Emily's Diary: Confessions of an Emotional Predator by David Curtis
Emily’s Diary
Confessions of an Emotional Predator
By David Curtis
Copyright 2014 by David Curtis
First eBook Edition–October 2014
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Monday 4/4
Dear Diary,
I am 23 years old and I’m waiting for my life to begin. And I'm not talking about romance. Heaven forbid. No, in that regard I don't feel the need to love anyone. I only desire to be loved, and then only by those of my choosing.
Actually I've never had a problem getting men to fall in love with me. How do I do this? It's easy really. Usually one encounter is enough. I come on strong, get their attention, and flatter their ego. And then after they take the bait, I hurt them, I back off, I ignore them.
I act like we never had that encounter, that I never said those words. That's the exciting part, the seduction and then the denial, the rejection. That's when they fall in love, the moment I hurt them.
From then on I can crush them quickly or slowly depending on the challenge they present me. Some men crumble instantly like the petals of a rose kept pressed too long between the pages of a book. Others are more emotionally agile and will hold out a little longer. I like a challenge so I let them live awhile.
I give them hope that they may get the upper hand; that my walls will tumble down allowing them access to my heart and soul. The joy, the ecstasy, the anticipation they feel as they see the ice queen melt before their eyes. But alas, it's just an illusion. And in the end they crumble as well.
I squeeze them and squeeze them until I squeeze the last bit of life from them. Then I drop their emotional corpse by the side of the road.
Interestingly enough, as they lie there crushed and broken, their heart reeling in torment, they cry after me begging me to come back and squeeze them some more. Pathetic and yet funny really when you think about it.
Do I feel any guilt at the pain I've caused? No, why should I? Pain is love and love is pain and I am the harbinger of both.
Thursday 4/7
Dear Diary,
Today I made my move on Gregory. Gregory, who is this tall super cute guy from work, has been ogling me since the first day he saw me. I can feel him mentally pursuing me, stalking me, chasing his fantasy of me.
I just started this job a couple of months ago, and though we don't work side-by-side he and I have had visual contact in the break room and hallways and such. Several times during this period I've caught him staring at me.
I've seen the longing in his eyes, the longing to know me, to be close to me, to have me for his own. I of course paid absolutely no attention to him. I work on my own timetable. I like to let the tension build for awhile before I move in on my victim.
Today when I saw him ahead of me walking to the train I decided that the time had come. So I ran up behind him, grabbed his arm, and yelled "BOO!" You should have seen the expression on his face. How can I describe it, a combination of disbelief and ecstasy?
"Did I scare you?" I giggled, as I bounced around him like a giddy school girl.
Though he quickly shrouded his excitement, I could tell he was working frantically to get his brain and heart back on the same page. Here he failed miserably. The element of surprise is one of my greatest weapons.
We boarded the train and sat down together.
For the next several minutes he tried unsuccessfully to regain his composure and engage me in some intelligible conversation. I enjoyed watching him stumble and grope over his words, trying to impress me with his wit while fearing every second that he might lose me by saying the wrong thing.
A couple of times I purposely disagreed with him on some view he proposed and he quickly compromised his position. By the time we reached my station he didn't have an original thought in his head.
What I believed, he believed. My views were now his views. With every opinion he expressed he searched my face for confirmation. Even my slightest frown forever exiled that idea from his head. I owned him.
As I was leaving the train I agreed to meet him tomorrow for lunch knowing full well that I won't be there.
Friday 4/8
Dear Diary,
It gives me malevolent satisfaction envisioning Gregory as he sits in the cafeteria anxiously awaiting my arrival. He would have been thinking of me nearly every waking moment since our train encounter yesterday, carefully planning his strategy and diligently rehearsing his clever retorts.
He knows that he lost round one and would be looking forward to our meeting today as a chance to get back on even ground. Of course I didn't give him that chance.
Last night I called my friend Amy and we made plans for lunch at Water Tower Place. I hadn't seen her for awhile and this was a good excuse to get together. And not coincidentally it fit perfectly into my plans for Gregory, as did her offer of a ride home after work. I avoided the break room all day and after work I left by way of the rear entrance.
Gregory in the meanwhile would by now be worrying ardently about my health and well-being. What else could explain my mysterious absence? Our office space spans several floors of the John Hancock Building so tracking me down would be near impossible.
After work he would rush out to the elevator feverishly awaiting its arrival. Downstairs he stands by the door that he knows I always leave by. He may even ask passing co-workers of mine if they had seen me today. When they answer in the affirmative he will feel alternately hurt and perplexed.
What could have gone wrong he will wonder. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. Maybe somehow we missed connections or something unexpected had happened and I didn't know how to reach him. Perhaps it was somehow his fault the date had failed to ensue.
As he walks alone to the train after waiting well past the time I normally leave, he longs to see me, to talk to me, to clear up this mystery that is eating at his heart. But it's Friday and he won't see me again until Monday. Oh what a long, dreadfully painful weekend awaits him. God, why do I love it so?
Monday 4/11
Dear Diary,
It feels so good to be home from work. And as I sit here now in my big red chair, staring out the window of my 2nd story perch above the corner of Belmont and Clark, I can't help but savor it even more. Watching the frenzied activity below helps me to relax and clear my mind of all the stress that comes with day-to-day living.
I adore the city. I enjoy being in the middle of the chaos that rages about me. If I begin to feel alone or depressed just one glance out the window or a short walk to the store chases those feelings right out the door. The city is my therapist. The city is my priest. The city is my lover.
As for today, I can safely say that at this moment Gregory is not sure whether he's in Heaven or Hell. As his heart feels the warmth of what it thinks is love, his brain can see that this warmth is in reality the first flames of the
This morning I had just sat down with my first cup of coffee when Gregory walked into the break room. Though he looked slightly haggard, he had an almost feverish spark in his eye as he anxiously scanned the room.
I pretended not to notice him as he made his way towards me. He was telling himself to mask his fervor, but as soon as I turned and smiled his face instantly betrayed him.
He smiled back and asked me how I was and how my weekend had gone. I answered him back with short unenthusiastic responses. Then after an uneasy period of silence he asked the question that was burning in his heart.
"WHAT HAPPENED ON FRIDAY?" The words shot out of him like air out of an overinflated balloon.
"Friday?” I responded with a questioning innocence.
"YES FRIDAY", he bellowed much more forcibly. "Didn't we agree to meet for lunch in the cafeteria at 12:30?"
"Oh", I said as I "struggled" to recall the details of our conversation on the matter. "Was it that definite? I thought it was only tentative. I'm sorry."
After taking a moment to gauge Gregory's reaction I continued by telling him that I had talked to my poor friend Amy on Thursday night and that she had some things she needed help working out. So I had agreed to have lunch with her on Friday.
"I'm sorry", I repeated as I reached out and gently touched his hand. "I hope you didn't wait too long for me."
