8

He told me that he wanted my notebook.

I’d saved up a lot of money for this notebook. It’s durable, it’s leather-bound, it has all of my reminders and memos and thoughts and ideas in it.

And he told me he wanted it.

So I gave it to him.

I just handed it over. Simple as that. No struggle. No refusal. I couldn’t do anything.

St. Clair asked if anything was wrong with me, and I almost cried because I was so relieved to tell someone, to finally let someone know.

But I couldn’t.

I have to do everything and anything except tell someone what’s going on.

So I said nothing.

She’s disgusted by me now.

I’m sorry St. Clair.

I’m so sorry.