(formerly Open Your Heart) (c) Michelle Monkou
Warning: explicit language
Happy Halloween! Party tonight at the Frat House. Going as Halle Berry ‘Storm’ from X-Men. Planning to get my groove on. Can’t wait for the girls to come over. We’re going to dress, put on our make -up, and get ready for the party in my dorm.
So many hot ass sexy men to meet, so little time LOL.
That punk bitch. Motherfucker.
My body hurts. I still can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t stop crying.
How could I be so stupid to trust him? To trust them?
To them it was all a big joke. Club initiation, my ass. I was the joke. He never wanted to talk to me. He had a plan. I was the bait.
Now they want me to become a sweetheart of their damned fraternity. Like hell. Warning me to keep my mouth shut. Girls who I thought were friends will not have my back if I tell. Rumor has it that there are photos or video taken for insurance.
Don’t want to end up on any web site.
I can’t go home for Thanksgiving. Can’t face my parents. No one can ever know. Bruising on my arms and thighs are almost gone, though. Not crying as much. I’m not going to shed another tear over that bastard. Well, let’s just say I’m trying hard not to.
Had another nightmare. Same shit. Different day. That bastard creeps into my dreams. I keep replaying how he reeled me in. He‘d talked like a snake, charming me, complimenting me, showing me off to his friends. Meanwhile they all had their laugh over the dumbass college freshman who got played by a senior. Here come the stupid tears again. I can’t help it. When I close my eyes, I can feel his body on top of mine. Pressing down. I shouldn’t have had all that wine and beer and god knows what else they put in that cup. I shouldn’t have gone to the Halloween party. I wish that fraternity house would burn down. I wish HE would disappear into hell. Punk bitch.
Mom hovers like a worried, nervous hen. Always asking how I’m doing. No matter how many times she asks, or suggests what could be wrong, she never gets close to guessing. But I’ve managed to make it through Thanksgiving without them knowing anything. Dad would be disappointed in me. His warnings before I headed off to college went out the window. God help me! Patrick can’t know either. My brother would kill HIM. That might not be a bad idea, though.
The jackass threatened me again to stay quiet. Lawyered up over the holiday break. Like a typical rich snot. I don’t want a dime from him. Why does he have to live in the same damn city of Hopetown, population 3,000.
Reconnected with Leesa Grantley. We both know that I screwed up that friendship. Got on campus and wanted to be in with the party girls. Left quiet, dependable Leesa hanging. Now the party bitches have left me hanging.
New Year resolution - Finish getting my nursing degree. Move out of this town. Never fucking look back!!!!Hopetown population 2,999.
Shelly Bishop closed the well-worn journal on her lap. Her hand rested on its frayed cover, fingers gripping its fragile edge. She’d stopped writing in her journals years ago. Reading her own pain on paper didn’t lessen the intense ache or temper her seething anger that staked its claim over her heart. The only lessons that the past ten years had taught was to keep her feelings tucked away out of sight and not to fall for outside trappings. The few, who knew of her pain, only had pity for her. They sure as hell didn’t stand up for her. Their knowing, silent judgment fueled her guilt and powered her own self-condemnation that this was a battle that she clearly had lost. One thing was certain she’d never offer her heart or body up on a platter like a fool, again.
Returning home to Hopetown, Maryland, after college, to stay beyond a holiday weekend wasn’t ever supposed to happen. Although Shelly had booked a roundtrip airline ticket, the date to return to her life had come and gone about a month ago. Priorities had shifted. Her family still needed her. It was the only excuse she was comfortable making for her return to the surroundings where her naiveté was snatched and where vengeance swelled.
Moving boxes, which had recently arrived, covered the apartment’s living area. Rental furniture filled the remaining space. Shelly refused to think that she’d never leave, that she’d be trapped here, indefinitely. Making a permanent home had no place on her personal agenda. With her journals clutched to her breast, she walked into the bedroom to find a new place for her secrets.
One day she’d stop re-reading her entries and gladly destroy the books. After nudging the drawer shut with her hip, she turned the key and dropped it into the second drawer of her night stand. One day. But, not yet. Reading about her pain in real time fed the desire for revenge.
Open Your Heart was my first book published under BET's Arabesque imprint. I have significantly revised the story to include additional characters for a series, hence, the title change to Scandal, Secrets and Seduction. Stay tuned for further details on the release.