In Her Words(12)

By: J.S Ellis

‘Good afternoon,’ the sales assistant said, as I rushed into the store.

‘Good morn—I mean afternoon.’ I said.

I pretended to look at the punkish clothes. I hoofed to the window to see if he was still there. What if he did see me, what if he comes in here? My heart raced, and my feet ached.

‘May I help you?’ the sales assistant asked.

I’m sure she didn’t expect a woman dressed in smart plum dress to come in this store.

‘I’m just looking, thank you.’ I said.

I peered out of the window again. The sales assistant arched her penciled eyebrow at me. He wasn’t there, damn! I rushed out of the store and frantically scanned the street. He vanished. Did he see me?

8th February



What if Richard finds this diary and reads it, what would he think? I have a monster in me that wants to come out. If it does, bad things will happen. Did the monster come out that night? Did my other persona take over, and I can’t remember? Was I raped? Was I drugged? Did I have too much to drink? What’s the smell and music I hear sometimes? Do they have a connection with that night? It’s killing me not knowing. Imagine Richard reading about all of this, the woman his wife turned out to be.

That’s why I need to keep you hidden, diary. Somewhere he won’t find you. What if one day I forget to hide you? What will happen then?

13th February



I saw Michael again today, this time in the neighborhood. What was he doing in Camden? I went to the laundry to pick up Richard’s suit, and there he was putting his arms around a girl, in a Mills and Boons sort of way, with a big fat smile on his face. They looked so happy. I wanted to punch them right in the face. Ah, young love. I’m sure he has high standards when it comes to women. He’s open to the world. It’s his oyster. To be at an age where nothing matters, to party, drink, smoke pot, and have lots of sex. I’m sure he fucks many women. At his age, I was already in a serious relationship for three years. I didn’t sleep around. I was in love, or at least I thought I was. My life has always been dull- work hard, find a well-paying job, and steady relationships. What’s the point to study, work hard, and have stable relationships? When you’ve done nothing dangerous or exciting in your life? I wasted my youth on studying. He looked at me as though he could see through my soul. This time I let him see me, before walking away, questioning if he knew I had followed him the other day.


I switched on my laptop, logged into Facebook, and searched for Michael Frisk. I didn’t find him. But what if I did, then what would I do? Send him a friend request? This is all too silly to comprehend, even writing about it makes my face bleed with shame.

15th February



On Valentine’s Day, we didn’t do anything special. We don’t believe in it. Cherished everyday love should be not just for one day. I cooked dinner for us. We watched a romantic comedy and Richard slept halfway through. I curled up on the sofa and drank a full bottle of wine. With each sip, the wine sent tingles through me.

Tonight, Richard went out for a business dinner. He wanted me to go along, but I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t want to sit in another expensive restaurant and talk to people. I can’t stand it.

I had a long bath, where I spent ages cleaning my nicotine-stained fingers. I’m ruining everything, including myself. At some point, I fell asleep, and my head slipped under the water. I could have drowned!

16th February



I felt troubled and unsettled all morning. I circled around the office, shifting in my seat as though I was sitting on pins.

I’ve been going over last night in my head.

I went out to the club on my own, the one Michael plays at. It wasn’t crowded. I even dressed up for the occasion - green dress, opaque tights, high heels and make up applied immaculately. I’m a grown woman but feel like I’m behaving like a teenage girl. As I entered the bar, the band was playing, but Michael wasn’t there. I ordered Bells, no ice. I watched the band, the drums, piano, and trumpet. The group is so good, I’m sure they could be famous one day, but then I wouldn’t be able to appreciate them like this. They wouldn’t perform at this little club anymore. The music would become an echo of the past. I drank the whiskey, ordered another, and drained it. When I ordered my third, the barman leaned over the counter. He was handsome with olive skin, and short, black, gelled back hair, brown eyes, and muscular arms.