Chelsea's POV

Eying it warily as if it's a ticking bomb, I flip it left and right to make sure I'm safe. Certifying it isn't what I think it to be, I focus back on the name like it's a written trick from space.

I shrug, guessing he must have had no idea of it missing, and flip it open. The first page is empty with bare horizontal lines, a date written at the top. Acknowledging it's a supposed diary I slam it shut with eyes wide.

To be sure my irises aren't deceiving me, I unfold it for the second time and gape at the blank page. Curiosity gets the better of me and so I turn a few pages, amazement is not a big enough word to describe my reaction when I come across a sheet of paper that isn't filled with only lines and a date.

This particular page contains alphabets that form words and words which form sentences. The handwriting, a direct copy of the one used to scribble the name at the front brown cover of the book.

Fear grips me at this and so I close the book for possibly the last time in my life and grip it to my chest, my orbs darting left and right as if this is a trap and someone might be watching me.

When I catch a view of no one, the grievance of the situation dwells in my chest, and before I know it, laughter bubbles within me. I am not able to control it as I erupt in flares of giggles at the irony of the situation, the bullied finding the diary of her bully, how unlikely is that?

My chuckles seize immediately I hear a lock click, accompanied by footsteps. It dawns on me that dusk is fast approaching and that I need to return this diary and mock its owner, thus I may be lucky to still get a hold of him before he goes far.

My feet start moving, and so I'm outside the school doors, no sight of Terry in a one-mile radius. I burst into a sprint in the hopes of seeing a flick of blonde hair and ripped jeans but it's all in vain as I don't see anyone with that description as I do more than my daily dose of physical activity. In my rush, I break apart couples who hold hands, nearly knocking down a ten-year-old boy, and peep into a few cafes that line the sidewalk leading to and fro of our school.

It happens that I've officially lost him, therefore I stop at a corner and shove the thick brown covered book into my schoolbag. Stroking the hair out of my face, I progress in the direction of my home.

I cross the street, and stride to uptown where my house is located. Well mine and a few other rich kids and their families, yeah, rich kids like Terry. Arriving at the iron gates, I shuffle past as it is opened for me. I give Ricky a nod and amble across the interlocked flooring, past the garage, and climb the three stairs to the entrance door.

I bend the gold handle and push the wooden barrier open to step foot on the marble tiles in the visitors' living room. I take a seat on the brown leather cushion and unlace my shoes, knowing mom would have a fit if she sees me with shoes on in the house.

Snatching it from the ground, I rise and make it to the main living room where I hear Adelaide giggle and mom's soft voice, together with the aroma of a meal I don't want to believe till I see it with my two eyes.

"I'm home!" I announce in the spacey room, my voice having a slight echo on the white painted walls that's the exact color as the exterior. The same daffodils that fill the four vases at each corner of the room line the foot of the outside walls, adding beauty to the plain color.

Fresh air wafts in from the glass windows which is free from pollution as that in the city. The red curtains swish to the music of the wind, casting a beautiful glow on the reflective tiles and bringing about a soft but beautiful background that complements the blue leather couches and glass center and side tables with gold-rimmed legs.

"Chelsea!" A cute 9-year-old squeals before I'm nearly thrown off my feet as a body crashes into my legs.

"Hello Adie," I smile, picking up the cute kid. This results in more giggles to be let out of her small pink lips as I tickle her stomach that's visible because of her light blue tank top that shows a little skin above the pink skirt she's donning.

"Sto-o-o-pppp" she stammers, her brunette hair rubbing my face. I obey her command and she pants, trying to regulate her breathing. I kiss her pink cheek, causing her button nose to wrinkle and a disgusted sound to escape her throat as I continue to leave wet kisses down to her jaw and up to her nose.

She proceeds to unravel her lids, revealing her beautiful emerald eyes that provoke my heart to clench each time I see them. Most times when I look at her I wonder why a parent could abandon a child to die at a hospital without a care in the world.

For 13 years of my life, I've been an only child and always wanted a sibling to play around with and protect. So imagine my joy the moment Mom and Dad came in through the door one Friday evening with a cute Italian 5-year-old and introduced her as my sister.

"Can you drop me now?" She pouts at me, her arms folded.

I lift a brow at her attitude and struggle to hide my grin at how she appears so adorable in that posture. "You have to ask nicely."

