Dear Diary,
One week has passed.
In the absence of my secret place, I started tidying up my old library and found things I had forgotten about.
For example, a sketch album of autumn-winter clothing possibilities, created shortly after moving here and then abandoned or the lyric of a song that someone anonymously dedicated to me in highschool.
I still remember when, as I opened my locker the day before spring break, the letter had slipped at my feet. I was surprised, not only because someone had rarely been interested in me, but also because nobody knew it was my favorite song. I remember that when I returned home I read it again until I knew it by memory and for weeks I searched in vain for the author of the few lines above the text. I never knew who wrote it but finding that memory made me smile.
Then, after putting everything in order, I tried to design some new models or at least do something productive.
But my mind has remained fixed on my secret place.
On the good weather and inspiration that I'm losing because of Ethan.
So I turned to his window, curious to find out if the thief was spending his day serenely.
The curtains, however, had remained closed.
I don't know why but I was invaded by a certain sadness, after all, before he had stolen my keys, he had been the first person after years for whom I felt a real curiosity.
I missed watching his dark hair blown slightly by the wind like that day when he caught me watching him leaf through the pages of an anonymous book. But above all, I missed having something that kept me away from my destructive thoughts, also because of the fact that now I no longer even had my only safe place.
I wondered if he ever peeked and surprised me sometimes in the company of Olivia or reading a book myself. For a moment, just the idea of exchanging books with him cheered me up, but I soon remembered that he could pinch those too.
Before the grudge I held against him awakened me, I realized something that stunned me.
It's been a long time since I associated someone with all those emotions.
Yet I didn't even know him.
Ethan was a blank sheet full of unknown words, a puzzle that despite trying persistently to compose it was impossible because pieces were missing.
And I didn't own those pieces because Ethan was far more than ever.
When I made up my mind to look away from his window and get up from the carpet in my living room, I headed for the kitchen. I opened the fridge, hoping to find something to cook, not because of hunger but rather out of boredom. I like to cook, although I'm not good at it, I discovered that it helps to keep my thoughts away.
When I lived in San Francisco and my parents were away on business trips I spent whole afternoons preparing dishes that I didn't even like. Luckily my father was there to eat them as soon as he returned. I don't think he liked them though, I think he did it more to show me that he was proud of me, because my desserts never looked good. I'm glad I never made them taste anyone but my parents.
And above all that my mother has never scolded me for all those times that, bored, I left our old kitchen a disaster and she had to clean that up.
But with the exception of a carton of almond milk, a bottle of water and frozen foods, the refrigerator was empty.
I closed the door with a puff.
Now I had no idea what to do.
Resigned, I went to my bedroom with the intent of sleeping, but even before the idea focused in my mind I had grabbed the latest magazines read from the mahogany desk and headed out of my apartment.
I didn't know how I would open the door, but I had to at least try. Without my secret place, being permanently at home seemed terrible.
When I reached my destination the keys were not there and the exit to the roof was closed.
I had let my arms drop, out of desperation.
I don't even know what I had expected, after all I knew very well that when I arrived I would certainly not find the door wide open waiting for me. But my mind was already thinking about the consequences of no longer owning my safe place.
How was I going to pay my rent now? How would I find inspiration for my models without the only place where I could find it?
How would I have lived now without one of the very few things that held me back from not grabbing that kitchen knife? When bad thoughts buzzed around me like a swarm of bees.
My head started spinning so hard that I threw you to the ground, dear diary, together with the newspapers and I too fell crawling against that damned locked door. And I would like to say that I incredibly hated the one who had denied me access to happiness, but I realized that I felt nothing.
And it hurt even more.
Because I shouldn't have gotten down so easily because of that nonsense, but it was the last thing I had left and to which I clung with all my strength every day.
Then I closed my eyes, I wanted to cry, it's been so long since I can't, I don't know how to do it since that damned day.
I don't feel anything anymore.
And if I don't feel anything anymore, what sense does it have to live?
What is the point of continuing my days as a robot that follows a specific roadmap while remaining impassive to everything?
