Chapter 122: Used to kiss my hand
But before he could close the diary, his name caught his attention.
Maxim paused and despite his reluctance to invade her privacy, his curiosity got the best of him.
So he skimmed past his name which was in the middle of the page and started reading from the beginning of that page.
’Dear Diary, you probably hate me now, don’t you? As silly as it is, I am certain that even your lifeless self is sick of me and my constant whinings by now. Sometimes I wonder if that is why Warner and I are no longer friends. Was I just too clingy, irritating, and meddlesome for not respecting his boundaries? Was I at fault?
It has been one month since our exams. We did not meet each other again. He did not contact me and I did not do it as well. Why would I? He blocked my number at one point. I have my pride. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, so be it. I won’t die without him.
That’s what I thought and I believed that I will be able to stick to it till the end. But it’s sad, grey and so melancholic without him. I came back to the mansion after exams. It has been pouring in Beijing and the raindrops crashing against my window make me wonder if he was just like them. Beautiful and nostalgic but fleeting...
Woah... I sound like an author describing him in such a romantic way, don’t I? On a second note, I don’t feel as happy.
Mom and Dad had another argument yesterday and Dad stormed out of the mansion. Daisy’s phone is not reachable and sitting alone in my room, I can’t help but think of how he used to kiss my hand to comfort me whenever I felt upset.
Most of the time, he did not know the reason I was upset but it was as if Maxim Warner was my private mood tracker app. He could sense my emotions appropriately and dole out the adequate amount of cure, sometimes by cracking jokes with that straight face of his, sometimes just by his presence, and sometimes by kissing my hand. It’s stupid that he made me get used to him and now that I need him to be here with me, all I find is his absence and this ridiculously empty feeling he left me with.
I hate him so much. I hate Warner. I will always hate him, Diary. Mark my words.’
The urge to skim to the next page was intense.