MILDRED
FUCKIN' DYSLEXIC
I stood rooted to the spot as I watched Enid flip to the first page of the diary. He peered at my writing and stared at the few words I had written a lot more than it had required me to write them.
"What's this?" He asked after a century of planting his gaze on the pink journal.
He did not know? Was Enid dyslexic? I watched him in riddles as he glanced back at the book.
"It's something, very personal," I replied quietly gawking at him.
He was handsome, very handsome bow his hair was tousled and he was out of his office wear. He was in a Reglan shirt and his muscles were busting out of the seams of the white shirt.
His sandalwood scent filled my lungs and his eyes were beautiful to watch. His hands swiped down my back still intent on me and with how my
