Page 40 of Unstable

CRACKING THE SEAL AND opening the diary, her scent still lingers on the pages, inundating me with a sense of her presence.

I trace the letters, not yet reading the words, merely admiring the handwriting that perfectly personified her. Bubbly cursive, large loops on every “y” and hearts to top each “i.”

When I do focus in on what it actually says, I gather that this is a diary of later days, because the first entry mentions Justin.

I get comfortable, snuggling deeper into the couch and blanket then begin to read, skimming over the parts I know she wouldn’t want me to.

Which is most of them.

Of course I knew she wasn’t a virgin after Justin, she was all too happy to confide in me—her twin—but I don’t need all the sordid details.

After flipping through a few of the many, very thorough pages filled with those, my eyes catch on my name.

I don’t like him for her. He’s not stupid enough to pull any shit in front of me, but there’s too many rumors not to be worried. But Mom says, don’t cause heartache and drama over silly rumors. Only speak what I see with my own two eyes. So I’ll be watching. Very closely. You fuck with my sister, and I’ll fuck with you.

My nose stings and my eyes water despite the fact that I’m lightly snickering. I’m not upset with her, she was waiting ‘til she knew for sure…I’m sure on whether or not Merrick was indeed cheating on me, before she got me upset. And I’m amused hearing how “badass” my sister talked about being when it came to protecting me, when she was anything but.

God, I miss our bond.

I miss knowing that she would unfailingly, conjure up some “badass” from somewhere, to protect me. And I her.

The next entry I stop on steals my breath. Because, like one soul in two bodies, it’s almost exactly verbatim of what I’d said to Gatlin just tonight.

I should tell her that he adores her. He always has, and how she doesn’t see it is beyond me. But I don’t want to sway her opinion or skew her vision. I want her to see for herself, her Prince, right in front of her eyes. She will, she has to. He deserves that. And she deserves him. I just have to keep my faith in destiny.

She has to be talking about Keaton, and had the same thought process as I did about her and Justin. We really did think alike. Like twins.

I keep reading, laughing out loud through flowing, happy tears when the next story is about a fight we had over her wearing my brand new boots—before I’d even had a chance to. I’d been so mad that I hid her favorite pair for a week.

I’d give anything to have another fight with her.

I flip a bit further toward the back and the bold, dark black letters at the top of a certain page grab my attention.

“BUSTED”

It’s a detailed account of the flashback I’d had before, the night she’d gone to a party and “suggested” I ask Keaton whose ass he whooped. When the memory had hit before, a fleeting thought went through my mind, remembering how banged up Merrick had been the next day. He explained it away from that day’s football practice, and I’d thought nothing more of it at the time. He hadn’t gone to the party; his parents had forced him to attend a family dinner function.

All lies.

A big one by my sister—of omission.

I sit up, seized by a sense of betrayal…until I continue reading.

All I know is, Keaton came out of the woods with busted-up knuckles and blood on his shirt, then jumped in his truck and left without saying a word to anyone. Justin wouldn’t let me leave his side, get involved in the chaos, but I know it was Merrick. My gut is never wrong. Keaton saw something and tore into that slimy bastard, and I’m glad! I hope Henley asks Keaton about it, like I told her to, and finds out for sure. I want her to open her eyes once and for all. Merrick is a snake and Keaton loves her!

I’ve just about read all I can take, but one page in the very back, has a pink tag barely sticking out of the side. I turn to it, almost afraid of what it will say. Even more spooked, yet relieved, but still disbelieving…hell, I have no idea what I’m feeling exactly when I process the words I find there.

Henley, if you ever read this, it’s okay. I read yours all the time.

I snicker and sniffle at the same time. It’s my sister—talking directly to me, so to speak. And it sounds just like her.

Listen, really listen, when I say this. Stop worrying about me, I was fourteen and I’m over it. I promise. Be happy, that’s all I want for you. I’m happy now, I swear. You matter as much as I do! This is me looking out for you for a change. We both come first, and frankly, I don’t know how much longer I can stand back and wait for you to figure out things for yourself. Don’t make me slap some sense into you, sister—you're the smart one! I love you, Henley.

I keep my composure long enough to close the book, kiss it softly, and gently set it on the table. Then, I release it all—a torrent of happy, sad, confused, relieved, lonely, regretful tears.

I cry ‘til I can’t breathe through my nose and my stomach rolls with upset. I cry for wasted oblivion, for ill-placed absence, for oversight and hindsight. I bawl with the knowledge that my sister and mother were as protective, forgiving, and loyal to me as I always tried, screwing it up severely at the end, to be to them.

The Three Musketeers…the weakest link left standing.

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