he automated text message from the Maplewood Polic

ed across her lips. She tossed

dancing in the messy living room. Haven dragged her exhausted body towa

ase was up, and without her jo

started sweeping old paperback books i

in. As she lifted it, the brittle bottom cracked open

through the mess. Old CDs, faded baseball cards,

eath a folded sweatshirt. It was a black leather diary,

traced the gold-foil initial

A relic from his

ad never been allowed in his ol

st off the cover a

rrogant, self-important ramblings of a seventeen-yea

Clayton's cruel, mocking face from last night flash

had written a cocky manifesto about an upcoming m

n her chest again. Haven grabbed a bl

eclaration, she pressed the tip hard into the paper an

a childish, pathetic way to vent. Sh

ouched, the edges of her

d just written dissolved. The ink sank deep into the fibers of

he blue ink was completely go

fingers went slack, and the diary dr

of the sofa. Her brain raced, trying to find a

black ink began to bleed out

rd on her hands and knees. The black ink t

ialized on the paper: Who are you

diary off the floor. She flipped through the front and back covers, tear

he blue pen again. She wrote beneath the b

back through, the strokes pressing so hard they almost tore the

p angles, the aggressive slant. It was Cl

ssible thought ex

the top of the page. November 12,

both hands over her mouth to muffle a scre

fa, shattering the silence. It wa

ed the phone

isn't budging. Without hard proof of his retaliation,

he phone. She d

her lap. The absolute despair in her eyes sl