My “heartfelt” words laid the groundwork, but it was the touch of my hand that brought the forgiveness. We talked after that and later met for lunch. We even rode the train home together after work.
But all of that is inconsequential. The first incision has been made and Gregory has accepted the pain. And now that the skin is broken the cutting will be that much easier. From this point forward every time I hurt him he'll fall that much deeper in love with me. And that's just the way I want it.
Monday 4/18
Dear Diary,
It's been a week since my conquest of Gregory and I've never seen anyone so joyous in his suffering. If it wasn't so comical it would be annoying.
For example, when we go out to lunch he not only keeps the restaurant stub but writes the date and time on it as well. He said each place we go will always hold a special memory for him. I told him he was being overly sentimental about something as mundane as eating.
"It's just a basic bodily function", I said callously. "Don't make it into some kind of religious experience."
Though I know for him being with me has become just that. He worships me. I constantly catch him staring at me, studying my every move and gesture. It's as if he's reinventing his perception of perfection with me as his standard.
So how do I respond to his veneration? The only way I know how. I constantly berate him, belittle him, and make fun of his feelings. I cancel or cut short our lunch dates, and when other men are around I play up to them and ignore him completely.
As I shower my affections on these other men, whom I would otherwise disregard, Gregory stands by hurt and dejected. Despite all this, or more so because of it, he is altogether consumed by me while in constant fear of losing me.
Why do I gain so much pleasure from destroying another person's fond illusions of love? Am I that evil or do I just need to feed on their torment to satisfy some emotional hunger within me?
This hunger has been part of me for as long as I can remember; a constant feeling of emptiness that I myself can't fill. Therefore I must select victims who have what I need and are willing to gamble it for the chance of getting what they want.
They believe they want what they see in me. On the surface I appear naive and innocent, totally incapable of inflicting pain on another person. But behind my waifish facade lurks the heart of an assassin. I shed no tears nor do I feel remorse for those I execute.
Before I slay them I plunder their heart for what I need. And what I need is their love, their warmth, and their compassion. These are the things that sustain the soul and these are the qualities that are not inherent within me.
I give nothing back to those who love me simply because I have nothing to give. Or maybe it's just that I don't like leaving my heart vulnerable to another's sentimental dagger. The love I get from others I burn up instantly and continually demand more and more until they themselves are empty.
The men I drain are under the illusion that I will just reflect back some of the love that they’ve been giving me. They don't realize that this love is used up as soon as I receive it. I am in essence an emotional black hole.
So how does it end? The way it always ends. As with the vampire, once the victim is drained he’s of no further use to me and is unmercifully disposed of.
Thursday 4/21
Dear Diary,
Today Gregory tried to make me jealous by paying attention to another woman. I paid him back by cancelling our lunch plans. This type of insubordination will not be tolerated.
Anyway, even though he's cute and rather witty at times I'm starting to get bored with him. I totally misjudged the challenge he would present to me.
It's true that I've let far less desirable suitors hang on for much longer periods, but something about Gregory is irritating me. I think that it's the totally reckless manner in which he’s allowed his soul to be penetrated.
It's not pity I feel for him. What I feel for him is contempt…contempt that he would subjugate himself to what amounts to sentimental slavery.
Why does he allow me to debase and humiliate him? Why doesn't he just spit in my face and tell me to go to hell? Where is his self-respect? Where is his dignity? Where is his manhood?
It's not my fault he's languishing through some sort of romantic Armageddon. All I've done is provide the rope. He's the one that looped it around his neck. Now what is there left for me to do but kick the chair out from under him.
It's funny but deep down inside him I can sense that this is exactly what he wants me to do. Some people revel in the agony of a broken heart. To them this is what love is all about. How RUDE!! Don't they realize it takes all the fun out of it for me?
Sunday 4/24
Dear Diary,
Yesterday was actually somewhat enjoyable for me, a real rarity these days. As a rule I normally don't allow myself to experience happiness, but every once in awhile it just sort of happens.
On Friday I finally agreed to go on a "real" date with Gregory. We arranged that he would pick me up around 5 o'clock Saturday evening and that we would go out to dinner and maybe a movie. But of course I'd have a surprise for him when he arrived at my door.
I had called my friend Amy before I agreed to the date and proposed doing some shopping together Saturday afternoon. I also suggested that she join Gregory and me for dinner that evening. She understood my intentions completely and everything was set.
I refer to Amy as my friend though in truth we're more akin to casual sisters. Neither of us really have any actual friends as you'd call them. Her because she's a workaholic and has little time to socialize, while I due to my unfortunate nature am completely incapable of true friendship. Just ask anyone who has tried.
I make no sacrifices for others nor do I pretend to be interested in their personal problems. To me the act, and I do mean act, of friendship is a burden that I have no desire to bear.
Amy makes no demands on me whatsoever. Our conversations are purely generic, never venturing too deep below the surface. We talk mostly about other people, rarely about ourselves. We never offer advice to one another nor do we seek to alter the other one's character or personality. We accept each other as is, period.
Anyway, Gregory rang the downstairs bell exactly at 5 o'clock, though Amy had seen him out the window walking around looking at his watch at least 20 minutes earlier.
When Amy greeted him at the door she told me later that Gregory's eyes sort of glazed over in confusion. She stood there silently and
She then yelled out, "Oh Emily, Gregory's here".
When I came out of the bathroom about 10 minutes later Gregory rose abruptly from the couch. He sported an uncertain look on his face as he saw what I was wearing.
He was dressed in a suit and tie, holding in his right hand a small yellow flower bouquet. (REALLY!!!...What is this, the prom?) I in contrast had on jeans and a red gabardine pullover sweater.
I moved quickly towards him and gently touched his arm. "Is that for me?", I beamed, looking down at the bouquet.
"Yeah, I mean, yes it is", he replied, though he made no motion to give it to me.
"Well silly, aren't you going to pin it on me?"
"Oh yeah, sure", he said, as he fumbled about trying to get it out of its plastic wrapping.
As he was pinning it to my sweater he was ever conscious of the fact that he was maneuvering so close to my breast. I enjoyed his nervousness and even slid myself up a bit so it brushed ever so slightly against his hand. For a moment I thought he was going to hyperventilate from the intimacy of this whole bouquet affair.
But finally it was attached and he pulled quickly back out of the danger zone. What urges he felt at that moment were quickly doused when he reawakened to the fact that a third party was still present in the room.
"Let me see it", yelled Amy from the red chair near the window.
I walked over and bent down so she could smell it. She fussed over it for several moments, straightening and repositioning it on my sweater. Gregory sat down on the couch possibly realizing that it was he, not Amy, who was now the third party.
"So where are you taking me?" I said, finally re-acknowledging Gregory's presence.
"Well……. I made reservations at this French restaurant downtown", he said hesitantly, "but I'm not sure if they allow jeans there".
