1st of January 2017
Dear Diary, I’m not sure what to write. I’ve never kept a journal or a diary before. I got this for Christmas, from my new girlfriend. Her name’s Carrie.
I have no idea why someone so beautiful likes me, but she does. She said so. We’ve only been dating for a month but I have a good feeling. I met her in a bar in town.
I was there with my friend, Michelle, and she was there for her office party. She’s a banker in the city. I’ve no idea why she’s interested in me.
I’m just a factory worker, and she’s a professional, it shouldn’t work. I still get butterflies when I think of the first moment I noticed her.
I turned round to ask Michelle for a taste of her mojito, and there she was. Long, blonde hair down her back. Like strands of gold. Her hair glistened as the light touched it.
My eyes wandered down her back, taking in her well-toned figure. She obviously works out, I thought. She was wearing a white shirt, which hugged her body, with black tailored trouser.
I noticed her bum, actually, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. The cotton of her trousers caressed her long legs, down to her feet, which were comfortably in a pair of ankle boots.
Then she turned around. I gasped a deep breath, almost like I’d been shot, or at least punched in the stomach, like being winded. Wow.
Her eyes were a piercing blue, with naturally long eyelashes. Every move she made was graceful. The way she talked to her colleagues, her mouth movements. Even the way she blinked.
I stood open mouthed, like a spoiled child on Christmas morning, my throat felt instantly dry.
I sipped my drink slowly, unable to peel my eyes away from this beautiful stranger, then her eyes met mine.
She was looking directly at me, and a grin appeared on her face, I smiled back before coyly looking away. When I looked back her eyes were still on mine. My cheeks turned red.
That’s when she moved towards me, striding gracefully like a ballet dancer. ‘’Hi, I’m Carrie’’ she smiled, as her eyes locked on mine and she held a hand out.
I clasped my fingers around it, hoping she wouldn’t notice that my palms were sweaty with nerves. As we shook hands, in silence, I realised I should tell her my name too.
‘’I’m Poppy,’’ I smiled back. Four hours later, Michelle had gone home with some guy, and Carrie’s office party had ended, yet we were still in the same bar.
We nested in a cosy booth, facing one another, lost in conversation. We talked about everything from our lives, our families, her career, and our childhoods.
We laughed so much, I like her laugh. The real laugh. When she throws her head back, and her entire body shakes with laughter. Now we were on the subject of romance and relationships.
I noticed she moved closer to me during this topic. Her fingertips lightly rested upon my thigh. It was like they’d rested there a million times before.
I was telling her about my last girlfriend, and she was telling me about her ex-wife and how she was getting a divorce.
Suddenly, her tone changed, her blue eyes locked on mine, with a smirk, she said I was beautiful.
Her fingertips caressed the side of neck, her other hand stayed on my thigh, as she leaned In closer, her hot breath brushing my skin, I closed my eyes as my hands rested on her hips,
then she did it. Her lips brushed ever so lightly over mine. Like a feather landing on my lips. I barely felt it, but I knew it had happened. She pulled away smiling, before sipping her drink.
She finished in a gulp, slowly licking her lips, her eyes fixated on mine. I was speechless.
In a swift movement she reached into her purse taking out a business card, pressing it into my hand as she whispered that I was to call her tomorrow. Then she left. Just like that.
I remember going home that night, back to my parents’ house, sitting in my box room, looking at the card over and over. Rehearsing in my head what I’d say tomorrow.
I called her the next day, and well, a month later here we are. In love.
1st of June 2017
Dear Diary, things are intense again. I thought moving in with Carrie would make things better. I thought if she knew where I was all the time she wouldn’t be so worried about me.
It’s quite flattering really, and I suppose this is what a loving, grown up relationship is like. I don’t see my friends or parents anymore, because Carrie worries, and gets upset.
She gets so paranoid she asks for pictures to prove I’m where I say I am. And, she asks when I’ll be back, who I’m with, who I’ve talked to. Sometimes she even checks my phone and Facebook.
I know she only does it because she cares. She loves me, and she’s the best someone like me could ever hope for. That’s what she tells me. That’s why I look after her.
