Previously on "My diary"
Present
Pov : Austin

"I'll get to it." Angela referred to what she actually came for rather than me, which pretty much hurt my ego.
She disappears into the stairs that'd lead her to the rooms while I go off to the office I never asked for. It was Diana's idea.
Diana managed to give me a call from time to time when I was in Italy.
"Have you taken your pills?" She worried so much—it almost worried me.
Maybe if she were a better person, I would.
"I can have the doctor come over there." I was only assigned to one doctor. Diana said he was her trusted asset and would never even think of exposing her and her little ill secrets.
"It'd be better if you'd come home."
"I'm all alone!" She whined once, her deadliest mind game. I've seen her play it off on my father, and it always seemed to catch up on him when he got sober.
I slowly pace into my office as an abnormal image visits my mind.
"No other power than the chosen possessor can break the metal flower apart, and so..." A glimpse of straight words in a metal-designed flower appears in my memory. The metal had small fingers along with a boy to speak words I couldn't quickly grasp.
It is a blur, and it isn't the first time.
I've been avoiding the prescribed pills given to me, and that just may conclude the images and voices in my mind lately. They're nothing new, but I had almost forgotten just how cruel they were.
"He has false memory syndrome." My mother's trusted male psychologist was certain I had it, despite mentioning that it wasn't a diagnosable mental disorder.
I found that quite ironic. A disorder that made individuals center their personalities around factually incorrect memories. What makes the human mind generate incorrect memories? Well, whatever it was, I didn't have it.
I slip my drawer open to the sight of the prescribed pills rather than the cigarettes I yearn for. Typical of Diana to manage my very own office, just to remind me of how ill I am and, gosh, how thoughtful.
"Identity crisis" is two words Uncle Westly uses to describe my condition. While my father says absolutely nothing infects me, he suggests alcohol to'snap out of it' quietly without Diana hearing.
I don't blame him for the fault I have. I began drinking before he advised me to. I'm not an alcoholic, but I sure do make use of it.
Angela was as good as liquor; she was quite worse. I was coping because of her, and the idea was almost sickening. I left for Italy without looking back at my deadliest drug.
Her.
My thoughts are interrupted by a phone call.
"Lisa." I groan in slight annoyance since she's called me twice this morning about proposing a business idea to me. Well, all that is left for me is to simply accept or reject it.
One of the businesses Ronald and Diana had was "Raytod," an architecture company I had a slight interest in.
Mr. Johnson, who is also Lisa's dad, is the successful owner of one of the most well-known architectural companies to ever exist.
Lisa was deemed to be taking an interest too, as she suggested a collaboration with what I had already been working on. It was quite a good offer.
Diana would say otherwise; she wasn't acquainted with Lisa's mom like she used to and most definitely didn't need to be as good as a dog to earn connections with Mr. Johnson.
She was like that; I know just that much, despite not knowing enough about the woman who was my very own mother.
"Lisa." My voice is bored and slow. I find pleasure in pressing my fingers to my palm continuously as I answer.
"Good morning, again." She replies with joyful sarcasm. It kind of infuriates me.
"Yup, third time's the charm." I can't help but roll my eyes as I stroll out of my office. She was certainly enthusiastic.
"Hungry for breakfast?" I was starved, although I could never eat. She wasn't as good as she played out either; not that I cared, but she didn't have to play a game that I knew better.
"I'm actually quite busy considering your business proposal." I scoffed at the idea of going to the yard.
I listen to Lisa speak on and on about her ideas as I hum in boredom, but with consideration for what she is actually saying. I preferred business ideas to be proposed on big screens with cigars and liquor to convince me, but meh.
A smell intrigues me as I reach the floor of the yard; something is burning. I could hear comossion through the walls as I arrived at the view of Angela and Kimberly.
I sense the desperation on Angela's face as she stands still, waiting for Kimberly's next move. "Here, Angela." Kimberly gathers her strength to throw an odd-looking book into the grill. I remain confused about this.