"Oh Gregory!", I said emphatically. "I don't want to go all the way downtown. Let's just stay in the neighborhood. I haven't been to the Pizza and Oven Grinder in a long while. That way we could all go.”
I hesitated a moment. “It's ok if Amy comes with us, isn't it?" I asked casually.
A pallid look of disappointment fell across Gregory's face as this latest salvo struck its mark. "Ah yeah…sure… I don't mind," he lied as the glint of a tear made its telltale appearance in the corner of his eye.
"I'll call the restaurant and cancel the reservation", he continued as he discreetly wiped the moisture away.
"Oh don't call them", I said. "They'll figure out we're not coming when we don't show up. Anyway they're so uppity in those nouveau French places it will serve them right."
With that and a final look around we headed out the door and down the stairs to the street below.
Gregory said he would drive but that he was parked several blocks west of my apartment. Before he had finished his sentence I had already flagged down a cab.
"You're not in suburbia anymore Gregory", I chided him as the cab pulled up and we all piled in.
It was 5:30pm when we got to the Oven Grinder and we were immediately shown to the last remaining booth near the back. We sat, talked, and ate for well over two hours before plowing our way through the now long line of waiting diners and back out onto Clark Street.
"I'll hail a cab", Gregory said confidently as he walked towards the curb.
"Oh let's walk", I countered; grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "It's only about 12 blocks and we can stop for coffee on the way."
We didn't get back to my place until after 9 o'clock and I invited both Gregory and Amy up for some wine. We talked till well after eleven before Amy said she had to get up early to get some work done at the office.
"On SUNDAY”, I screamed as she was reaching for her purse. "Amy, you’re impossible."
As we hugged goodbye she whispered in my ear, "So, what are you going to do with him now?"
"Oh I don't know. Maybe I'll give him a treat for being such a good boy tonight", I said, before slowly closing the door behind her.
Turning then to Gregory I smiled and ran my fingers thru my short, reddish-blond hair.
"Well, alone at last", I said as I walked over and sat down beside him on the couch.
Then without warning I leaned over and gave him a long passionate kiss on the mouth. The combination of the wine and this long anticipated but unexpected intimacy sent Gregory's head almost spinning off its axis.
We spent the next half hour engaging in all the various kissing techniques known to man/or womankind. Only a few times did I have to stop Gregory's wandering hand as the excitement overwhelmed his libido.
Finally I "tore" myself away from his passionate embrace saying it was late and that I needed to get some rest. He kept trying to involve me in more kissing, but I finally managed to shovel him out the door around midnight or so.
I hope that in his heightened state of exhilaration he didn't get into an accident on the way home. I'm not quite finished with him yet.
Thursday 4/28
Dear Diary,
I finally regained custody of my dog today. He has spent the last 2 months at my Mother's house where I had to leave him when I moved out on my own.
Maxwell, that's his name Maxwell, is an Old English sheepdog. And even though he's almost 5-years old he still has the same puppy dog face that he had when I first got him.
He's named after my grandfather Maxwell who hated his name profusely, so much so in fact that on more than one occasion growing up I heard him say that he wouldn't wish that name on a dog. So of course with my contrary nature that was the first name that came to mind when I got him.
And now that spring is in full bloom I plan on running with him quite a bit down along the lake front.
Speaking of dogs, Gregory has been lapping at my heels ever since our "big" date last Saturday. At work he comes upstairs to visit me several times a day. My co-workers have started kidding me that he's at my desk more than I am.
Yesterday he brought me flowers with a card that said, "The gardens of the world pale at your beauty", or some nonsense like that. I thanked him, but later gave the flowers to a co-worker of mine to bring to her ailing grandmother. I don't know what became of the card. Maybe the grandmother got that too.
Wednesday 5/4
Dear Diary,
Today I got into it big time with Derrick, my supervisor at work. Although he knows well enough not to mess with me, he constantly badgers this girl Darla who sits next to me. Granted she’s not the smartest girl in the world, but she stays late and tries hard to keep up with her assignments.
Nothing she does though is good enough for Derrick. He brings back her work for the most minuscule mistakes. And he speaks so harshly to her at times that I've seen her brought to tears after he’s left. She’s scared to say anything however because she’s bringing up a 2-year old by herself and needs this job badly.
Well the first thing this morning he comes over to her desk and starts in on her again. It finally reaches the point where I can't stand it anymore and I tell him to stop picking on her. He in turn tells me to keep my nose where it belongs. And I tell him I'll put my nose anywhere I damn well please.
He says to me, "Maybe you and your nose would feel more at home out on Michigan Avenue".
And I say to him, "Maybe my nose and I would feel more at home up in the personnel office filing harassment charges against you".
He says that I should mind my own business and get back to work. I say that taking down big assholes like him is my business.
By this point in the conversation I am standing eye to eye with him. (Actually, I'm on my tiptoes, since he’s about 6'2" and I am only 5'6".) Also by this time a rather large crowd has begun to gather as the volume and intensity of our little "discourse" has reached a fever pitch.
Apparently my standing up to him in front of all his subordinates
With victory assured I deliver the clinching line, saying coolly, "If you lay one finger on me you'll be carrying your balls home in a jar". He knew he was defeated and in deep humiliation turned and stormed away.
Well as you can imagine this scene caused quite an uproar among my co-workers as word spread quickly, not just on our floor but to every floor of the office.
Of course Gregory was at my desk as soon as he heard the news, asking me if I was ok and if there was anything he could do. I told him the best thing for him to do was to go back to work and not worry about me.
He had a hurt expression on his face as he left, but I really didn't want him fawning all over me like some overly protective grandmother or something.
Anyway, I know what he wants. He wants to possess me, to control me, to own me. And the best way for him to do this is for me to be weak. Weak enough that I need to lean on him for comfort and protection.
This desire to possess someone is in most cases what the emotion of love is, or at least what it’s mistaken for. But I for one can not and will not allow myself to be possessed by anyone. No how, no way.
Wednesday 5/11
Dear Diary,
Maybe it was fate's way of paying me back for all the pain that I have caused others, but today was probably the worst day of my entire life.
I was out running with my dog Maxwell before work when tragedy struck. Since we go out so early in the morning I usually let Maxwell run without a leash. He’s normally very obedient and always stays right at my side.
Well just as we get to this alleyway a car comes barreling out in front of us. And although it only mildly startled me, it terrified Maxwell. And like a shot he took off down the street. After only a brief timeout to flash the driver a flying gesture, I dashed off frantically after my poor, frightened dog.
To my dismay, within about 30 seconds he had totally disappeared from sight. I ran a few more hopeful blocks looking down every side-street and alleyway desperately straining to catch a glimpse of him.
Finally I could go no further. My pace slowed to a walk, and then to a complete stop. It was at this moment that I did something I haven't done for as long as I can remember…I cried. I sat down in the middle of the sidewalk and cried. I cried so hard I thought my eyes were on fire.
I don't know how long I sat there, but anyone seeing me in such an uncontrollable emotional state probably would have turned away in utter contempt.
