Exercise 1: Diary snooping

Half of your ship ends up reading a part of their partners journal/diary. What does one of the entries say?

“I think we’ve just a few more boxes to go and that’ll be it,” Yumi proclaimed, surveying what was left to be done. “How on earth can one person accumulate so much shit over the course of a few years?”

“More than you’d think,” Artemis remarked, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He’d tried subtly suggesting to her that she ought to hire help to ease the transition from her apartment into his; she wouldn’t have it. Too many sensitive things, too many fragile things, too many secrets for that to be a possibility. Regardless, it wasn’t as though he was solely in charge of manual labor—she possessed an inexplicable strength for her tiny frame and relative lack of muscular definition.  
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got plenty of room.”

“I know,” She said, ducking into one of the kitchen cupboards to retrieve an old spice container. Opening the lid, she sniffed it briefly, wrinkled her nose and tossed it away. “I’d just prefer to limit my belongings to what I actually use.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, what have we got left to do?” He consulted a packing list, rendered essentially useless by their failure to update it.

“Just a few boxes in my room,” she answered, shuffling into her nearby bedroom. “Let’s see—oh, I’ve forgotten to seal these up. Do you have the tape?”

He looked about him, in a few drawers, under piles of paper. “No, I can’t seem to find it,” he called. “Actually, if I recall correctly, you used all of it. I’ll go out and find some more.”

“No, no, let me,” she offered, leaving the room and snatching up her coat on the way. “I’ve been stuck in here far too long and I could swear the musty air is making things grow in my lungs.”

“Charming.”

She smiled and planted a brief kiss on his cheek. “I aim to please. Shall I pick up coffee while I’m out?”

He shrugged. “If it’s not out of your way, I suppose. I could take it or leave it.”

“Alright,” she said, grabbing her purse and quickly slipping out of the front door.

Unsure of what to do with himself for the time being, he looked around, recalling fondly the few times they spent together in her apartment. Yumi had openly admitted to being a bit ashamed of it; it was large by Tokyo standards, but still nothing compared to where he lived. Despite that, he enjoyed the few times he was allowed in.
He casually strolled into her room, which seemed larger now that it was empty.
I suppose I should move a few of these into the living room. As he headed for a small stack of boxes, he failed to notice a small object on the floor, and proceeded to trip rather clumsily. On his way down he managed to knock over one of the unsealed boxes, spilling its contents onto the carpet.

“Damn it,” he muttered, dusting himself off and investigating what he’d tripped on. It was another roll of tape. How did she not notice that? …I suppose I didn’t really notice it, either.


**Hey, just in case you haven’t gone too far yet: you don’t need to get more tape after all. I found some.**


As he was about to send the text, something caught his eye—a small, unassuming moleskine notebook among the box’s contents. He wasn’t quite sure why it caught his attention, but nevertheless he felt compelled by sheer curiosity to pick it up and take a look. Perhaps it was some of her old sketches; wouldn’t that be exciting?

Upon opening it, though, he discovered that its pages contained only handwriting. He’d found her personal journal.
Put it down. This isn’t for you to see.
And yet…
There seemed to be so much about her that remained unknown to him. If anyone he knew had something significant to hide, it was her. While he knew that it was well within her right to maintain her privacy and keep the secret… maybe it was something he could help with?
No, you’re not trying to fix her. Just admit it, you’re curious.
Really, it was nothing beyond common nosiness. That seemed a more effective justification than any. One page. That’s it.

He opened the notebook to a random page near the middle and began to read.

I don’t know or care what day it is anymore. Time doesn’t mean anything here—I’m convinced that birthdays become less and less significant as your life goes on. At this rate I’ll be completely jaded by the time I’m 20 and start punching anyone who tries to give me a card or a present. That’s assuming I’ll make it to 20, anyway. I kind of doubt I’ll even make it to next week.
I’m still too sick to leave, they say. This device allows me to store and access a lot of information, and yet they still speak to me and treat me like I’m a child. I find it ironic that the worst part of the procedure is not a natural side effect, but something they’ve done themselves. Sure, I understand why they had to irradiate my immune system, but it’s just funny.
I think it’s time for more morphine. Everything still hurts. I’ve figured out the code to adjust the dosage, but somehow I can’t work up the courage to give myself a lethal amount of it. Maybe I have some hope left in me, after all. That scares me more than anything.

Thoroughly enthralled and abandoning his one page rule, he flipped to another, later entry. Questions flooded his mind too quickly to address.

Haven’t written in here for a long time. It’s full of teenage angst, of course. Silly. Like I could ever actually kill myself.
At least that’s what Hisoka tells me. I made it known to him that he makes me want to throw myself off a bridge, but he just laughs and (accurately) points out that I’m not brave enough, that I can’t seem to make any decisions without him. The bastard’s right. But I can’t talk about him like that, in good consciousness. It’s me who’s crazy, who’s impossible to put up with. I’m ugly, selfish, bitchy.
…I’m strong enough to crush his skull with one hand if I wanted to. But somehow when he glares at me I’m struck with this debilitating, primal fear. Why can I never tell any of this to my psychiatrist? I know I’m crazy. I just know it. But I can’t tell moments of clarity from moments of confusion.
We’re going out to dinner tonight. I have a sneaking suspicion he’s going to propose. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t know how I’m going to cover up this black eye. I don’t know why I didn’t just overdose on morphine four years ago.

Hidden in this journal were stories of sickness, pain, abuse. She always seemed cheerful on this surface, if occasionally sarcastic or sardonic. Either she was a master at the art of emotional camouflage, or he was painfully unobservant.
Budgeting his time, he selected the last entry. It seemed somewhat recent.

Getting headaches. Dizzy. Tired a lot.
I know it’s got something to do with the implants, but it’s not like I can go talk to any doctor about this. I’m stupid for even writing it down. But I’m scared and there is literally no one I can talk to about this besides my father. Not going there.
I hate keeping secrets.

“I guess I’d better look for a different apartment listing,” Yumi’s flat voice startled him from the doorway.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t—it just—I tripped, and—“ he stammered, unable to eloquently justify his intrusion. Finally, he abandoned the pursuit with a sigh. “If you’re furious, I understand.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not it. But now that you know what’s in there, I’m certain you’ve no interest in living with me. I’m an absolute psycho, you must realize.”

“No, no, that’s not true,” He reassured her, setting the journal down. “I really shouldn’t have read it, so anything I saw shouldn’t have any bearing on my actions. Still, anything I might’ve seen… it doesn’t...well, I can’t really explain it, but I know you’re not crazy. Other people are just good at convincing you that you are.” His expression grew dark, angry.

Yumi took a seat on one of the nearby boxes, fiddling with the newly acquired roll of tape—she seemed unable to look him in the eye.

“I guess… I’m kind of glad you found it. It’s been difficult keeping all this to myself,” she said, beginning to smile. “So, provided that you’re telling the truth and I’ve not scared you off, I guess I’ve got some explaining to do.”