What was going on?
Angela attempts to catch it but rather catches fire instead to her arm whilst throwing off the grill. I wasn't quick enough to stop what unwrapped within a second.
I run towards them, dropping my phone to the floor. Angela pants roughly with relief in her eyes as she holds onto the book she so badly wanted. I reach towards her arm to only see a painful wound burn to her skin.
She stares at me as if she feels nothing till she looks down at her arm to realize the agony that marks her skin. She squints her eyes shut, probably feeling the pain sink in, and I wish I could grasp it onto me instead.
I could feel myself tremble in anger. I look back at Kimberly, who simply stands there with no expression on her face.
"Are you fucking crazy?!" I yell right then infect. I wish I could burn her and make her feel the agonizing pain my love is probably feeling in her skin.
"She's your fucking sister!!" I yell with everything in me as I attempt to walk towards her, but Angela holds my arm back as she slowly sobs.
I wish to pull her into my arms to feel and comfort her. To kiss her wound just enough to not make it hurt anymore. I look into her eyes, which barely look back at mine.
"She did that to herself!" Kimberly whines with a shaky tone. "And she's not my sister." How fucking sick of her!
"What's going on here?" Of course Diana's voice creaks out of nowhere, and maybe I'm glad it does. She should get to see the monster she's created.
"She hurt Angela! She hurt her own fucking sister!" No matter how much I wanted to hide the fact that I cared, I couldn't. She hurt my girl.
"What?" Diana steps closer to the sight of Angela's wound. She squints her eyes as if she's ever needed glasses and looks back at Kimberly with a look I can't make out.
"Yeah, play dumb." I scoff in irritation. I can barely even feel my own pulse. "I'm not done with you." I look back at Kimberly, who looks into the ground, and gosh, I could kill her.
I look back at Angela, whose eyes are drowsy. I hold on to her cheeks, which are almost drenched with tears. My girl, my beautiful girl. "It's going to be okay, alright?" I whisper, as if trying to convince myself.
She nods as she sniffs endlessly, and right there is when my gaze softens. Kimberly and her mother are no longer there; no one is. At that moment, it feels like it's just us against the world.
Fuck being nonchalant. I carry her in my arms—one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back like a groom carrying his bride. I watch her barely flinch at my sudden gesture.
She stays silent, and all I read from her eyes is simply "why."
☆
"Why is all of this just for a diary, Angela?" I stare at the diary she still clutches to one hand while the other grips into the sink for the cold water to soothe her skin.
Her breath is heavy. She tries to fight the urge to cry, although her eyes fail her. I stand right behind her with my hands to curl into fists so much that it hurts my nerves.
"Maybe because it's mine. Maybe sometimes it's alright to want what's yours." She whispers lightly as she roughly wipes the tears off her face.
"Why?" I ask because I always let go. I always run; I always fall away and hide. It's never worth a fight.
I'd lose anyway. I was barely sane.
"Why?" She repeats, clearly not asking.
"You could just let it go." Blunt and insensitive—nothing new. I hated that I was the one to be here at a moment like this. How can I save her from drowning when I'm already sinking beneath her, infect I'm pulling her down with me.
"What if that makes me feel crazy? Then what do I do?"
"Do I run off like you?"
"Maybe it's okay to run off." I shrug. I try to ignore the tension and the depth of her words, but her eyes study me, and it makes me feel edgy.
She stares at me silently until she looks away for a brief moment and then returns to the sink.
"Angela -" I attempted to say something that probably would work as comfort, but she beat me to it.
"You don't have to say anything. I know how hard it is for you to even care." She says so, and I can't even blame her. It's not as if my words would've done it right anyway.
I beat myself to it.
"I'm leaving." She pulls out her arm and closes the tap. She gives me one last glimpse and walks out as I stand like an idiot. As if I couldn't walk out and grab her in to console her like I almost did minutes ago.
It wasn't anything new; it was just me.