Wes, the faithful friend he was took me in, until he could find a new place for me. 

I fled my apartment due to the threat I received from 'The Crucifier'. 
I stopped going to work for a while but I kept my little treasures which were books of all kind near. 

Wes always went to the Library and borrowed a book on my behalf. He often said it was the least he could do, since getting me a new home was going to take a while. A part of me felt like it was going to take forever.

After a while, it seemed I was right. For days had turned to weeks and weeks became a month. 

I became bored and Wes knew it. We went on several 'dates' for my sake. It had everything a proper date was meant to have but sadly it lacked the most important thing. Love. 
The love metre read half. For I was in love with Wesley Stark, but it seemed I remained nothing but a victim to him.

In my boredom I took time to do a lot of things. 
My favourite was taking a tour around Wesley's house. 

It was the first time I had seen his house in years. The five years we knew each other. The young boy, who always walked home from the pavement, never told me he was a millionaire. 

His parents were dead. The mother he waited for every day after school, died when he was three years old. His father passed away shortly after he left the Police Academy.

I felt bad. I was angry. How could he keep it all from me? I felt guilty since every time we spent was for my sake and nothing involved Wes' life.

Wes' house was a mansion. It was also a glass house. I mean that literally. Every part of the building was surrounded by nature. The huge compound also had a labyrinth of its own entangled with daises, tulips and flowers of many kinds.

Besides, the beauty of petals, another sight of a million colours, was the countless feathers of different bird specie that zoomed across the air. 

My favourite spot was a fountain close to the garden. 

The internal décor of Wes' home was all white, with a touch of gold and fine stones embedded on every corner. It was big, but not big enough to conquer the boredom I felt.

For boredom's sake, I adopted a new hobby. I became a writer. Not an author. Just a writer of few pages. 

I decided to pour out my emotions into a book. Its pages were brown but strangely nothing was written on it. It was blank. 

The leather bound book became my home of memories. I started immediately Stark left for work. I thought of all that had happened to me and while pen danced on paper. I began;

To any who finds this (I hope it's you Stark).

I'm Ramona Becky Taylor; my only friend calls me Ray. 

I'm a twenty two year old hiding in a great big white house. I'm a lucky girl to have such a beautiful roof over my head. But I'm not so lucky since being here is a compulsion.

I've got nothing besides those who love me right now. They are few. Let me make it clear they are two. 

I should have started this with something like dear diary. But I guess not. This is not a diary, nor is it my biography. I have no idea what this is but I'm too bored to give it a name.

My life was beautiful. I was a young girl with no worries or sorrow till my mother Tina Taylor passed away. That's right she had the same name as the little girl that loves me, Tina McQueen. I never told anyone but this is one of the reasons I love the young girl.

Speaking of love, I thought I knew all about it.

While I was with Mark I thought I knew what it was about. He was my crush, so maybe I was wrong. He became my boyfriend and things were the same. I never told a soul but I had doubts when it came to our relationship. I was about to breakup with him a day after his birthday. I had realized I wasn't in love with him, though he tried so hard to force it. One minute I was happy and the next I was irritated. I don't think it was true love. I should have let Rhonda Jones have him. Teenage infatuation is really a deceitful and stupid thing.

Andre was just a friend and nothing more. There were times I got tired of his long speeches. He tried to be romantic most of the times. But I'll tell you the truth, it was horrible. Horror! That's what it was. I never told a breathing human but I never loved the guy either.

This is funny. I'm writing about dead people like I don't care. I do care, it's just...I've felt pain, sorrow and anguish. I'm not sure there's any other emotion left to feel. I've probably felt it all.
Anger must have hit me to the point that my heart takes in no more. I'm sure I've reached the point where my teeth just gnash in horror. The point where they've become white daggers slowly turning pink from drinking the hot red liquid in my lips. I've reached the point where I can take in no more. My blood boils with hate and the zest to do more than a scratch. It's a miracle I'm still alive.  For all I know, suicide remains the best solution to girls my age. I have been taught over the years that it isn't a solution but a curse.

Someone once told me;
A chance of more years is a chance for more changes. Limited time doesn't make the mind think straight. Mistakes could be expensive.

These wise words were given to me by the last guy on my list. Don't think he's the last because I have a limited time. He's the last because that's what I want him to be. 

I truly love him but it's all sorrow, since he doesn't love me back. He just thinks I'm a damsel in distress and that's all. I wish he could tell me he loves me one day. That'll be a gift I'll cherish. A gift I'll take with me to the other side.

A look at him satisfies my soul with safety and comfort. Like a fifteen year old in love I leap for joy at the sight of him. With him I take bold steps forward as I try to eliminate my past. He made me know that's there's more to life than having fear and getting used to one spot. From him I learnt living is a privilege and every new day is an opportunity for a new leap.

A thousand more can I state for I've learnt a great deal from this man I love.

They all judged me. They pointed their fingers at my darkened soul. I tried to point back at them, but found nothing. They were perfect. Then I always ended up bursting in flames. They said my life was foul and so was my heart. I listened and it hurt me.

The words were never hurtful, but they said I'd become a monster. They gave me names and some predicted my fate. But the man I love never judged me. He told me that I was better than a lot of them that pointed fingers.

At a point I got tired of apologizing and I never wanted to see them. He told me forgiveness was an invisible drug that solved a lot.

As for the Crucifier. All I can wish for is your death. I feared you once, but now I want you dead. I'd like to be the girl who gets to drive a dagger through your sinful heart. The hate I have for you is fed by anger and forgiveness for your actions remains non-existent. You've killed me on the inside.

I'm only revived by the presence of the man I love. I'm grateful to you just a bit. Your action in my apartment has brought me closer to the man I love. But here's the truth unshakable. I can't wait to see your doom. Your death is my obsession and your existence my worst nightmare.

Pause! I've become poet. This is crazy. I must be really bored out of my mind or the writing courses I've been taking online frequently, have really paid off. Don't let the poetry or my gesture deceive you. Everything I've written describes how I truly feel. Every word is my relief, every sentence my consolation and every line my escape.

The secrets none have heard and my regrets I've written here. I'll hide it here in this great mansion.

Well, this is all I can pour out for now. I'm tired. These are details of wishes and emotions that dwindle at the surface. I hope none finds it but one man. The man I'm in love with. Wesley Stark.

IF FOUND BY MY MYSTERY KILLER, PLEASE DO NOT BURN."

I should have given the book a name, but I left the leather cover blank. I hid it in between other little treasures in Stark's study.

I heard the door squeal. He was back, the man I loved. Wesley Stark.