Chelsea's POV

School ended two hours ago, and now I'm seated cross-legged on the soft carpet in my room after just devouring a burger I purchased on my way back.

My maths textbook lays flat in front of me, a pencil in the hook of my ear and an exercise book to my right. I gape at the page filled with numbers and symbols, under normal circumstances I'll be done in less than 10 minutes, rather I'm in this position for the past half hour.

To someone else, I might come off as focused on the homework in my vision, while on the other hand, I'm not, as my mind is elsewhere. The sound of the clock ticking keeps me a bit sane.

I'm jarred by the knock on my door, influencing me to veer my neck to it as I hear little feet shuffle and spot a shadow below the wooden barrier. "Hey Chelsea, can I come in?"

"Adie?" I call in more of a question than a statement as I climb out of bed and saunter to unfasten the lock and open it.

"Are you busy?" She asks in that soft voice of hers, her pigtails bouncing behind her bareback, apparent by the yellow blouse she's wearing that's secured by a hook at the waist.

"Not for you sweetie," I say lifting her into my arms and blowing air on her stomach. Her legs clad in jean shorts kick as she giggles.

"What do you want baby?" I request, setting her on my bed and crouching on the floor so I can be on the same eye level as her.

"There's this boy I like," she confides, a blush staining her cheeks as she avoids eye contact.

"Nope," I shake my head, not waiting for her to continue.

"But--"

"No," I cut her off, moving my ass on the floor to shorten the space between us and not caring if my jeans get dirty hence they are due for removal after my eventful day at school.

"You won't let me--"

"No way," I decline, steeling my will against her adorable pout. "You are too young to be bothered about boys."

"I know, I just," she stops, her orbs growing glassy with tears.

"Continue," I sigh, circling my arms around her waist and resting my head lightly on her leg so I can gaze up at her.

"I really like him but he has been acting all weird," she voices, playing with her fingers. "I didn't want to tell mom because she will scold me and I know Dad will get angry just like you did."

"No Adie." I smile comfortingly. "I'm not angry at you."

"Are you sure?" She inquires, giving me that look which kids do that melts your heart into a puddle.

"Yes dear, I'm sure," I affirm, pushing strands of hair behind her ear. "Go on."

"Thank you." She beams and hugs me quickly before continuing. "I like him and I think he likes me too."

"So what's the problem?" I investigate, placing a palm below my chin.

"It's just," she releases a breath that makes me chuckle. "He follows me around and always pokes me, at times he does things that get me angry."

"Wow," I let out. I didn't have such problems at the age of 9.

"Tania says he's only bullying me, and I'm scared because I hear you complain of how you get bullied, and I just------

"Woah." I lift my two palms to stop her. "I don't know you understand such things."

"Mom says I'm a smart 9 year old, I understand a lot of things," she says with such seriousness that I blink twice to make sure I'm not dreaming, that it is really my adopted little sister telling me this.

"I believe that." I swallow, composing myself enough to speak to her calmly. "You see, that boy, what's his name?"

"Maxwell," she inputs.

"Maxwell isn't bullying you," I assure, proceeding to ask.

"Does he hurt you?" She shakes her head. "Does he call you names? Bad names?" Her response is the same. "Then he doesn't bully you, he's only smitten by you."

"What's a smitten?" She squeezes her face in a frown.

I laugh, "it means he likes you, silly." I pinch her cheeks. "He wants to be around you all the time."

"So that isn't bullying?" She interrogates.

"No dear, it isn't," I confirm. "Which other way does he show he likes you?"

"He always wants to share his lunch with me," she declares, her index finger poking her chin.

"Do you accept?" I offer her a questioning glance that shows I won't appreciate it if she lies.

"No," she declines. "Dad told me never to take food from strangers."

"Good girl." I smile and raise a palm for her to hit. "High five."

"You are cute," she laughs as she slaps her fingers with mine.

"I am not cute," I fold my arms and puff my cheeks, provoking her laughs to escalate into squeals. "I am beautiful."

"Okay," she says while chuckling.

"Any other thing you need princess?" I stand and bestow her a curtsy that makes her face go all red at the gesture.

"No," she answers, her hand covering her mouth to hush her giggles.

"Good to know," I bow. "Now, can you give your big sis a little time alone to deal with her homework? That's if you don't mind."

"I don't," she replies, jumping down from the bed and hugging my midriff which I respond by fluttering her hair. "I love you, Chelsea."

"Love you too Adie," I blow her a kiss as she retreats. "Close the door behind you."

She does precisely that, and now I'm left alone with maths homework and an uncooperative brain.
"Ugh, how did I get myself into this mess?" I groan, hauling my back on the bed, my butt causing crumpling noises as it meets with the heavy textbook.

Using my thighs, I raise my ass off the bed and drag the books from underneath me. I flop back with a sigh and pick up the series of equations, resuming my staring action as my thoughts drift off into space.

Uche's words linger in my mind and I can't help but think she is right. The issue is, why am I reluctant to set the plan into motion? Terry needs to get a taste of his own medicine one way or the other so why do I have a distinct pity for him?

I should not have read the diary in the first place. The saying is true, curiosity really killed the cat. My fingers find their way into my gold specks and I clasp my lids for a second or two.

Unraveling them and sitting up, my view dives straight for the cursed book where its tip peeks from the opened Teflar bag I carried to school. Despite the fact most of its body is hidden in the folds of the leather, its significance can't be mistaken.

Feeling a strange pull to it, I stretch my right arm and jerk the blue strap, tugging the bag from its resting place atop my desk to my feet where I bend and yank it up, discarding it on my lap.

I slide my hand into the satchel and retrieve the thick book. I gape at it for a moment and shrug, concluding that I'm in too deep, so I don't think reading more would do me any harm.

Boy am I wrong for thinking that because as I swipe the pages and stop at the second sheet with written words, I feel like rewinding the time as the words read.

Jan 20, 2022.

It's been more than a week since I wrote something down, and after speaking with a therapist I'm assured this is therapeutic and helps in more ways than one can think of.

I'm pushed to write this because it comes across as if my thoughts want to consume me.
While walking down the hallway today I caught sight of Chelsea laughing with a boy. I think Andrew is his name.

I have no idea what to make of my feelings towards her because at that moment I felt like punching the dude into a coma and hurting Chelsea in a way that she'll know how it feels to have a knife pierced through your heart.

Ever since she rejected me that one time in freshman year, I've made it my aim to not allow any male get within five feet of her. I wonder why she hasn't thought this odd because she is perfectly stunning.

I know I've called her ugly, fat, and unattractive which is a total lie hence Chelsea is a beauty to behold. She's got a killer figure too and an intelligent brain. Most times she can be so oblivious to the things around her like how every boy scurries away when she's close to them.

I'm sure she'll think she's a freak or she is indeed ugly, rather it's all my doing. I have a weird urge to hurt her in ways I can't explain while at the same time having a strong will to protect her from the wicked world.

I'll need to talk to my therapist about this during our next session, maybe he'll help me interpret all these crazy thoughts and feelings.

Immediately my orbs take in his last words, I lose control of my hands, the book sliding downwards till it kisses the floor.

Freshy❤️