Forty Seven - Genevieve

I gathered Eric's journals from my room that evening. A fog had settled over Madison, misty and cold.

I sat on my bed with the five journals before me. Three of them were filled completely with blue writing.

The first one was about three quarters black ink, and the last quarter was where he had begun writing in blue.

The last journal was half blue, half black.

Like a bruise.

There was something that Eric didn't want me to know and that I was sure of. It felt like a slap to the face. I thought there were no more secrets between us, but I knew something in either the first three quarters of the first journal or the last half of the last journal held something he did not want me to read.

It took all of my self-control not to leaf thr