with the counsellor so many times about it. I've told him it's not helping, that it in fact only makes me feel heavier.

The language was more mature in this entry. It must have come a year or two after the first and second ones.

So he let it go for a little while. But he told me that if something extreme ever occurred (though I wasn't sure how much more extreme it could be), I should write it down. He is convinced this diary is going to save me, but I'll be lucky if even I can save myself. I keep catching myself planning things...

Jude bit down on her thumb nail, trying to calm herself down.

I spent the afternoon at Jude's house.

Crying. A river wasn't large enough to describe the tears cascading down her hot skin. An ocean wasn't the right word, either. Tsunami-that was it. A mess of waves, crashing down. The only difference between her tears and a true tsunami was that true tsunamis usually injured hundreds of innocent people, while Jude was only injuring herself. And yet she was innocent, and this diary was what was hurting her. She was just a memory, just a piece of a life that was lost.