Diary Entry

'Diary Entry;; One.


My name is Alessandra de'Mortia, and my psychiatrist said that it would be beneficial to me to if I were to keep a personal log on my daily life. Apparently, it's supposed to help me deal with my anger so I don't take it out on others. Pftt, funny thing is, I don't take it out on other people. I've never hit someone in my life, nor have I been hit. But that's what she thinks, that's why I have a psychiatrist in the first place. For some reason, my mother thinks I fight a lot, even though I've never been sent home for such. She's so oblivious to everything, but I suppose I just allow my psychiatrist think that too. The less they know the better, so I pretend to be a bully, to fight all the time because of this insatiable urge to cause harm to my peers. But, I don't see why I need to explain myself or my reasoning, because you're just a journal, a leather bound book filled with lifeless sheets of paper.
I'm 17 years old. I'm a senior at my highschool and I practically rule it. I hardly speak, I'm a quiet person, but everything I'm to say is conveyed in my body language and eyes. I'm not mean, and I'm not loud. But again, why do you need to know? I suppose if someone ever gets ahold of this thing then they can know who they're dealing with. I'm not troubled, I'm just a bit twisted, I'm not depressed, I'm just a bit sad, but it's all masked perfectly, and never have you met a happier person.
No one would ever think that the scar that rendered me blind in my right eye, the one that reaches from my brow bone to my cheek in jagged lines was cause by a set of car keys drug mercilessly down my face when I was about 11, had been caused with malicious intentions. They all think I was in a car crash, and that's it. I wear a black patch over the eye, the black embroidered with a light grey heart. Yes. A heart. I happen to adore the shape and the thought of such.

AM~'

The black calligraphy pen was set down gently by a pale hand, then the black silken tassel of the expensive black journal was set on the page, though it being the first and gently closed. No sound had been made during the movements, merely the light breathing of the 17 year old female. She scooted back the black, leather rolling chair, standing on light feet before moving away soundlessly. Making noise wasn't something she was fond of, and loud noises drove her into insanity. The girl thought it was needless, silence much more comfortable than the loud clatter of people. This was the exact reason that her room had been picked to be the one on the top floor of the three story house, her parents room tucked away into the basement. They weren't very fond of bright lights in the morning, so the basement was renovated into an underground fourth floor. They were far from each other, thankfully, and went without contact until dinner. Easy to say the family lived in comfortable wealth, her mother a surgeon and her father owned a nice, ritzy restaurant, called de'Mortia, after their surname.

He was home a lot, a reason why Alessandra avoided coming home until late. She didn't dislike her father, not at all, just merely avoided being in his presence.

The shrill scream of her personal cellular phone disrupted her thoughts, causing the teenager to stumble a bit in her shock before grasping the small black object from her desk. The front read 'Monny' which meant Monica, her best friend, the girl that was the cause of all the pain and suffering of half the schools suffering. A soft sigh passed from between the pale pink lips of Alessandra before she flipped open the phone, immediately hearing the loud laughing her friend. One thing she simple adored about the girl, Monica was her voice most of the time; speaking what she would have if she spoke more. It was actually hypocritical to have a phone, because the fact she didn't speak much defeated the purpose. Texting and the fact that her mother insisted there be a way for her to be contacted at all hours of the day were the only reason.

"Sandra! Oh god, you won't believe what I'm about to tell you!" The voice wasn't even close to monotone, filled with such emotion of excitement that it usually scared many. An almost inaudible, 'hm?' was the response from the now dubbed 'Sandra'. Not many spoke her full name, some even went as far as to referring to her as Mortia for some reason. As odd as it sounded, she responded to her surname as she would her first.

"There's to be a new kid. He's coming from England, but he's rumored to have been born here in the States and merely moved away a year ago. I heard he's really cute, too!" The information that this girl got was impeccable, and Sandra had no idea how she came about to know such things before most of the school faculty knew. She was connected everywhere, being quite the promiscuous one at most times.

"Oh? Sounds like it could be quite fun for you, Monny... Do have fun and don't feel the need to explain any of it me." She spoke softly, almost a murmur but most learned to train themselves to hear it all. It was normal for her to be so quiet, but never withdrawn. She knew everything about everyone in the school, knew things that were going to happen before they had even been thought of, and never said a word of any of it.

