Dear Diary

Ella sits at her desk scribbling across the page, teeth pinching her bottom lip, when Dad calls her name. She flips the diary shut and hurries out, leaving the leather cover cracked just enough for curious eyes. Charlotte pushes the door the rest of the way open, steps inside, and lets it click shut behind her. She flips the pages fast at first, then slower, slower, breath turning heavy while heat pools low in her belly. Every filthy line makes her thighs press together tighter. Later, when the front door slams and the car heads to dinner, Charlotte corners her in the hallway. Ella tries to laugh it off until Charlotte says the words they both feel. Then the laughter dies. Charlotte reaches up, traces her thumb along Ella’s jaw, and Ella leans in like she’s been waiting all night. Mouths meet. Hands slide under soft fabric. Breaths grow quick, desperate. In Ella’s room the opened diary still waits on the bed while Charlotte pins her sister back against the sheets and turns every secret line into touch, tongue, and raw need.