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I read her bits of my journal entries each night, like bed time stories.

"May fourth was the first day I saw you. You were wearing this blue denim jacket, and it made your skin look amazing." She gives me her doe-eyed look and doesn't offer a response. Her lips are chapped from the tape. I make a mental note to pick up some lip balm for her. I skip ahead a couple weeks. "Ah, August thirteenth. That was the day I asked you out for coffee, and you stood me up..." I drop off into a whisper. She looks up at the ceiling. I sigh in frustration. She's being so stubborn.

I grab her chin and make her meet my eyes. She flinches. "But why did you stand me up, Inez?" She purses her lips but says nothing. My grip tightens. "Why, Inez?"

"Charlie had a cold and I had to take care of him, asshole," she snarls. I start. Who the fuck is Charlie?

"And who the fuck is Charlie?" I could vaguely tell I'm hurting her but it doesn't register in my mind. My mind is focused on Charlie.

"Estelle's son. My nephew," she spits at me. Suddenly I feel bad for hitting her. I hold her face gently now.

"And why didn't you tell me, love?"

"It's not your goshdamn business," she spits once again.

Oh, Inez. What's mine is yours.