In Which The Next Generation Arrives

Dear Diary,

Day one back at school and already I feel like coming back was a mistake. I should have run away and never looked back. Packed my bags and ran back to Manhattan or to California or to the Maldives. Health class decided to hand over the one project I had been dreading. Parenting.

The Baby Think It Over projects are handed out. Much like how I was feeling, I was hoping to be a single mom, but Tobias, Chantel, and Israel teamed up to have a modern progressive family, meaning the rest of us would have a partner. I saw Vincent’s sadness and Caleb’s eagerness and I grabbed the baby, the assignment, and sat down beside Ardath. I asked if he wanted to have a baby, and after a slew of sexual jokes, he finally glanced at the sheet and promptly determined the project was mine to deal with. I was surprised my plan had worked so well.

Ardath. I think he’s the guy I love to hate. His fingers are in so many pies, his eyes on anyone even mildly attractive, his goals always under a surface of sarcasm. Part of me wants to ask him who he really is, what he really wants. That part of me also wants to help him. The rest of me is disgusted by my own slight intrigue. He’s like Vincent, kind of. That darkness I know that’s in myself is in him, it’s in Vincent. Something so inhuman I’m afraid to look in its eyes.

That finally left Vincent and Caleb together to have their own child. I guess there’s something funny in that. They were both uncomfortable when they were partnered together. I wasn’t going to tell the teacher that in my old school we’d already done this project. I knew enough that I was sure the baby would survive until the next week, as long as Ardath didn’t actually get near it.

My partner got a text, made some weird remarks and then asked if I needed his help. I can’t think, even now, of an instance I’d ever need his help. So I shrugged, said no, and let him leave us behind. After all, I had to talk to Chantel and Israel about something and the last thing I wanted was more people around. I would’ve asked Caleb too, but he was busy hanging out with Vincent and I didn’t want Vincent there.

I can’t look at him without seeing the knife. Without remembering the sharp smell of the blood. Without feeling its warmth on my hands as I pressed the wound on my mother, my knuckles bruised from hitting Vincent. All I see when I look at Vincent is Samael. It makes me sick.

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