|Sherri Salvage | Scheherazade (withinastory) wrote in bellumlogs,|
@ 2010-07-30 15:17:00
|Entry tags:||dr. jekyll, scheherazade|
Who: Sherri (and sort of Brian)
What: Brian wants to lock himself in and the world out. Sherri won't let him.
Where: Mostly outside 302, so third floor residents might hear or witness parts.
When: July 27th - August 5th, during days and early evenings.
Warnings: You'll probably want to slap Sherri.
Tuesday, July 27th
In spite of the stories about how it had a mind of its own, and in spite of the fact that it was only one floor, Sherri took the elevator to go see Brian. It was later than she'd have liked before her apartment had emptied out, but the second the last person was out the door and she was supposed to be resting, she'd tucked a notebook under her arm and headed out as quietly as possible. She would rest, but she wanted to at least check and make sure Brian was okay first, and leave him a note if he was asleep or at work.
When no one answered her knock, Sherri couldn't help but feel a little pleased with herself for thinking to bring the notebook; it was at least one good decision among several bad ones. She slumped down against the wall next to his door and focused all her effort on making every line perfectly straight, leaving no sign of her shaky hands. It was okay, Brian had never seen her writing anyway, as far as she could remember. He wouldn't know the difference.
I was just checking in to see how the full moon went for you! I want to hear all about Henry as soon as possible, okay? Come over for coffee later this week, I'll make chocolate chip cookies.
[a smiley face with scribbled-on pigtails]
Stay away from me.
This is for your own good.
You can't be around me.
[line of scratched out, unreadable scribbles]
If Henry is someone bad, you're going to have to tell me a lot more to scare me off. I'll be by after work!
[the smiley face has a ponytail to one side this time]
This isn't a joke, and this isn't a game. There is a part of me that [blacked-out scribbles] you know nothing about. And even I didn't know much about it until recently.
I can't trust [blacked-out scribbles] this part of me. I don't know how to explain it, and frankly I don't want to explain it. There's nothing to explain. I don't have an excuse.
All I can tell you is that I have your best interests in mind when I tell you to leave me alone. Stop coming to my apartment, stop sending me messages, and stop thinking about me. You're a very good person, Sherri. If I had ever had a daughter, I [blacked-out scribbles] would have wanted her to be like you. And it's because of this that I'm not asking, or begging, or requesting. I'm TELLING you to stay away. The last thing I want is for you to be hurt, and that's exactly what will happen if you don't stop.
Please. Do yourself a favor and forget about me. Take care of yourself and your sister. Protect yourself and her from the darkness in this building - and trust me when I say that there's a lot of it here.
With a Heavy Heart,