By the time I staggered back home it was well past the time I usually leave for work. So I called and told them that I’d be there as soon as I could. The remainder of the day would go down as possibly the longest in history.
Gregory of course was at my desk as soon as I sat down asking me why I had been so late. To avoid a repeat of last Wednesday's debacle of him trying to comfort me "in my hour of need", I told him that I was out late drinking with some other guy and we didn't hear my alarm go off this morning. He wasn't sure whether to take me seriously or not, but at least it got rid of him until he could think about it awhile.
The first thing I did when I burst through my door that evening was to check my answering machine. Luckily, I had just put Maxwell's new license on him yesterday, but stupidly I had put my home phone number on it instead of my cell.
Though I feared for the worst, I hoped beyond hope that someone honorable had managed to grab him. As I anxiously pressed the play button under the flashing red light, my heart was pumping blood through my body at an almost feverish rate.
"Emily", the amazingly handsome male voice said. "My name is Riley. I found your dog this morning in the gangway of my apartment building. He looked pretty haggard so I brought him inside and gave him some food and water. He's doing fine now so there's no need to worry. Just give me a call and I'll bring him over."
With that he gave me his phone number and reassured me again that Maxwell was ok.
Well you can imagine the relief I felt knowing my poor Maxwell was safe and had not been slaughtered by a bus or something. I immediately picked up the phone and called my hero. What was his name, Riley? What an interesting name. The phone rang about 4 times before a recording came on.
I was just about to leave a message when a real person broke in. "Hello, hello", the voice said in a semi-breathless tone. "This is Riley, this is Riley. I'm home, I'm home".
"Do you always say everything twice?” I asked, silently laughing at the frantic cadence of his voice.
"No, no... I mean, no", he replied. Then, after a brief respite to catch his breath he asked confusedly, "Who IS this?”
"It's Emily", I said in a way which implied that he should have known.
"Emily?", and then there was a short pause. "Oh Emily, the dog girl", he said finally.
"My, aren't you the charmer", I retorted. "I can't remember the last time someone called me dog girl."
After an embarrassed laugh he said, "Oh I'm sorry. I'm afraid my social skills are pretty awful. I haven't had a lot of contact with women lately." Then he hesitated for a moment. "I guess I shouldn't admit stuff like that should I?"
"Don't worry", I said. "Your secret's safe with me. Anyway, you found my Maxwell so you can call me anything you like today."
"Actually", he said, "Maxwell found me. I was fixing a window frame on the basement apartment when Maxwell just strolled thru the open gate and down the gangway. He walked right up to me and looked me straight in the eye. I can't explain it but it almost looked like he had been crying.
Well as I told you already I brought him inside and gave him some food and water. When he finished he just wandered into the living room, laid down on the throw rug and went to sleep. It was a funny thing though. Right before he laid down he licked my hand, like he was thanking me or something."
"It sounds", I said, "as if you have a much better rapport with animals than you have with women".
"You're right", he laughed, "You’re right".
"So", I asked, "when can I come by to pick him up"?
"I can bring him over to your place", he replied.
"No that's ok Riley", I said. "You've done so much already. I don't want Maxwell to be any more of a burden on you."
"It's no problem", he responded, "I can bring him".
"No I'll come there", I said more forcefully...forcefully enough that he relented immediately.
After he gave me his address I told him in my most seductive voice that I would be over as soon as I "slipped into something more comfortable". He was trying to come back with a witty reply but I hung up the phone while he was still in mid-sentence.
I quickly showered, and then put on my running shorts and most adorable sweatshirt. I don't wear makeup, but I did spend a little extra time on my hair before darting out the door and down the stairs.
If there is any street in Chicago more exhilarating to me than Clark Street it's Broadway, especially at this time in the late afternoon.
As I turned south on to Broadway off of Belmont, the sidewalks and streets were teeming with every sort of person imaginable. All walking, running, biking, or rollerblading thru a menagerie of sights, sounds, and smells, with each separate entity together creating a montage of humanity all vying for the attention of the others.
I of course love to be noticed, especially by men. I'm not really concerned with what women think. I'm not one of those who look at other women as competition. I think the women who do are very insecure.
The way I see it, there are plenty of men to go around, though I suppose in the end we just pass the good ones around between us anyway.
Actually I love men…really I do. Otherwise I wouldn't spend so much time and energy trying to lure them into my little escapades. The fun is in the catching however. Keeping a man is a whole other story.
After I catch them I prefer to just trifle with them a short while before tossing them back and throwing my hook back into the water. The care and feedi
Anyway, I finally got to Riley's building and rang the bell to his apartment. R. Wells…that was the name on the mailbox. Hmmm, Emily Wells. I always do that though I don't know why. I have no plans to marry, nor do I have any intention of taking my husband's last name in the unlikely event that I do.
A voice crackled over the intercom, "Hello, Hello".
"If you continue saying everything twice", I commented, "Your voice is going to run out half way thru your life".
"I'm afraid I'm already past that point", He laughed, "and so far the old larynx is still holding together".
After he buzzed me in I climbed the carpeted stairs up to the first landing. As I started up the next set of stairs I instinctively looked up, and there he stood at the top glaring down at me.
DANGER, WILL ROBINSON, DANGER!
This was the only thought that went thru my head as I gazed up into the deep velvety blue eyes which were meticulously following my ascent. This man could defeat me. I knew it instantly though I'm sure he didn't have the slightest notion of it in his head.
Though I could tell in a glance that he was somewhere in his late-30's, he had the look of a total innocent. His face was rough, yet boyish, and his physique strong, but not intimidating if you know what I mean. He greeted me with a rather goofy grin intimating that it was he who was the intimidated one.
When I finally reached the top landing I held out my hand to him. He took hold of it delicately, like one would take hold of a tomato trying to feel its firmness without squishing it.
After this initial physical contact neither of us said anything for quite a few seconds. It was as if time stood still. In fact the electricity running from his hand to mine was so intense that it temporarily shorted out my brain. During this brief interlude I actually forgot why I was there.
"So", I said finally, being the first to regain my composure. "You're the one my dog ran to in his hour of need. I must say I trained him well." Riley wasn't altogether sure what I meant by this remark but he guessed it was a compliment.
"Thank you", he replied rather hesitantly. "Come in, Come in, (a slight pause) I mean…come in", he said, now ever self-conscious of his double talk.
Just then Maxwell came galloping around the corner and into my waiting arms. "My baby", I cried as I hugged his neck and rubbed his soft doggy back. After a few moments of this I stood up and chastisingly pointed my finger at Maxwell saying, "Don't you ever do that to me again"?
But when he looked up at me with those big, sorrowful brown eyes I knew I couldn't stay mad at him and I just reached down and patted his head.
It was at this time that I reawakened myself to Riley's presence, though in reality I must confess I had been subconsciously aware of him every second.
