Victoria Stilinski never knew that her long time crush would even look at her let alone hook up with her. Just like she never would have expected that a one night stand with said crush would lead to such drastic changes in her life.
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I do not ow...
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Chapter Thirty
Dear Diary
It wasn't often I was left home alone, with nothing but my thoughts to entertain me. Usually when Stiles and my dad were out, I'd call Danny and we'd watch movies or stay up all night talking. Tonight wasn't like that though.
No, my dad, Stiles, Scott, and everyone else, were out trying to find Malia while I was home alone. They didn't want me in the woods since I'm pregnant and could "easily get hurt." Not that I'm upset with the arrangement. I get to pull out my mom's old journals.
I flicked on the switch to the light in the garage, the yellow glow illuminated the dust covered boxes pushed into the corner. I rested a hand on my protruding stomach while padding toward the boxes.
My heartbeat rang in my ears as I looked into the box that held the notebooks. There were marks on some of the spines, where dust had been removed by my fingertips. Which one do I read first? I decided to close my eyes and reach my hand in, running my fingers across the spines until I stopped. A feeling of shock went through my body, and I knew which one I had to pick.
'1985-1988' is was the oldest book in the box, her first notebook. A lump formed in my throat as I held the brown leather bound journal in my hands. The front was simply labeled '1985-'89' in my moms swishy handwriting.
I took a shaky breath while using my sleeve to wipe the dust from the spine and turning to the door to head back into the warm house, flicking off the light as I passed through. I settled myself on the couch, a blanket draped across my legs with the book in my lap.
Opening to the first page I smiled sadly, her handwriting bringing a tear to my eye. The words in these books were perfectly her. Her thoughts, her emotions. Just, her. I've never felt closer to her than I do while holding this journal in my hands.
Dear Diary, (or whatever I'm supposed to say)
I chuckled lightly, warm tears spilled from my eye.
I'm only writing in this because my mom said it helps. Though she hasn't told me what it's supposed to help with. I mean, can she get any more secretive?
Helps? With the visions? I wonder if her writings are similar to my drawings.
Anyways, I've been having weird dreams. Last night was the weirdest, I was in the hospital with this other woman, she had brownish-black curly hair and was wearing deep pink scrubs-- I think she was a nurse. She was shaking her head at me, telling me how sorry she was. The weirdest part was the little girl that was sitting there with me. She had tears streaming down her rosy cheeks and she kept calling me "mommy." I think her arm was broken seeing as she had ice on her wrist.
