Page 70 of Time To Learn

I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep resistinghim.

When he’s near, I forget the darkness. I smile more. I laugh again. I feel warm instead of cold; safe instead of scared; full instead of unfulfilled.

Given the short time I’ve known him, it doesn’t make any sense atall.

I worry that, if I’m not careful, I’ll have revealed all my deepest, darkest, disturbing secrets, and he’ll run, screaming as hegoes.

The problem is that now I’ve spent more time with him, I don’t want him to leave.

But…at the same time, Ido.

Crap. Even my thoughts don’t make any sense atall.

I lookdown at my words, almost willing myself to tear the paper out of my journal, crumble it in my hands, and burn it in the fireplace behindme.

Then again…a journal is not necessarily meant to be a work of art. I don’t have to write in neat, orderly script. It’s just a place for me to write whatever comes to mind. A place to bury my secrets. A way to keep sane in the chaos that, most days, fills mymind.

I lean back in bed, closing the journal. It’s only nine p.m., too early for bed, and I’m not tired. I wonder if Kristian meant it when he said he’d start getting his things sorted out and come by tomorrow with the firsthaul.

I wonder if he’ll bring some of his artwork? I’d like to see more ofit.

“Enough.”

Annoyed with myself—and with my journal—I get up and grab a cardigan. I turn off the light and head out of my room. Careful not to make a sound, I take a peek in Ailith’s room next to mine. She’s sprawled all over the bed, teddy bears all around her, and her mouth is open. I smile as I close the door and then tiptoe downstairs. I find Mum in the kitchen, writing something in her own journal.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask her as I sit down next toher.

She smiles at me as she closes the journal.

“Not really. I feel restless, I guess.”

I lean my elbow on the table and rest my head in mypalm.

“That doesn’t sound like you. Why?”

She shrugs as she sits back in herseat.

“Just thinking about tonight. Kristian seemsnice.”

I nod once, keeping my thoughts to myself.

“He’s young,” she continues as she stands up and goes to the kitchen counter. “Or maybe I only think that because I’m feeling my age tonight.”

“You’re not that old, Mum,” I smile ather.

She pauses and turns a wry look myway.

“Thank you, dear,” she mutters drily, making my smile widen. She plugs the kettle, sitting next to the sink, into its socket and turns it on. “No, I’m not old, but I’m sixty-five now. I’m older than Iwas.”

As the kettle starts to hiss, I sit up in myseat.

“Is everythingokay?”

She leans back on the counter and crosses her arms in front ofher.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

I slump, relieved, when her eyes gentle.