I was experiencing a yearning inside that I had not felt for ages, if ever. It was so overpowering I was certain that at any second my face would reveal everything. But of course it didn't.
My defense system knows to kick in automatically when I temporarily lose my head. And luckily it didn't fail me this time. I knew though that I had to get out of there fast. My shields were not strong enough to withstand his presence for very much longer.
Riley was at least consciously unaware of my inner turmoil and still sporting that goofy grin on his face when I turned to thank him one last time. I then quickly grabbed Maxwell's leash and gave a hurried wave good-bye before racing down the stairs and out the door, my poor dog dragging bewilderingly behind me.
It didn't dawn on me until I was half way down the block that the leash I was holding wasn't mine. DAMN! Well I wasn't going back now. I needed to gather my thoughts and figure out what was going on here.
When I got home I decided to turn off my phone and unplug my answering machine the rest of the night. I didn’t want to be tempted to call Riley and did not want to hear his voice even on tape. It was all so irrational, but at the time it was all so necessary.
I sat reflectively in my big red chair by the window and stared blankly out at the still busy intersection below. The late afternoon changed into early evening and then into twilight.
As the tempo of the street slowed, my internal tempo began to slow down as well. Eventually it would all be back to normal, I tried to convince myself, and this whole ugly episode forgotten.
I wanted to be back to my old unaffected self again, detached from all these stupid feelings of longing and desire. As I lay nearly comatose in my chair, drained from the emotional turmoil of the day, I made a determined vow to myself.
I will not fall in love. I refuse to fall in love. "Please don't let me fall in love", I whispered as I gently drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Thursday 5/12
Dear Diary,
After the chaotic events of yesterday I spent most of today walking around in an incoherent stupor. I knew I wasn't myself when I actually agreed to another date with Gregory.
What does he see in me anyway? Why doesn't he just go find a nice, innocent, unaffected girl with whom he can live out his deluded fantasy of finding happiness thru love?
You'd think by now he would realize that he's in way over his head with me. He aspires to scale my castle walls but all he brought with him was a step ladder. What an insult.
Well I've had more than enough of his pathetic pandering. It's time to pour the boiling oil over the ramparts and down upon his silly heart. He'll have the scars for quite awhile, but maybe they'll serve as a reminder not to surrender his soul so easily the next time around.
Enough about Gregory and on to more important matters. I spent the majority of the day trying to ascertain why Riley had such a profound effect on me yesterday. Just when I thought I had this emotional tomfoolery licked I find myself going gaga over some middle-aged Bo hunk that has a better rapport with my dog than he could possibly ever have with me.
I finally came to the conclusion that I have two choices. I can either pursue this relationship strictly from a scientific angle, seeking to discover what is causing my heart to throb and then subsequently shutting and bolting that back door entry into my system.
Or I can treat this as some one of a kind anomaly of nature and just avoid the guy altogether. Still reeling from the effects of yesterday's encounter I decided it would be much more prudent to follow the latter course.
There, that was easy. Now the only thing remaining would be the return of that damn dog leash. Giving it back in person was quite out of the question. Mailing it back seemed ludicrous. The only reasonable solution was to drop it off at his building without him spotting me.
Most people I suspect would just keep or toss the stupid thing, but I can't do that. I am inherently honest about returning things that don't belong to me. I don't say this to brag or to feel better about myself. It's just an incurable part of my nature and I've learned to live with it.
I thought about returning it tonight after work, but when I stumbled thru the front door of my apartment I literally collapsed into my chair and nothing short of World War III was going to uproot me from that spot.
Friday 5/13
Dear Diary,
Today I not only cancelled my "date" with Gregory, I cancelled Gregory.
Yesterday he had asked me out, and for some unknown reason I had accepted. In order to avoid a repeat of what I did to him on our first date of bringing along a 3rd party, Gregory this time had suggested that we leave together right from work.
By last night however I had already decided that I wasn't up to spending a whole evening with him slobbering all over me. Rather than confront him on the issue and listen to his pleading and pandering, I decided to just avoid him all day and then quietly slip out the back door as I had done on a previous occasion.
Unfortunately he had wised up since then and he came by early to pick me up. When he discovered me heading the "wrong" way down the hallway he called out to me. Though I did my best to ignore his bellowing, he ran and caught me at the rear
"You didn't forget about our date did you?” he asked as I turned reluctantly to meet his gaze.
"No I didn't forget", I said unflinchingly. "I just can't go out with you tonight, that's all".
He was stunned. "Wha…what do you mean?” he stuttered. "We had a date. You told me you'd go."
"Well now I'm telling you I can't so that makes us even", I said. getting increasingly angrier at the demanding tone of his voice.
He was shaking by now. "What do you mean that makes us even. I don't even know what you're talking about."
I just glared at him.
"What else is new", I finally replied. "You can't even begin to comprehend who I am or what I'm all about. So do yourself a favor and go look for some nice sweet uncomplicated girl that you might possibly have some small concept of.
In the meantime, why don't you go home and ask your mother what you should do next. I'm sure that after she dries your tears and cooks you a hot meal, she'll say that you can do better than me and that time heals all wounds.
Then after you brush your teeth and say your prayers, you can climb into your little bed and cry yourself to sleep with thoughts of what might have been."
With that I turned abruptly, opened the door, and descended the concrete stairway, my heart pumping blood at an uncomfortably furious rate to my overwrought brain.
The cool lake breeze gently caressed my face as I walked slowly home along North Avenue Beach. The last thing I felt like right now was a train full of people. Anyway, walking would give me a chance to calm down and get a grasp on all that was stirring around inside me.
With the quiet glistening waters of Lake Michigan on my right, and the rapid buzzing of cars cruising down Lake Shore Drive on my left, I felt a certain convergence of these contrasting elements in the center of my being. I experienced alternate states of serenity and turbulence as I moved in and out of my fluctuating emotions.
I continued north along the lake until I reached Diversey Blvd where I veered westward towards the soon to be setting sun. I stopped for a few moments to watch a man and woman playing tennis. I then treated myself to a chocolate swirl frozen yogurt from a snack bar nearby before resuming my trek homeward.
As I snaked my way thru the city streets I was only vaguely cognizant of where I was at any given moment. My body traced its path purely by instinct as I was totally given over to my mental ponderings.
Awakening from my trance I was shocked back to reality at finding myself on the corner of Wellington and Broadway, only a stone's throw away from Riley's apartment building.
After a quick glance around to make sure he wasn't out tinkering about, I hastened my way home to the sanctuary of my apartment overlooking Belmont and Clark, and my big, safe, cozy red chair by the window.
There I sat in deep contemplation. I mostly thought about Riley and why I had not as yet returned his stupid dog leash. For what reason was I purposely delaying the inevitable?
Was I scared of accidentally running into him? Or could it be that I was scared that this might be my last opportunity "to" run into him. The thought that I was actually afraid of the latter was scarier than all my other fears in life combined.