"Oh yes, that wasn't what I originally called to tell you..." There was a pause on the phone line, a few giggles could be heard over the line, and Sandra felt the urge to hang up. If whatever the girl had called to say was important, it would have been said by now. "I'm coming to pick you up. We're going out to grab some food and then you're staying over tonight, and then I can make sure you show up at school and see how cute the new kid is. I know you dislike all the hustle and bustle of change at school, for it makes everything so loud. Bring ear plugs!" Then line went dead on the other end, before Sandra even had the chance to protest, making it a done deal. She had no say in many of things Monica did or decided on, but it didn't bother her. The girl was her left hand, but was a little controlling sometimes, though it didn't bother her. If Monica wasn't like such, then Sandra wouldn't ever leave her house or know as much as she did.


The quiet journey to her closet was made and the violent red door was tugged open softly. Inside, it was quite spacious, filled with a variety of things but she was looking for a coat, something to keep her warm in the harsh winter winds. A single grey eye scanned over everything there was to offer before she grabbed the black hoodie sporting her school name, 'CrestFold' and the electric yellow of the wasp. She shrugged it on before quietly shutting the door, the soft click signaling it to be closed fully. The walk to her bed with the deep red comforter was short and went unnoticed by Sandra. Instead she merely sat upon the end and grabbed the sleek black shoes, slipping them on her feet before double-knotting each one just in case. She still had that little quirk from kindergarten so she never had to retie them more than once that day.

Standing once more, but now wearing her shoes, she scanned over her room, looking for anything she might need to do before she left the room until the next day. Her gaze caught onto the black bound book, something she would need to tuck away safely incase a family member went through her room. Her father usually did, looking for anything he could use agai-- whoops. Said too much. She seemed to glide to the wooden desk, painted in a black gloss, and picked up the object. It would be best to tuck it away into the hidden drawer in her desk, the one that dropped from the underside of the cut out square where she slid into in her seat. No one knew of it, for she had requested it while it was being made. Before she realized it, she'd hidden the book as she thought about where to hide it, realizing it had become a habit now. She was thankful.

Now to- The shrill horn of her friend's large candy apple red truck sounded, causing for the 17 year old to stumble in surprise for the second time that day, both times being because of her abnoxious friend.
She'd be introuble, she knew, but if she got out of the house fast enough then the punishment would have to wait until she returned home. Once she was out she was free, but when under the extravagant roof of her parents home she was under subject of it all.

Sandra instantly jerked out of her daze, grabbing her keys from the table and soundlessly moving quickly, almost a run, from her room. The door was locked swiftly, a routine she did every time she left her room, even if it was to merely leave for a few minutes. No trust remained in her heart for the people she lived with, it being from a reason no one knew of. A reason no one would ever come of know. Not even Monny, her best friend. She found herself having paused in mid-step again, wanting to slam her head into a wall in frustration, then took off again, racing down the steps with a vigor known to most as fear. But fear.... fear wasn't something she didn't feel. It was a race for freedom, one she'd yet to lose on.

Two steps more, then she was out the front door, quietly closing it behind her, feeling relief wash over her body. Just a second later and she heard to angry call of, 'Alessandra de'Mortia!' and against she was off. The large red door of the giant truck was flung open, and Sandra scrambled into it, her fist pressed to her lips in an attempt to suppress a flurry of giggles. Once the door was shut and the roaring engine was put to work by backing out, she let them free. Her voice was still quiet, her laugh barely heard but more so noticed by the trembling of her body. Even the tears of mirth collecting in her eyes made it obvious.

"Y-you did it again, Monny..." Sandra whispered, looking at her friend in a mix of amusement and annoyance.


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SO.

How'd you like the first installment of 'Diary Entry'?

Loved it, I hope. It was a pleasure to write, that's a fact, and it was an idea that came upon to me when I lost internet connect because my wireless connection hates me and my Apple.

You'll find out more as the story goes on, and far more people shall be introduced.

Leave me comments on what you think of it so I know it's okay or what I need to work on.


xoxoxox~

Secret