I'm home.

My dad doesn't want me to say at Waite House anymore. I was only there about a week. I mostly wrote in composition books and did therapy sessions there, nothing exciting. They had me writing poetry as catharsis. It's kind of a hippie private hospital place for wealthy people who get addicted to heroin or cut themselves. My dad could afford it, because he's my dad.

It wasn't really the place for someone like me, but John seemed to think so. He seems to think I'm hiding something. Whatever, I doubt Dad will let me see him anymore. Leaving Conanicut was pretty fucking bad.

I don't really feel like thinking about it right now.

I see Alex still has my Blogger password. We were going to run the review site together. You can see how well that turned out.

I'm gonna call Alex later. Maybe I can see him tomorrow, if my dad lets me. I kind of need a friend right now, to be honest. I haven't really had someone to talk to as a friend this past week, and everything's been so fucked up and it's just been shrinks and cats talking to me and fuck I just want to play videogames with someone and relax. Or just have coffee and cigarettes and talk about the future with someone.

I was supposed to be having my graduation party last night.

I've started reading the Bible a lot. Dad won't let me go to church tomorrow. I might sneak out anyway. I don't think he hid my keys yet. I've been cooperative.

But I want to get my life back in order. And I can't do it cooped up in here, staring out the window looking for people who might be following me. I'm almost positive I'm being followed, but who is going to listen to me? My scars are barely scabbed over and I talk to cats.

There was this thing. When we were leaving the island.

It almost looked like a person, but it wasn't.

It was a monster trying to look like a person. I think that's what made it so horrible. The legs and the arms were too long, the figure too narrow and stretched. It was wearing a black suit, or it seemed to be. What skin I could see was pale.

I keep looking out the window.

I'm not sure what's worse. The ocean, or all these fucking trees.