Wednesday 5/18
Dear Diary,
It's been a week since my contact with Riley and I believe that I’m finally back in total control of my emotions regarding him. I have not attempted to contact him, nor has he called me. I must admit Dear Diary that I did expect to hear something from him after my abrupt departure at our last encounter. But that doesn't matter now.
And no I still haven't returned that damn leash, but I have every intention of doing so this weekend. I'll just drop it off down in the foyer of his apartment building and that will be that. No more thoughts of Riley Wells. No more inane imaginings of love, or intimacy, or of losing my head over a man.
Actually this whole episode may have turned out to be a good thing after all. I had a chance to once more test my resolve. And though I initially acquiesced to my emotional ramblings, I was eventually able to realize the folly of its arguments and returned to listening to the sensible advice of my head.
In regards to Gregory, who I so brutally lambasted last Friday, I'm afraid to report that he is still in the early stages of emotional melt down. I have passed him a few times in the hallway and saw him another time as we waited for the same train home.
On each occasion he totally avoided eye contact with me. But as insane as it sounds, I believe that he is now more in love with me than ever.
Love…what a funny word that is. As a concept it has a simple universal meaning, yet in practice it is more complex then all the scientific laws lumped together. Of course I have my own definition of love which I'm sure is quite different from what most others would ascribe to it.
Love as I see it is the desire to possess someone or something that fills an empty emotional cavity within our being. The more this particular person or thing fills us up, the more we love it.
The mistake most people make is in not realizing that there are certain persons who can make themselves appear to be just the right size and contour to fill that emptiness, but who are in reality only shape changing parasites (And I must include myself in this contemptible class) who's only desire is to gain access into the person's inner emotional being and feed on what is in there already.
And what’s in there is the love, the warmth, and the tenderness that most people desire to shower on the heart of another. The victim, in order to keep the parasite within the walls of their emotional cavity, is willing to inundate it with all he or she has. When the parasite eventually moves on, be it days, weeks, months, or even years later, the victim is left emptier than before.
Unfortunately, the first thing the victim does upon realizing this emptiness is to chase after the parasite in hopes of regaining what was taken from him or her. The folly in this is that the parasite has already consumed everything and has nothing left to give back. (Not that they would anyway since parasites are by nature takers, not givers.)
Gregory should feel lucky that I only fed off of him for a few short weeks. Yet I'm afraid he will eventually pursue me again and, as much as he disgusts me I may have no choice but to feed off him once more. As with the vampire's thirst for blood, my desire to feed on human emotions is ravenous and unending.
Do I myself have a cavity that needs filling? The answer is No! Fortunately, I use Crest.
Sunday 5/22
Dear Diary,
Oh God, what's to become of me!? It was only a few short days ago when I felt so certain that I had totally conquered my shameful emotional shortcomings.
Now here I sit curled up in my big red chair, the morning sun just beginning to filter thru the half-drawn shades of my apartment, balefully writing the eulogy to my lucidity and pragmatism.
I have worked all my life to exorcise the emotional demons from my soul, only to now allow myself to be completely blind-sided by some blithe spirit with the innocence of a child.
Lucifer himself couldn't have seduced me any better. Normally my contrary nature works to my benefit. But this time it only played into the hands of the evil one, namely my miserable, deceitfully foolish heart.
I left home early yesterday morning to return the dog leash I had accidentally taken from Riley last week, he of the penetrating blue eyes and frantic demeanor.
Most women I suspect would have begun this journey with every intention of returning the leash in person, only to let fear and palpitation terrify them into just slipping it thru the mail slot before scurrying home to wallow in their contemptible cowardice.
I on the other hand started out with every intention of just dropping the damn thing off and slinking away unnoticed. During my walk over however my reprehensible pride and haughtiness overcame my common sense, and by the time I had turned onto Wellington I was determined to face the enemy head on. What a fool I was.
As my finger hovered over the button located under the name of my heart’s
"Yes, who is it", came the crackly familiar voice thru the tiny metal speaker box.
"It's Emily", I said boldly, trying to mask the turmoil I felt stirring up through out my inners.
Though my heart was pounding at a hellish rate, I knew my outer features were still holding firm. The buzzer rang and my feet guided me deftly thru the door and up the stairs. I didn't dare look up until I had reached the first floor landing. There he stood, sans shirt and barefoot.
Wearing only a faded pair of Levis and that goofy grin he held out his hand to greet me. Refusing to suffer thru a repeat of the mental blackout I had experienced the last time I took his hand, I simply reached out and deposited the dog leash into his outstretched fingers.
"Here you go", I rigidly said, quickly pulling my hand back and stuffing it into my pocket.
His initial startled facial expression was quickly replaced with a huge grin and then laughter.
"You didn't need to come all the way back here to give me this old thing", he chortled, as he absentmindedly wrapped and unwrapped it slowly around his fingers. "But I'm glad you did".
Though my face remained expressionless, my guts were so knotted up that they were cutting off the circulation to my brain.
"Why don't you come in for a few minutes", he said finally. Do you want something to drink"?
"No thank you", I said firmly. "I really must be going."
"Don't go", he responded. "Stay awhile."
"I..I can't", I sputtered, as I turned and bolted down the stairs.
Just as I reached the bottom I heard a voice thundering down from above…A voice which seemed totally foreign to me.
"You're not fooling anyone you know", the voice rumbled. "You didn't come all the way over here just to return this mangy old leash."
"OH?!" I said, spinning on my heels and storming back up the stairs. "And just why did I come here O great Seer of the western world?"
"You wanted to see me again and figure out what it was that so fascinated you about me", the voice replied. "Women never say what's really on their minds."
I was momentarily startled by his astute perception regarding my inner workings. But instinctively I went into battle mode and came out firing with all guns.
"Oh so now you're the premier authority on the female mind", I retorted. "Maybe you should write a book on the subject. Better still, why don't you send a copy of your REMARKABLE findings to the Library of Congress?
I'm sure that if they really expound upon it, they could fit the sum total of your valuable insights onto the face of a 44-cent commemorative stamp, and still have room enough for a picture of the head of a jackass. No, wait. Your head is way too big for a stamp. Maybe the Goodyear blimp would be more the right size. At least the shape and contents would be appropriate."
With that I turned and quickly started down the stairs. He caught me at the bottom, and holding the door shut he looked guilelessly into my eyes.
"I'm sorry", he whispered quietly. "I don't know why I said those things. I just...I just didn't want you to leave so I said the first thing that popped into my head."
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"I don't blame you for being angry with me. You were sweet enough to come here and return something you could have easily just kept or tossed. And instead of thanking you, I returned your veracity with nefarious pronouncements and ludicrous innuendos."
Actually these last words weren't the specific words he used, but my brain reinterpreted his statements to match up with what I felt he should have said…namely something totally self-abasing and mortifying.