"Please, sis." She gives me the puppy dog look and I sigh, smiling as I lower her feet to the ground.

"What's mommy cooking?" I ask in a whisper.

"Hello, baby." Mom appears from the door that leads to the kitchen in grey suit pants and a white sleeveless blouse that's underneath the black apron tied to her waist, the suit jacket probably hanging somewhere in the kitchen if not on the back of one of the dining chairs.

"How was school today?" She inquires, grabbing my shoulders and planting a kiss on either of my cheeks. Her grey eyes shining, and the pointed nose in between high cheekbones red at the tip significantly from what I think she's preparing in the kitchen.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, it's still the worst place to send a 17-year-old, and Terry's daily drama doesn't help either," I respond, admiring how homely she appears while at the same time coming off as sophisticated with the way her blonde hair is secured in a loose bun atop her head, together with her killer slender figure and well-trimmed eyebrows that add beauty to her eyes, her pouty lips still lined with classy red lipstick.

"I've always told you to allow me to give that boy a piece of my mind, if not my fist, but you don't always permit," I hear Dad's voice pipe up from behind me, inciting me to swerve and see him trudge in, brown leather shoes in hand, white socks on feet and a crisp red long-sleeved shirt tucked into black slacks.

"Daddy!" Adie screams in joy and jumps on his buff stature, just as he bends to catch her in his arms. Her squeals ensure as he twirls her around, his teeth shining through his nude lips as her squeals increase.

"How are my favorite girls doing?" He implores, dropping Adelaide, and giving mom a peck on the lips before whirling to me. His black eyes are serious as he furrows his thick brows, straight nose lined in my vision as he speaks. "I mean what I said Chels, just give me the signal and I'll do it."

"It's nothing I can't handle Dad," I assure as we hug. "And besides, Uche is always around to save my ass."

"Speaking of Uche, I made your favorite food, Chelsea," Mom announces proudly, confirming my suspicions.

"I knew it." I grin, sharing a look with Adie.

"It will soon be ready, so I'll need you both," Mom gestures to Dad and me. "To go take off your clothes, have a shower while I do same and Adie sets the table."

"See y'all in two hours," I tell, and grab the sneakers which I dropped when I carried Adie, and wander in the path of my room.

*******

Dinner goes unceremoniously well. Dad telling us funny events that happened at the university he lectures at, and Mom fills us in about how stressful her day was at the children's hospital she volunteers to take test samples at on Mondays. Mom is a renowned Lab scientist in the state so she works at different private and state hospitals while volunteering for some.

The meal of Nigerian jollof rice didn't disappoint at all. It's a dish I've come to love and has beaten the other foods I like, to take the favorite spot ever since I tasted it at Uche's home the first time I went to visit after we became friends.

Uche and her little twin brother and sister moved to America together with her Dad from Nigeria a year back to join her mother who has been here for about five years now but always went back on holidays to visit them.

Everyone has retired for the night and I'm alone on the Queen sized bed peering at the white ceiling that blends in with the pink closet, dark blue walls, yellow bubble bolsters shiny mahogany reading desk, and chair in my room.

My laptop sits shut on top of my lampstand from where I kept it after use, the diary laying on it. Its hardcover mocking me from my side vision.

Sighing, I turn to my left to stare at the wall, my back to it. This action to drown out the presence of it doesn't work thus it seems to be calling my name. I think I'm going insane as my chest begins to pound and the thoughts dance around in my head.

With a frustrated groan, I sit up, my butt making a dent in the red-flowered bedsheet-covered mattress as I gawk fiercely at the book in question. In annoyance I jerk it from its position to my lap, glaring at it for a few minutes as I fight with the voice that keeps telling me to open it.

I lose the battle and whip open the cover, my fingers moving fast on the pages till I stop at the one filled with black sharp penned strokes.
I take note of the date, January 11th, 2022.

Inhaling, I clamp my lids and exhale after, opening my eyes to take note of the words as they begin.

I'm fucked up...
I shake my head after reading the first line as I understand, this is truly Terry's work, any doubt I had of it being a prank has been wiped out by this single sentence. I smile, not knowing why, and decide to continue.

I truly am, I have no idea why I'm doing this but I heard somewhere that if you can't tell people your problems you should write it down as it helps to take away the burden no matter how little.
So you see, this is really personal for me, writing this--

Freshy❤️