Alexander's Prompts - 2. Prompt #518

“Who gave you the right to read my journal?” I said to Vance.

“Alex, sorry it was just there and it was open. I see you writing in it all the time, and I was--” he said. His emerald green eyes were filled with fear, he had to have known I was furious with him; that he had hurt me.

“You were what Vance? Curious? You violated my privacy because you were curious!” I yelled.

“Yes, no, I don't know. I thought it was just plot bunnies you wanted to work on later. I didn't actually think you'd keep, like, an actual diary, or if you did you'd put it on the computer, a leather bound notebook is so twentieth century, dude. I thought I could encourage you to get working on another novel, or at least a short story. Kinda hard for me to brag at work 'well, my husband is a famous author' when you've not had anything published in three years.” my husband said. He looked away from me. “I wanted to encourage you. I swear.”

“Vance, this isn't a joking matter,” I said. I knew he didn't brag about me at work, what CEO brags about what their spouse does to their underlings? I was conflicted, I was hurt and angry and yet glad that he wanted to encourage my writing—I'd been in a slump recently. However, it isn't like I have ever written anything in that journal that I wouldn't tell him anyway; I was more upset over the principle of the matter than the matter itself. “I started keeping a journal every day in eighth grade, remember Mrs. Kostanza's class?” I said.

“Yeah, I remember. She had us doing a journal thing for the first semester. I hated that shit. I thought you told me you gave her a fake one.” Vance said, he sounded skeptical of my tale. It made sense, I did tell him before we went on Christmas Vacation that year I gave her a fake one because he questioned how I could just let a teacher potentially read my deepest thoughts and feelings. That was none of their goddamned business, and besides I reserved that for him: my husband, my lover, and if I believed in such things my soul-mate.

“I did. I gave her a fake one. I also kept a real one, one for me. I fed her a line of bullshit in the fake one, whining about teachers and how annoying Grant was, you know 'I got this bratty nine year old brother' shtick, but that still doesn't give you the right to--” I said. I felt my anger dissipate. It was hard to stay angry at Vance, my husband and I had been together since we were 13. It was even harder when he was actually crying. Vance almost never cried.

“I've really messed up this time haven't I?” He said, sobbing. “I mean worse than when I cheated on you with Chet Whatshisname.”

“Chet Watkins.” I supplied. “But you didn't cheat on me then, we were broken up at the time cause we had that huge fight remember?”

“Yeah, felt to me like I was cheating.” he said.

“Babe, you've never actually cheated on me. Every time you fooled around with someone else, we were broken up at the time. Seriously though, you just wanted to encourage me to write more?” I said.

“Yeah, I've always encouraged you, I never expected you to have dark secrets you'd keep from me but share with an inanimate object,” he said.

I sighed. “I don't. It's the principle of the matter. You want my deep dark secrets Vance just ask. What do you want to know? The crush I had on my wrestling coach in high school?” I said.

“Coach Fleck? Seriously? He had so much body hear it was like was wearing a sweater with his shirt off, ewww.” my husband said.

“Yeah seeing him in the school showers that one time put an end to that fantasy,” I said.

“I'm still scared from seeing that,” he said. “But seriously you had a crush on him? In all seriousness, I write in it cause it helps keep me sane. Instead of bottling things up I write in the journal, it helps me clear my mind so I can spend more conscious effort in the hear and now with you.”

“I'm sorry baby, I didn't even really know what it was.” Vance said.

My anger gone I wrapped him in a hug, pulling him close. “Vance, I love you more each day we're together, and I forgive you, but please don't read my journal. You don't need to, I'm an open book to you.” I rested my head on his shoulder and drank in his scent: like sandal wood and musk and cinnamon.

Fin.