At that moment, sitting on the disgustingly dirty carpet of my building, I really wanted to have the strength to scream at my neighbor. But I remained silent, hoping that closing my eyes would stop the dizziness.
And immediately afterwards Ethan had materialized in front of me, almost like a mockery from heaven.
As if to tell me: you see now he has the key to heaven. So, before being more ridiculous, I tried to get up and take you and my - now wrinkled - newspapers.
And you can't even understand, dear diary.
The terror, although one of the negative emotions that minutes before I longed for minutes before, turned against me, because Ethan had picked you up from the floor and had you in one of his big hands.
He didn't leaf through you, but after looking up from your cover he turned it full of compassion towards me and also collected the magazines, handing them to me. I tugged at them and I think he also noticed how much anger against him I had grown in the last week.
I didn't need the mercy of the one who had caused all this.
But then, after I finally got up from the ground and tried to pass by him to return to my apartment, ignoring him as if nothing had happened, he took me by the arm and put the roof key in my hand.
I opened my mouth slightly, surprised, not expecting such a gesture in the least.
Then Ethan spoke for the first time and his voice was warmer than I had imagined
«I'm sorry, I didn't know it was so important to you,» he looked down, mortified. «I'm really sorry» he continued as the grip on my arm loosened. His green eyes peered at me, looking for an answer. I felt them burn on me, as if the sun blinded me and I had to cover its rays with the palm of my hand.
Or as if I was on fire.
I think it was curiosity that advised me to meet our eyes for the first time and when I had done it, contrary to my expectations, I felt every muscle in my body relax.
Ethan's eyes, of a eternal contrast between brown and green, previously full of compassion and pity, now expressed curiosity and surprise.
His clean face had already slowly begun to lose the characteristic features of a teenager, hinting those of a man. His full lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to add more but didn't know whether to do it.
On the right cheek appeared a mole similar to what I had noticed on the chin of his twin. While the brown hair was casual, untidy, the same as when I last examined it from my window. He looked like a statue, the features so beautiful as to envy any Greek hero; I would have liked to have him in front of me forever, to look at him as a painting or a photograph hanging on the wall of my bedroom.
And the calm that his person exuded is terrifying for me that, in the last two years, I have only had contact with Olivia, my parents and rarely Hannah.
A shiver ran through my spine and I realized that the moment was over.
Ethan's green eyes still looked at me warmly, but the cold, the cold, penetrated my bones.
I freed myself from the hold on my arm - still present though very loose - and I passed Ethan with you and the newspapers in my arms and the much-coveted key held in my right hand.
I would never lose sight of it.
I know that the gaze of the boy so unknown to my eyes had followed me. I know he would have liked to prevent me from going and maybe propose to stay with him in his fantasy garden.
Maybe he considered me Alice in Wonderland and he was the elusive white rabbit to chase?
I wasn't. I wouldn't have spent my days looking for a way to decipher every aspect of it as if it were a riddle. I know he wanted to call my name and stop my steps, but he didn't know who I was and I wouldn't have told him.
So when his voice spoke again, I was already in the living room of my apartment and the door had already closed behind me, leaving him alone in the hallway, now without even the key to happiness.
Yet dear diary, despite having what I missed so much, I felt there was something wrong.
I tried to wash it off, that feeling I mean, with a hot shower, but it seemed to have penetrated my bones. That cold didn't want to go anymore and even under millions of blankets this night I suffered from the freezing cold winter, although it was May and outside there were probably twenty-five degrees.
Not that I pretended to be able to sleep.
Not just because of the usual bad thoughts, but also because Ethan's green eyes seemed to haunt me.
Like a mark imprinted on my mind, they appeared in the darkness of my bedroom.
Maybe they judged me? I don't know.
My dear diary, I just wish I could sleep.
Hey everyone, how is it going?
I hope you liked the chapter, I'm sorry if it the storyline is slow, but I think you will appreciate how the things will go in the coming ones.
Let me know what you think in the comments <3
Stay safe.
-Lover5lauratic