She even encouraged me to give up my dead end job to do just that. Every day I get out of bed an hour before she does, to iron her work clothes, and polish her boots.
I need to make sure they’re perfectly ironed. She gets angry if there are creases. I understand why she gets mad, she wants to look her best.
She does so much for me, I’d be nothing without her, and the least I can do is make sure she goes to work looking her best.
After I finish the ironing, and lay her clothes neatly on the chair in the bedroom, it’s time to make breakfast. Everything has to be just accurate.
Once Carrie has eaten, and has left for work it’s time to start my chores. She has a list of chores for me to get through.
I have to finish for around three o’clock, as that then gives me time to clean myself up and then prepare dinner. I didn’t get all my chores finished yesterday.
I just felt very tired, so I had a nap. It was foolish really but Carrie said I didn’t do a good enough job. She shouted at me for hours. I cowered on the sofa like a wounded puppy.
As she yelled. I think she had a bad day at work, because that’s when she shouts at me usually. Her face was inches from mine as she screamed that I was worthless, and no good.
She said all the usual things. About how I’m all she has in the world. That I have no friends. That my family hate me. She said that no one else would have me. Then she stopped.
She was shaking with anger. Her fists were clenched, the vein in her neck pulsated, as her expression tightened. Then she did it. I felt her hand collide hard with my face.
I sat frozen and dazed, I thought it was an accident, but then came another.
The next one was a clenched fist, I felt her pull my hair, and drag me onto the floor from the sofa…that’s when everything went dark. I woke up a short while later.
Carrie was crying, staring down into a class of wine. Her once delicate hands cupping the glass. She swirled it around the edges like a wine taster.
She looked up from her class, as the tears rolled down her cheeks. They tumbled down, dripping onto her crisp white shirt. I noticed spots of red on the cuff.
I wondered where that came from…when Carrie interrupted my thoughts. ‘’I’m sorry,’’. I looked at her, she was just like a little girl. She knew she’d done wrong.
She caught me looking, before kneeling down on the floor beside me. She brushed her hand over my cheek, the way she had done a thousand times. Well, the way she used to.
We talked for hours that night. Like the night we first met. We both promised it would be different. I would stop making Carrie angry, and she would stop being so short tempered.
We even looked online at couples therapy, and anger management. Diary, I know it’s not a normal relationship, but I really think she’ll change.
Today she said I could stay in bed to nurse my bruises and cuts. She’s so kind and thoughtful.
31st December 2017
Dear Diary, this is the last time I’ll write in this one. I have a new one to start tomorrow. Carrie bought me it as a late Christmas present, to say sorry for…well, you know what for by now.
How did I get here, Diary? How did I become one of those women that live like this? Constantly walking on egg shells, scared to say or do the wrong thing for fear that she snaps.
Listening to her tone of voice, even the way she walks to determine her mood. I don’t want this life anymore. I’m not happy. I don’t love her. She was wrong. I can do better than her.
I know she cheats on me. Does she use those women as punching bags too? Does she belittle and control them? I don’t want this anymore. She went out this morning. I don’t know where.
I know better than to ask. After she left, I clutched my bruised body and went to the top of the wardrobe and pulled out a suitcase. I struggled to lift it down but I managed.
I started packing it with my clothes and shoes until it was full. I hadn’t worn most of the clothes I packed. Carrie picks what I wear, what I eat, what I watch.
I used to think it was because she loved me, but I’ve come to realise it’s because I allow her to. I’m her property. I’m better than that though. I’m me. My own person. Which is why I’m leaving. My suitcase is packed. I’ve used some of my savings to book a train ticket to London. She’ll never find me there. I’ll get a job. Make friends. Have a life. I’ll be Poppy again. I’ll be free. My taxi comes in half an hour. Everything’s in place. The adrenaline is coursing through my body like cocaine. I feel like I’m buzzing. I’m frightened and excited all at once. Excited about my new life, but frightened about what I’m about to do. I don’t think I’ve ever been this brave and bold. I’m scared that if she comes back and sees what I’m about to do, she’ll do as she always said, and kill me. Even that excites me. At least if she kills me I won’t have to live like this anymore.
Well, this is it. This is goodbye.