I Hope This Doesn't Find You

Have you ever heard of a diary, Sadie? It might be a worthy investment.”

“Don’t disgust me. I would never write diary entries about you—”

He cocks his head. Smiles with his lips but not his eyes. “And yet it’s clear I’m all you ever think about.”

All of it is as intimate to me as the path to my own house.

“I think you’re obsessed with me, Sadie Wen.”

His dark eyes roam over my face, and the air in my lungs stills. The way he’s looking at me—it’s like he can see everything, every terrible, ugly thought that’s ever flickered through my mind, every impulse and fantasy, every lie and insecurity. “I believe you,” he says at last, evenly.

The textbook was wrong. The most beautiful arrangement of words to ever exist. It’s like someone’s injected sunlight directly into my veins. I’m so relieved, so euphoric, that I don’t even mind the mention of Julius.

The compliment goes down my throat like syrup, warming me up from within. It’s embarrassing how tight I latch on to these little pieces of validation, how much I want to be liked, to make everyone happy. Sometimes I think I would give them one of my own arms if they asked very nicely.

It’ll be just us, and we won’t need anyone else. Our lives will be better than they used to be with my dad around. I’ll do everything he should’ve done, provide everything he should have provided. I’ll do so much that nobody will feel his absence lingering in our living room like a silent ghost anymore. Maybe Mom will even start smiling again.

Julius Gong.

My cocaptain, and the most prominent source of pain in my life.

He’s the one I’m constantly trying to outrun, to outsmart, to impress.

“What do you want to know?”

I want to know if Julius was afraid of the dark when he was younger. If he ever believed in ghosts or Santa or the Loch Ness monster. I want to know where he studies, whether it’s by the light of the living room window or alone in his bedroom, if he keeps the door wide open or closed. I want to know what he would dress up as for Halloween, what song he picks out at karaoke. How early he rises, how late he sleeps. What dishes their mother cooks for the Spring Festival, what he talks about on long car rides. I want to collect these pieces of information like ammunition.