[Spotlight, Solo] Dearest Journal

[Deleted]

//ooc// Ongoing spotlight thread idea.

Dearest Journal,

I suppose, all events considered, that it's healthy for me to start journalling again. It's not like I imagine anyone's going to find it — this book will remain in Sheila, only for every page to be burned at the nearest campfire or equivalent. I am writing this in Spanish, and switching the letters around to their neighbours four letters over, words flipped backwards as an extra precaution. I need a place to put my thoughts down, as in between the stretches of activity and flying with Mr. Deuce, I found I have little to do.

So.

Where to start.

It's been almost two years now since...since I lost him. He reminds me entirely too much of Deuce, and Deuce entirely too much of him. This is already a problem, as it is clouding my judgment whenever the jet proposes an idea. So far, leaving me in Nevada while he goes scouting is the extent of the most recent choices, but I'm not sure how Layby would have felt if he knew we stole gas from that airport.

And he's not going to find out. Like fuck if I'm going to rat out Deuce, because I'd probably do the same fucking thing. Fucking natural gas and oil companies, fracking shit up and putting methane in the water—not going to kill them if it cuts into their profits a little. The fact we pulled this off also makes me feel kind of like a badass.

I don't like how he's insisting on how I stay down here without much reasoning. I know it's none of my business, but he was so eager to go to Oregon with me, and now, he puts me down in Nevada with little explanation. It does NOT help that Cleaver is missing, and some agency named MECH is running around and the Sibertronians are afraid of it.

Cleaver.

Fuck.

I haven't been at Haven much since I left with Mr. Deuce. I went back to check, as I always do, and it's quiet. Too quiet, as the cliche goes. Layby is barely out and about, and I don't think Cat's left her room much in days. James begs for affection, and I'll admit, I pick up and hug and pet the little hairball more than I should. He's getting pretty fat, too. I should lay off the cans of Fancy Feast I leave in his food dish.

If Deuce Mr. Deuce is going to leave me behind so much, maybe I should pop into Haven more often, see if any help needs to be done. Then again, how much help am I? They're giant robots. I'm a little human. I'm almost as tall, if not a little taller, than Layby's thumb. There's nothing I can do there that Cat can't, as she knows and I know that I'm too stupid when it comes to those things.

Making a decent attempt at a two-person song set for extra cash? That I can do. Rewiring the ground bridge and debugging the code, or whatever? Nada. Zip. It's better off if I just keep getting groceries until they need me for something else, because I'm otherwise underfoot. I owe Layby, and he's pretty much my landlord, so if this means I can help? I can help.

But I should still check on them more. I mean, I haven't see much food eaten other than the coffee and ice cream, I think. Layby used to be all over Haven, all the time. I remember his footfalls in the night, and Cleaver's too. Cleaver would sometimes poke her head out to make sure we were all alive and breathing. I haven't gotten along as well with her as I have Layby, but she's still Layby's friend, and her absence is palpable.

I wonder how Cat's dealing with all this. I swear to God, if Layby finds her dead body in front of her computer, I am going to be so pissed. So very, very pissed.

That's it. I'm calling a groundbridge.

(The pages of this were later dumped in a flaming barrel near Jasper's illegal street races.)

[Deleted]

(The date on this is unknown. It lies at the bottom of Sarita's glove compartment. The shards of paper are fragmented and torn, long forgot.)

— I don't miss them. I have to tell myself over and over again I don't miss them. I walk the lonely road, and it is the road for me. When everything is gone and left in the dust, I will still have myself, and maybe even my car. Everything is fine. I'm fine, I'll be fine, I'm always fine —

— stupid idiot. That stupid, fucking, IDIOT boy. He knew what was going on, knew how bad it was. He shouldn't have done that for them. I told him, he promised me he wouldn't, and now his face is all over the news and I know his family is going to see it and —

— There is no point. There is no fucking point. I'm not with these people anymore. These people weren't even my people to begin with. I am done with this shit, and their shit, and I've left the park behind. I am so fucking done with trying to care, trying to convince myself that I was a dick and I need to go back and settle this down. Like fuck I'm going to do that after a year, especially after those fuckers —

He's dead. He brought it on himself. He's dead. He's fucking dead.