Author's note: While watching Man On Fire one day, I got inspired to write another small ficlet (I swear, sometimes it seems like I get ideas with every viewing of every movie), and I did the smart thing and listened to the muse. I'm not entirely sure if Pita really would grow up to be like this, but after everything that happened, I don't think she'd ever be like she was before the kidnapping. So, here is the ficlet, hope you enjoy, please, reviews are loved. There is one usage of the F word, but I felt since there are some PG-13 movies with the F word once or twice, this could pass.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, so don't sue me, please. I don't want to be sued.


DEAR DIARY

Dear Diary. Damn. That sounds so corny and childish. But for some reason, I feel like I should say something like that. An intro, a hello, a greeting to an old friend I'd forgotten for several years. I used to just write entries, ramblings, drawings, anything. I stopped after, I stopped. I wasn't even near puberty. Now I'm a year away from legal. I figure a hello is needed.

I'm no longer in Mexico. I miss it sometimes, but not often. Mexico is home to my sorrows. Momma and I, we left it, we had our fill of sorrow, and we left. Came back to the United States. Came to the South. Momma's home. My home now. I'm so empty sometimes I think the only home I have is the one of sorrows. At least when I hurt, I feel something.

Typical, huh? I've turned into a stereotype. Masochistic, damaged teenager who doesn't date because nobody matches up to the most important male figure in my life. Father issues, Mother issues, all around issues. Sometimes I cut. Sometimes I just think about him, about when he was walking away from me, leaving me to die. Sometimes I think about the fact that it's all my dad's fault.

Whatever makes me hurt the most. That's my high, being so damn low. Because I can't be happy anymore. I used to be. Everything used to make me happy. I was a good, little girl, I loved everything and hated nothing. Now I can't feel either.

Sam's lying on my bed. He's old now, he's dying. I can see it in his eyes and the way he walks. Soon he'll leave me, just like Dad. Just like him. Just like Momma, even, in some ways. She's half gone already, but she swears she won't leave me all alone. Once she believes I'm well enough to take care of myself, she'll leave me completely. But Sam, he can't wait. He's going leave me even while I still need him.

Just like him. Just like Creasy. My lost cause, my Creasy Bear, my best friend, my big brother, my first crush, my father figure, my bodyguard, my savior. He left me, even when I still needed him. I needed him most then. He was all I had beside Momma. And he left.

Maybe I like to hurt because I'm supposed to feel guilty. I used to. Now I'm so empty I can't. But I know it's my fault. He got hurt because of me, and he died to save me. His life, for mine. Damn. That's going to make a girl feel good about herself, huh? The perfect man in her life died for her, willingly. Yeah. I feel like a princess.

Except for the fact that I can't feel anything anymore, except the pain when I force it on myself. Only the pain, and only the water when I swim.

I still swim. And I'm damn good at it too. I'm good at it for him. Only for him. I'm not anything for myself anymore. I feel no joy when I swim, no freedom. Nothing. I welcome the sound of the gun and I win every time I swim, but it's all for him. They say I might have a future with it even, and that's for him too. One of these days, I'll stop cutting, and I'll just swim. I'll just swim.

All for him. He gave it all for me.

Dear Diary. My name is Pita and I'm a seventeen year old fuck up that will die having done nothing but swim, all for the most important person in my life. He's dead. He's been dead. And writing it down is the most painful thing I've done in my life.