Though I have all but erased the memory of his actual terminology, I vaguely recall the words "rude", "insensitive", and the ever profound, "I'm an idiot". But since this is my diary I'll use the words I want.
Anyway, it was the tone, not the words, which ultimately satisfied my noble pride. "So”, I finally asked, “do you have any juice up in that apartment of yours?",
"Uhh, No", he responded. "Is beer alright"?
"Oh sure", I replied sarcastically. "I'm just dying for a nice, cold beer. Hey it's almost 9 o'clock in the morning. I'm usually on my 2nd 6-pack by now."
With a slight shake of my head and an eye roll skyward, I told him that I would just have a glass of water thank you, if he happened to have any on tap.
We went back up the stairs to his apartment and I sat down in the Queen Anne chair near the door. He disappeared momentarily around the corner, returning within a couple of minutes with my water in one hand and a beer in the other. He also had donned a shirt, socks, and shoes while he was gone, though he still looked fairly disheveled.
"Emily", he said matter-of-factly, as he sat down on the chair opposite me.
"What do you do for a living?"
"You mean when I'm not turning tricks down on Broadway?” I replied abruptly.
"Yeah", he laughed. "What's your day job?"
"I do public relations work for a firm in the Hancock Building", I said with more than a touch of pride.
Then after several moments of uneasy silence he asked, "Do you have to travel much in that job?”
"Actually", I replied, "I just got promoted into a position that does require me to take an occasional junket here and there". "Why do you ask?"
"Uh, no reason", he responded. "Just trying to make conversation, that's all."
Then there came the uneasy silence again.
This was going nowhere. Neither of us could muster up enough courage to say what was really on our minds, and the emotional tension of being in his presence was beginning to gag my innards again. Well, time to go.
What was I doing here anyway? He still had the same effect on me as before, and my original plan to just avoid him and carry on with my life seemed a wiser choice than ever.
I took one last sip of water, stood up, and pronounced my intentions of leaving. I turned and made quickly for the door hoping beyond hope that he would just let me go in peace. No such luck!
"Emily", he said anxiously. "I'm thinking of going down to Lincoln Park this afternoon." (OH NO!!) "Maybe to, you know, walk around the zoo and visit the Conservatory and stuff." (Please don't ask me to come.) "Would you like to come?" (OH GOD!!)
This time my shields failed miserably and my stolid face melted like ice cream in Hell. Luckily I had an out.
"This afternoon I'm supposed to meet my friend Amy"(The truth actually), I began. And I had every intention of concluding this sentence with (So I'm afraid that I can't go with you today). But what I heard myself actually saying was, "But I can see her anytime".
WHAT!! I DID NOT SAY THAT! HOW COULD I HAVE SAID THAT? I DON'T BELIEVE I SAID THAT!
Then he says, "Why don't you just invite Amy along."
HEY, THAT'S MY LINE. WHY ARE MY WORDS COMING OUT OF HIS MOUTH AND HIS WORDS OUT OF MINE? WHAT KIND OF A BAD NIGHTMARE IS THIS ANYWAY?
When all was said and done it had been arranged that I would meet him back here at around noon and that I would ask Amy if she wanted to join us.
Of course the wise decision would be to have her come with us, but my brain had somehow gone off the deep-end or something. My usual self-confidence and assuredness had been replaced by a sudden feeling of trepidation and inadequacy.
What if Riley liked her more? She's sexier than I am and she's quite a bit bigger on top. That's what men look for, isn't it? NO, I'm not asking her. And that's final.
I arrived back at Riley's place just before noon. I rang the bell and 30 seconds later came Riley bouncing down the stairs. I told him that I had begged Amy to come but that she had decided to just stay home and get some things done.
In reality, ashamed to tell her the truth (that my foolish heart had won out), I had told Amy that I wasn't feeling well and suggested getting together some oth
After a brief greeting, Riley and I jumped on a number 36 bus heading south down Broadway and off we were on our little date.
To avoid saying anything too revealing in my current unstable condition, I decided to allow Riley to do most of the talking. And boy could he talk. The trip down Broadway and then Clark Street, which Broadway merges into, became for Riley a resplendent trip down memory lane.
He would point out this place or that, be it a restaurant or club, and he would tell me of some exploit or drama that he had taken part in during his younger days. Around my age, I asked. Yeah, around your age as I recollect, he laughed.
There was the Octagon where he had been a DJ for a couple of years. And then there was Neo, a popular nightclub where he had met and actually been jokingly embraced by Bill Murray the actor, after drunkenly blurting out to the star, "I love you".
Then there had been the Parkway Restaurant and the Belden Deli, both long since closed and replaced by more upscale establishments. These were the places he would go after the clubs closed; talking till dawn with his friends or with some girl he had met that night.
All and all, he said he was having a wonderful time. But as well as his social life was going, the rest of his life at that time was a total loss. He had no real job, no real plans, and in his own mind no real future. All he had he finally figured out was a passion…A passion for old buildings.
He enjoyed looking at them and picturing in his mind what they would look like all shiny and new. This passion had been born within him when he was just a boy.
He remembered visiting his Grandma Dorothy's old Victorian mansion in Logan Square. Actually, to him it was more than a house. It was a museum filled with hidden treasures and erstwhile stories lurking behind secret doors in long forgotten rooms and alcoves. Treasures and stories that it seemed only he could see and that only he could understand.
The towering gables and intricate carvings made it feel like he had entered into another world, another time, when things of beauty were cared for and appreciated. A time when people took time to attend to the details that gave character and personality to those things that they had lovingly created.
He remembered wandering from room to musky smelling room, imagining what great event or tragic story had unfurled itself in this house over the many decades since it was built. Each chip of paint and each scratch of wood whispered a secret and opened the gateway to a mystery needing to be solved. He fantasized about what this place had looked like when it was first built and wondered if it could ever look that way again.
If only he could strip away the faded varnish and tattered wallpaper and see the original colors and textures that were lovingly woven into the fabric of this house. If only he could spend time there and listen to the tales it had to tell him. If only, he wished. If only. It wasn't until several years later that his wish finally came true.
His Grandma Dorothy died in the winter of his junior year in high school and the following summer his dad and uncle decided to fix up the old place and see what they could sell it for. His dad asked him if he wanted to make a little spending money on the side by helping out. He jumped at the chance.
His previous summers had been spent playing ball with friends, or hanging out at Oak Street Beach. Never before had he considered working during his time off from school. And never had he worked harder in his life. But thinking back now, he couldn't recall a better summer than that one.
He could still remember the joy he felt in watching that old house come back to life, and the pride he experienced when the job was done. And of course he remembered the old house itself.
How magnificent it looked with its renewed splendor and recaptured youth. It was then that he knew that he loved making old things new and bringing life where once there was death and decay.
So years later with those joyous memories rekindled in his soul he set out to turn his passion into his life's calling. He secured a small loan from his uncle, bought an old run down two-flat for $18,000, and began weaving his dreams into reality. Ten months later he sold that same building for $127,000, and he was on his way.
