A/N: This is a short one, but I've let it sit on my comp for far too long.

Tears filled Iris' eyes. Never had she read or even heard the full account of Vero's rape, and she prayed that she'd never hear it again. Gently, Vero wrapped her arms around Iris, kissing away her tears and caressing her soft skin to remove the sorrow. The laments were gone by the time Iris reached for the journal again.
"You don't have to read it, especially if it's just going to depress you, " said Veronica. Still, Iris picked up the book and reopened it.

January 14, 2002

Today I went back to school, good clean fun to be had there. Like walking into my first period class and being called a whore, not so subtly by my teacher or even better being shoved into a locker, face first. But the fun didn't stop there, today at lunch my so called friends declared war against me, in other words, when I left lunch today the food was on me instead of in me. Such is life I guess, at least high school life. God I can't wait to get out of this prison.
Home's not too good either come to think of it. Mom's got another boyfriend, he's a pissy one. I can be just sitting there watching tv and he'll bitch, then Mom bitches and then I sit in my room counting down the days until I turn eighteen, it seems too far away.
But who knows maybe tomorrow will be better, yeah, sure. Oh well, at least high school is only temporary, to quote my favorite poet Robert Frost, "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."

That wasn't too bad Iris thought to herself. Being the type of person she was, persistent and not really cautious she flipped through some pages and opened up to one that was tear stained and smudged with some dark red, almost brown substance. Her eyes scanned the page, it was Valentine's Day, who wouldn't be depressed.

February 14, 2002

In Elizabethan times, people believed that if you were a happy or sanguine person, you had an excess of blood running through your veins. Not too long ago a teacher said that I possessed such a quality and it puzzled me. But it made me extremely curious about my own blood. My dreams are plagued by my horror story, but occasionally I see myself dying, usually blood pours out of me, from my neck, my wrists and especially my heart. Today I cut myself accidentally and found that the stinging sensation of broken skin and the slow steady migration made by my blood from the inside to the outside, was quite soothing. So I sit here, before my mirror, pen in my right hand, blade in my left. I don't know where to make the first incision, but I want to know if I really do have an excess of blood as the Elizabethans believed.

Iris had to pause, she knew that Vero used to cut, but something about reading her account of it, was incredibly spooky. It sent chills running down her spine, but she couldn't help but be interested. After many more moments like that, she found it much easier to keep reading the journal like one long story, since it wasn't hard to fill in any gaps that Vero left out for whatever reason. Soon after coming to this realization she decided that she'd start reading it like a book that contained a fragment of both of their lives.