What allowed you passion will be your undoing
December 8, 2019
Trucks. Trucks everywhere.
His new bedsheets tucked in neatly; the little soap dispenser hidden behind ours; a pair of slippers full of mud waiting for warmth; the Raptor outside with proof of your infidelity.
Honestly, I expected more. Next time, at least clean up.
What's the point. You'll never hear me say this and I'll be the one making sure your escapades don't traumatize him.
Might as well buy the correct gift when you go see him beneath the mistletoe; the good holiday stores are right next to the entrance.
Then again, that simple mind inside your skull always drifted whenever someone so much as breathed nearby.
Still, my shoulders ache and I won't be able to wear this sweater without remembering his body shaking. You should be here for the thunderstorms and earthquakes.
It's time you grew up, learned how to parent and forget the easiest way to wiggle inside another victim.
December 12, 2019
Do you know what it feels like? To see my brother and realize you gave him marks the shirt cuffs can't camouflage?
What if one day this boy, this sweet young thing, climbs into his uncle's lap and traces the bites? Wonders what they are? Will your courage suddenly appear after years of living in a cave?
Or will I have to grit my teeth and explain to yet another child that their uncle has many enthusiastic lovers? I'd love to see what you'd do then.
We're running out of family members bold enough to ask and you can't scare them all.
No more baring your teeth at shivering nephews or nieces; your jaw will have to clench and remain that way for hours if you plan on it being a secret for longer.
Oh, but how lovely it is to imagine you roaring at the neighbors and relatives, claiming you're his one and only lover.
My brother is many things. Loyal isn't one of them. I suppose you shall soon find out.
December 16, 2019
If you ever doubt me or my wrath, I wish for you to remember the sinking feeling when you caught sight of the photos.
I almost didn't want to leave this diary behind,
but then I thought it better to reassure you: I was the one who plastered a thousand debauched moments between my brother and his lovers all over that ridiculously expensive vehicle.
Think this'll be evidence? No, dear. Why do you think I remained good friends with the sheriff? It most certainly wasn't because of his horrible Fourth of July parties.
I imagine it's time to wake my boy now; it'll be noon by the time you finally notice this on the kitchen table. Don't worry, he isn't tall enough to reach.
The family is going to the house for the weekly dinner. You have until 2:00pm to continue ripping off the pictures; I knew you'd start and then look for me. Ten years of marriage is a long time.
But I don't think it enough for you to know where I am right now. Oh well. Your own fault.
I'll come back. After a while, our relatives will forget the whole thing and you will finally calm down. That's when I'll swoop in and everything will haunt you once again.
My parents will shower me in gifts to avoid the conversation; Aunt Ida and Uncle Jean won't be afraid to buy my son a sleigh full of miniature trucks and buses for Christmas and so forth.
I assume my brother won't look at you even from a hundred feet away.
I'll be seen as the victim. Now my only duty is my son and receiving all sorts of gifts caused by pity. And to think it was all caused by you picking the one truck my brother adored.