That was what Tommy saw on the last page of a dirty diary. Tommy didn’t have the luxuries of a good life. His mom ran away with a rock band musician when he was 10 years old. One morning he heard a noise and his dad’s scream, “Lora? Lora!”. Little Tommy sat up in his bed and looked through the window with his sleepy eyes. His mother, Lora, was at the car, opening its door in a rush, throwing in her bag on the back seat and jumping in right after. The car looked small and rusty, but it got away very fast so his dad couldn’t catch up. Tommy remembered that his dad, David Blackmoore, was just standing there on the street in his robe, looking at the corner where the car disappeared. Maybe he hoped that it would come back? But not that day, nor the next five years did Lora (or that car of that stinky rock “start”) come back.
His dad wasn’t a saint or even nice, Tommy knew it. He understood why his mom ran away. She was tired of her drunk husband, who liked to hit her in places normally covered with clothes, so no one can see. He used to be a police chief, now retired, and he had enough connections to cover his crimes. Tommy couldn’t understand only one thing: if his dad was so scary for a grown woman, how could she have left her own son behind? Was it because he looked almost like a copy of his father? Or she just didn’t love him? It broke little Tommy’s hearth, so most of his time he spent in his room, studying or repairing things for neighbors. His father tried to be a good father, but of course, time to time he was too drunk to try and during those nights Tommy felt everything that his mom used to feel. Everyone was saying that Tommy had a bright future, because he was so smart, but life is twisted. In the end, when he turned 15 and made a wish to see his mom again outloud, he lost his tooth when dad’s fist hit his face, he run away from his home with promise to never come back.
Now he was 17 and he had held his promise. He had to catch cars on the highway to get to another state, where police wouldn’t look for him too much. He had one tiny room which he rented from an old cranky lady, who smoked Marlboro and has annoying little dog, which barked all the time. Probably she was 60 with something, very short even for her age and smelled like dusty yes-smoking room, where no one cleaned for a while. She always made these tall hairstyles, which reminded Tommy of some half-ruined towers he saw in history books. In return, he was fixing everything he could in her apartment building where about 20 families lived. Hard to say if his life got any better, but now he wasn’t afraid that his dad will come into his room and beat the crap out of him. Now he was on his own and it felt safer.
This morning he was walking through the park and in a dark corner, close to the boarder of the forest, he saw a notebook. It had a purple cover and dirty pages. It was opened and Tommy saw dried blood on the paper. He picked it up (in his life he got used to picking up garbage with his bare hands) and read the letters on the last page “Cold, why it is so cold?…”
He read the content of the page and some odd feeling appeared in his chest. Something bad happened to this girl (he assumed right away that it was a girl’s diary). It was scary, but at the same time something inside of him stopped him from throwing away that purple diary. Instead, he took it home to read more and try to understand what happened and why was there blood on the pages…