He bought more buildings, hired a crew, and made his first million by the time he reached 27. Everything was going great, including his romance and engagement to the daughter of a wealthy socialite who he had met while buying furnishings at an old estate auction. His life was on the fast track and the only direction was up. Then the roof caved in.
Trying to make a big killing so as to be financially worthy of the girl he was about to marry, he took on some risky projects in a depressed area of the city. Everything went wrong and he lost a fortune. Then a couple of his investments went bad and his once bulging bank account had dwindled down to nothing.
It was also about this time that the socialite's daughter decided that maybe they weren't "romantically" compatible after all and broke off the engagement.
In the end all he was left with was his building on Wellington and an unquenchable desire to douse the flames of his burning sorrow with 12 ounce bottles of beer. He gave up on success, he gave up on women, and he gave up on himself.
He tried to bounce back, he said, but he just couldn't muster up the strength to go back out there and start over again. So he basically just sat in his apartment and drank. First he drank to survive. Then he drank to forget. Now he just drinks to drink.
As he told me his story it was as if he was in some sort of trance. And when he awoke he apologized for boring me with the pathetic details of his miserable life. He said he had to tell someone and I just happened to be the unlucky person to be around when he couldn't hold it in any longer.
I was touched, but I didn't tell him that. Instead I yawned and said that I had sat through much worse stories than his.
We disembarked the bus at Webster and walked the couple of blocks east to the zoo. It was a warm sunny spring afternoon and all around us couples were walking hand-in-hand together.
Never in my life had I felt the urge to publicly display my affections for someone in such a manner. So why was I feeling it now? This really was turning out to be a good learning experience. I should have brought a note pad.
As we walked through the quiet serenity of Lincoln Park Zoo, I found myself marveling at the contrast of this peaceful sanctuary being only a short walk from the hustle and bustle of big city living. In some ways one zoo is just like the other.
We saw the usual lions, and tigers and bears. But Lincoln Park is more than a zoo. With its urban setting it’s really sort of sanctuary from the sometimes violent streets not so far away. At least in here the animals were behind glass.
After touring the zoo we walked down to the Lincoln Park Lagoon. There we sat outside the Cafe Brauer sharing some fried zucchini and watching couples rhythmically peddle their little two-seat paddleboats across the peaceful shoal.
From there we took a stroll by the lake and later stopped for sushi at small place on Clark Street. By the time we started back home it was early evening.
With the sweet warmth and tender breathe of springtime dancing ever so lightly on my skin and in my heart, I suggested that we skip the bus and instead return home on foot. Though I insisted it wasn't necessary, Riley walked me all the way back to my apartment.
It was nearly dusk when we arrived there, and as I fumbled through my purse trying desperately to get inside my door before anything else could happen Riley put his hand on my shoulder and whispered ever so softly, "I'm glad you came."
"So am I", I heard myself say. After that everything is sort of a blur.
At some point I stopped looking for my keys, chiefly because my lips had somehow become attached to Riley's, and my eyes were mysteriously closed.
NOW WAIT A DOGGONE MINUTE HERE!
I never close my eyes when I kiss. Then again this wasn't kissing, was it? At least it wasn't kissing as I had known it. This was electric shock therapy.
When our lips finally parted I realized
As I slowly became re-aware of my surroundings I was further shocked to find that we were standing on the sidewalk, IN FULL VIEW OF EVERYONE!!! AND EVERYONE WAS WATCHING!!! Weren't they?
This was contemptible. This was outrageous. This was magnificent. Riley grabbed hold of my hand and squeezed it gently for a few moments. "I'll call you", he said.
And with that he smiled, turned, and walked away, my hand dropping limply to my side still tingling from his touch. He turned once more and waved as he was going around the corner. Then he was gone.
I slept uneasily last night and woke up well before dawn. Since then I have sat in this chair writing and quietly reflecting about who I am, what I am, and how I want my life to be. Now after much thought and teary-eyed contemplation I have made my decision. I must never see Riley Wells again.
Thursday 6/23
Dear Diary,
It has been over a month since I’ve been able to put pen to paper. Several times have I tried only to gag at the thought of delving once more into my contemptible soul.
After my humiliating defeat at the hands of my despicable heart, I had fallen back from the front lines in order to take stock of where I was and where I wanted to be.
As far as Riley goes, I have not seen him since that ill-fated kiss 32 days ago. He has several times tried to contact me by phone, but each time I have been able to either put him off or avoid the call completely.
To my knowledge he has not attempted to confront me in person, though I have tried to be away from home as much as possible.
I know I have hurt him and for this I’m truly sorry. I realize that this sentiment sounds somewhat phony coming from me, the self-proclaimed "harbinger of pain". But in this one instance I actually do feel sympathy for the innocent victim of this continuing battle between my head and heart.
Anyway, enough of that. It's time to catch up with what's been happening in my life over the last several weeks, which has been quite a bit actually. And much of it I must say was rather surprising even to me.
I spent most of the first week alternately bawling my eyes out and cursing my emotional infirmity. To stop the tears I poured myself into my work. I had just recently gotten a promotion, so I spent many long nights at work reviewing the parameters of my new responsibilities.
Interestingly enough, this resulted in my spending a great deal of time with Derrick, my former supervisor who I had such heated words with not so long ago.
We are now pretty much equals on the corporate ladder, and due to the interconnectedness of our positions we need to constantly coordinate our efforts to achieve maximum efficiency.
In view of our past history I at first approached this affiliation with some apprehension, as I'm sure did he. However our long nights together and intensive work schedule created something of a bond between us. And it wasn't long before this bond extended outside the workplace and we began dating.
It started with after work coffeehouse excursions and progressed to late dinners and even later nights at his place. What I'm feeling I couldn't say.
All I know is that this relationship is filling a need in me that previous to Riley I didn't know I had. Am I in love? Not that I'm aware of, though in my present emotional state who can say for sure.
Oh, and Gregory is speaking to me again. It started a couple of weeks ago when he said "Hi" to me as we passed in the hallway. I responded with the same and since then he has re-established himself as someone in my life.
He also has somehow designated himself as my personal romance advisor and confidant. Of course he is dead set against my relationship with Derrick.
"Emily, I don't believe you", he'll say disapprovingly. "How can you go out with that jerk?"
When Gregory comes up to visit and sees Derrick and me together he just shakes his head and rolls his eyes heavenward. I usually just stick out my tongue at him and continue my conversation.
Sometimes though, just to irk him, I'll put my hand on Derrick's shoulder or arm to which Gregory just gives me a wave of disgust and goes back down to his own floor.
Where do I go from here? That I don't know. At present I feel as though I'm in a safe place, detached from my feelings and devoid of any mental scrutiny from my ever-probing brain. In essence I'm on vacation from myself. When will the battle begin again? Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
Wednesday 6/29
Dear Diary,