Page 55 of The Spare

I hang up, seeing my phone light up with a text from Isobel.

Mason, are you okay? -Izzy

I throw my phone in the console, irritated. Turning my radio on and ignoring my phone pinging repeatedly as I speed my way back into the city.

"Here," I huff. Piling a small box housing her makeup on top of the stack by the door, I tape it carefully. "I think that's almost everything, I just have to clear out her nightstand, and I'd rather do that myself. Go ahead and start taking these to the car," I say to Dante, dusting my hands together and looking around the small room.

"Yes, sir. I'll start loading mine up first," he says, grabbing the first two boxes and backing out the door.

I fold my arms for a second, taking a slight break. Not quite believing that I'm getting ready to take her to my home.

To our home.

I hope she likes it. It's a lot different than this bachelorette pad, that's for sure. She had way more stuff than I'd originally thought. Kettlebells and yoga mats stashed under the bed, a small collapsible treadmill, and so many tennis shoes and workout clothes I thought I was going to go crazy after I folded the thirtieth pair of leggings.

I grab a box and make my way to her nightstand, getting a half chubby at the prospect of finding a sex toy or two in there. She'd just got one a few days ago.

I open the drawer, disappointment filling me that all I see is a few pens, some sanitary pads, and sticky notes. A necklace I'd given her for her eighteenth birthday is still nestled in its velvet box.

My eyes go back to the sanitary pads.

I've found several of these all over her side, but no tampons. I wonder why. I begin to load the contents of her drawer in the small box, making a mental note to remember the necklace is in here and wondering if I should ask her about her preference of pads over tampons. Or, is this even a man's business? I don't know. I'll ask Teresa.

I glance over at her pillow, wondering if she stashes her toy there. I run my fingers under her pillow, pausing as I hit something hard. I flip her pillow, seeing a small leather journal. I look back towards the door, hearing Dante come back in and grab two more boxes and leave again.

I sit on the small bed, holding the journal and feeling such a connection with her because I journal as well, and neither one of us knew that about the other. It burns in my hands, begging me to open it and read it.

It's a horrible invasion of privacy, but really, is it any worse than moving a person out of their home without permission?

Rifling through their clothes and intimate things?

I flip to the first page, seeing her first journal entry was almost four years ago around the time when she first met me. Curiously, I begin to flip through the pages only focusing on the dates at the moment. The dates are sporadic, she isn't an everyday writer.

The journal spans three and a half years.

Her handwriting is a beautiful cursive, with cute flourishes.

I go back to the first entry, just needing to know.

September 20th

I met King's brother today, he's sohandsome.

Darker skin like mine, Spanish. Thick curly hair, full lips. Smooth as hell accent. Eyes that seem to see into the depths of my soul. He put his hand on my leg and I was so flustered I didn't know what to do.

He's twenty five.

I wonder if he knows how shy I am? How nervous. Or if that even bothers him? I've never even had a boyfriend before. I can't believe I feel this way about someone almost ten years older than me.

So stupid.

xoxo

The joy I felt at her mentioning me dampens at how disparagingly she talks about herself. I frown, turning to the next page and feel my heart squeeze realizing she documented the time Isobel was kidnapped.

Guilt swamps me, and my fingers shake as I try to keep the journal steady.

October 7th