So I was having a tough night, and decided to write something. On my floor from packing, was a story I wrote a few months ago while I was actually really happy. It was inspired when I found a dirty beat up diary on the road, and actually was a fairly happy story. I twisted it a little bit to match my mood. so don't be too harsh on me. I know its rough, not enough dialogue, but I could care less. If enough of you say enough of the same thing I'll fix this up a bit, but I don't plan on it otherwise. Plus, one of you should name it. I hate naming things, so everyone put a suggestion, and I'll choose the best one. Like anyone reads this anyway. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As I walked up to her door, I thought long, but not so hard, about what I was going to say. I may have had a general idea, but I would be lying if I said it was a plan. Just a few ideas, with a desired outcome. I would crush her. I don't know when or why I started to hate her. Veri was a sweet girl. She had the most bold features ever assembled into one person. In fact, she might have been the most gorgeous being I have ever met. Yeah, I guess she is. You see, we had been dating for about seven months. Actually six months 23 days exactly. We had a good relationship, we never fought, never disagreed, nothing. It was solid. It was rock hard. Steel. But there was the journal... She had this journal she kept hidden around her apartment. I'm one of the guys who HAS to read things. So when I found it the first time, I read it from cover to cover. Well, until the most recent page anyway. She had all these aspirations listed. So many plans, so many dreams, and I was holding her back. Don't get me wrong though. I wasn't being selfless in this act. I would say it was more for me than her, in fact. I loved, no... love her. It's just I can never be too sure of myself. I always think something better is coming, regardless of how good what I actually have is. "Ben lets go to France". "What, why?" "Do we need a reason to go to FRANCE!? It'll be amazing, we can go to Paris, see the tower, kiss under the lights...lets go." "I don't think so baby. I'm home, I'm cozy, and we can't afford it. I'm working two jobs and you're still in school." "I can miss a few days, and I have a few dollars saved up, thank you." "Well who'll watch your apartment?" I asked, smugly. "Jen will." "Jen?" "Jen." "Jens a crack head" I replied, mixed with laughter. "She is not, and shes my friend so shut it." That last remark had a little bit of hurt in it, so of course I tried to get sweet on her. "I'm sorry sweety, I just can't go right now." "Ok, its fine. Want to get some dinner?" "Sure, you pick." What I didn't know at the time, but found out later, through Bernie, was that she had already purchased tickets. Oh, Bernie is two people. The first, the girl that beat me up in middle school. I know. The second is her journal. You can see why I named it that. I couldn't very well bring it up either. I was in trouble no matter what I did. That's why I did it. I just wasn't good enough. The door opened with it's usual wooden creak. That door couldn't stop a mouse. "Baby, what are you doing here? It's so late..." she said, a small perfect yawn in her voice. I almost couldn't bring myself to do it. she was too perfect, and angel, stuck in a dilapidated old funeral home of an apartment complex. But I did. The words aren't important, just that a whole lot of tears and 43 minutes later, we were done. Over the next several years we had nearly no contact. A few chit chats on the streets here and there, but it never turned out well. Then she was gone. She is gone. I asked, warily and carefully of course. I didn't want people to notice that I cared. In any fashion. "Jen, I know you hate me, but did Veri move?" I asked, hesitantly. "Yeah she did. She moved a few weeks back". Of course her answer was quick and cold. "Well, where to?" then she responded, with quite a bit of hate I'll add, "You piece of shit, like I'd tell you." Then I caught on. "How much?" "100 for the country, 100 more for specifics." Apparently she had this thought out. Like she could have known that I would care. "Fine, now where is she." Somehow, in first thirty seconds of the conversation, it became a manhunt. "France. some shit hole villa a few miles outside of Paris." It was clear she actually didn't care about Veri anymore, the addiction ruled her. "You really are a druggy bitch, you know that?" Then she replied, "You really can't get her back, you know that right?" up till this point, I hadn't realized that I wanted her back, and that I'd do anything to find her. three years later, after months of searching, I found her house. Just like her. Small, one story old brick house. Just like she wanted. Of course she kept with her trend, this place was about to fall over. I mustered up the courage, and knocked on the door. To my surprise, the door opened a little. I yelled, "Veri, are you here?" Again I yelled. Once more. The place was dead. I walked in, and realized the estate had become run down, covered in dust. And of course, a rat scurried by. I went back outside, and tried in vain to ask the first neighbor, a small, filthy woman, what had happened to her. Of course I knew nearly no French. Plus the translation book was a piece of shit. I finally found someone who spoke a bit of English, an older gentleman, and he informed me that she was gone. Broken, I walked back into her abandoned home. The man gave me no reason why she left, just that she left with no goodbyes and with little bags. I spent the night there, not having a place to say pushed you to do creepy things such as this. Barely tired, more horrified than anything else, I began to search. What started as a gentle interest, became a frantic search for any clues. There it was. Bernie. I dusted off its leather face, and looked that bastard in the letters. I almost threw up, and to this day, I don't know why. I told myself not to read it, but I couldn't resist. It said beautiful, awful, terrific, terrible things. She had been waiting for me this whole time. Waiting in this stupid villa for me to come and get her. Veri even left me an address. I hopped on the next bus, well I guess you could call it a bus, to La Rochelle. This was a good break. A real town, with more than eight people. On the ride, I read more and more of Bernie, whom I decided to give a second chance. It's new name is Jean. She had written so much over the years. Done so much and loved so much, but there was so much sadness. Then I realized that it was my fault. This whole time, neither of us had healed. The further I read, the better it got. She slowly got more and more hope. She began to pray again, which she hadn't done even during our own relationship. She was waiting happily, for her man to come and get her. I was finally ready to be that man. I got out of the taxi, and gave him a modest tip. Not that I wanted to, but had no idea on how French currency worked. It was stormy, practically a blizzard, odd for the season. I instantly noticed her through the window. That incredible hair, and perfect black eyes. I could almost smell her from the street. I was so close. Then it all happened. Some...man...walked up to her and did the worst thing possible. He kissed her. And she kissed back. Passionately. With real love. I don't remember the emotions that flowed through me, but I remember looking straight back at Jean, who was sitting in my hand, and feeling betrayed. Bernie lied to me. She was waiting for her man, not me. The man who deserved her, any man willing to do the job with heart and dedication. When she left, it wasn't for me to find her, but to start her new life. She must have forgotten me. Out of fury I screamed, my voice muffled by the wind. I looked at "him", then Bernie, then Veri. I did all I could think of, I tore Bernie. I tore it to a thousand pieces. Then I watched Veri clutch her chest, and fall to the floor in pain. Confused I rushed to the window, and saw he body lie lifeless in this other man's arms. I had never been so wounded in my whole life. I watched the woman I longed for die in another man's arms, and simultaneously saw that he loved her more. He earned and deserved her. She was finally happy... ...and all I could do was rip her heart apart one final time.