I thought nothing of it, although the germ of fear had infected my budding happiness once again. And it came true. In the evening after an afternoon of ignorant bliss. The Beau turned suddenly cold, like a blast of frost in our fragile spring of rebirth.

It has to be her again. Two weeks of non-contact to cool everything, he promised. In return, I would bite down on my jealousy and submit. He didn't keep it because she couldn't stop calling. Messages that alternate between love and abuse. Sweet Teeth tells me to let it go. I tell myself to let it go. But it hurts so much when he shuts himself away. Some demons are better battled alone, but isn't he the advocate of "a problem shared is a problem halved"? I feel left out. Feel angry.

She visited him on Friday. He knows I know. I know he knows. I let it slide. Saturday brought abuse. Sunday an apology. Sunday brought a bribe. Monday, I can guess, she sent him a declaration of war. He probably had dinner with her today, after ascertaining that I had mine with Sweet Teeth. Perhaps he did not, but why shroud everything in secrecy? He would have left clandestinely without informing me if I had not passed his room. And I would have thought that he was exhausted and slept til the next morning from early evening. At least I would have understood a nap, but not a secret outing.

Such a change in five minutes. One moment he was all happy to see me, the next he's fortified himself in his room. Perhaps I am too clingy. Too paranoid. Too stifling. But he persists in encouraging my fears instead of allaying them, and allow those fears to die a natural death. I am much better than this violently vexatious vixen. I know this. I was much gentler. Once. With the right man.

I am beginning to feel it in the marrow of my bones what my logical processes have reiterated so often. I did request no tears or pain over the Lunar New Year. Tradition holds that tears shed over the New Year mean that the entire year is shadowed with sorrow.

I think it is true.

Perhaps I am just wise in hindsight. Sometimes I agree with my inner critic that the Capt was more suited in temperament to me. A perfect foil to my violent passions. Much better than a boy who insists that by virtue of his sex and his superior mind that he is more mature and much wiser than I am.

Pity that fortune is a fickle bitch, and what she gives, she takes away.