I'm going through the shoe box now. I haven't opened it in a while and there's always that fucking black book with the stupid fucking Companion Cube sticker sitting there. I want to read it, but I can't seem to open it. My brain won't let me. I'll come back in a few hours after these things kick in and try again.
(4 hours later.)
Alright, I'm ready. I know exactly which date to look for. This seems wrong. I don't know if I should. Oh well, I gotta do it sometime.
I really liked his handwriting.
February 14th, 1999
She left me a note on my car. At first I thought it was a parking ticket, since it was on this folded up pink paper. Plus I'm hungover as shit. Whatever. I said Oh fuck out loud, but no one was around so I didn't look too weird. But yeah, it was way fucking worse than a parking ticket.
I'm going to get our abortion tonight. Wanna throw down?
Oh. No. How does she know what my car looks like. I started to panic. This instant paranoia. Every building grew eyes, each window like a pack of insects preparing to storm. Baby? What the FUCK! I never thought, I don't know what I thought. But I never thought that.
I can't decide what disturbs me more, the situation or her reaction. I know this girl. She's not playing around. I drove straight to---
The rest of it is scratched out. I can't read it. Maybe if I get one of those CSI kits I've seen at the Science Museum. Could probably like, use some fancy powder or some shit and get an outline.
I shouldn't be laughing about this, but the other option isn't as pleasant.
I can almost see a name but, damn, he sure didn't want anyone to know.
It doesn't fucking matter anyway. We all know where he went.