The Secret Diary Of Laura Palmer Part 6

It took me a minute to really focus. Leo sat next to me in his truck. He said he was leaving, and that his wife would be coming back home soon. In order to meet again, we would have to plan carefully. I had forgotten about the wife. Sh.e.l.ley. Quite pretty. She waitresses with Norma at the Double R. So, anyway, I told him to call me. He said he had a few things I'd be needing while he was away.

He handed me a backpack stuffed beyond its limit. He warned me not to open it until I was alone. He kissed me, then watched me go in the front door, and he drove off.

I had a daydream as I made my way upstairs that Mom woke up... and asked how the orgy had been. I gave her all the details and she began reliving her own experiences of strange evenings in the woods. She wanted to call her friends and tell them her daughter had been in an orgy... and wasn't that wonderful? The daydream ended when I reached the top of the stairs and saw that my bedroom door was wide open-I stopped dead in my tracks. I looked toward my parents' bedroom. The door was closed tight.

When I turned back to my room, what I saw was horrifying!

I could clearly see a man's shoe behind my door, and then he emerged, smiling. It was BOB. With one hand he took my wrist, and the other he placed across his lips, "SHHHHHH," with one quick pull, he brought me inside the room with him. The door slammed shut behind me.

Stop. It must be a dream. I'm high. I haven't slept. Don't wake Mom or Dad now or they'll know you've been out. They'll have questions you can't answer. Think.

I'm going crazy, pacing and struggling with thoughts, words, the image of that haunting grin. Stay away from me, BOB!

I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT.

Stay away from this house! Leave me alone or I swear I'll find a way to make you sorry.

CAN'T FEEL SORRY, LAURA PALMER.

Look at where I am, because of you, and your sickness, your weakness, you are an awful creature.

NO CONSCIENCE. NO GUILT. YOU SAID SO YOURSELF. I SEE YOU GOT YOURSELF f.u.c.kED LAST NIGHT. AN OWL TOLD ME. REALLY INTO THAT c.o.kE, AREN'T YOU? DIRTY GIRL, LAURA PALMER. YOU SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT YOU CAN'T IMPRESS ME... I'M NOT INTERESTED IN WHAT YOU DO WITH YOUR LITTLE c.o.kE FRIENDS. YOU ALL LOOKED RIDICULOUS, OR SO I HEARD.

Get out of my head. Now!

NAH.

Leave me alone, you sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d. How dare you! I don't want you here! Get out! Get out! I'm tired of accepting you all the time... I hate you. Leave!

IT ISN'T UP TO YOU, LAURA PALMER. YOU SHOULD WATCH THAT EGO. QUITE UNBELIEVABLE.

f.u.c.k you.

CRYING ISN'T GOING TO STOP ME FROM STAYING EITHER. I'M IMMUNE TO YOUR EMOTIONAL, ADOLESCENT, f.u.c.kING, LESBIAN Wh.o.r.e WHINING AND SELF-PITY. I'M THE BEST THING IN YOUR LIFE.

You aren't. It's not true!

ISN'T IT?.

Stop lying to me. I have better things in my life than you. I know it.

OH, YES? NAME ONE.

My parents.

DOUBT IT. THEY HAVEN'T KEPT ME FROM GETTING TO YOU, HAVE THEY? NEITHER ONE TALKS TO YOU THE WAY THEY USED TO. THEY STOPPED CARING A LONG TIME AGO. THEY PUT UP WITH YOU. NOTHING MORE. I'M BETTER.

Donna.

THE "BEST FRIEND" YOU NEVER SPEAK TO? THE ONE YOU LEFT BEHIND IN EXCHANGE FOR DRUGS? YOU ARE SADLY MISTAKEN.

I have myself. Me. I'm better than you are!

NO. I HAVE YOU. YOU BELONG TO ME. YOU DON'T DO ANYTHING I DON'T ALLOW YOU TO DO. I RUN YOUR LIFE, AND I STEER YOU AS I WISH.

No!

STILL HERE.

You are not real! I refuse to believe that you are real! I am only imagining you... I make you... I'll just stop! You'll have to leave if I stop believing!

TRY AGAIN. I'VE BEEN HERE FOR YEARS AND YEARS. YOUR BELIEF DOESN'T MEAN A THING. YOUR OPINION IS NOTHING. THINK ABOUT IT. LOOK AT YOUR LIFE. YOU GO f.u.c.kING AROUND WITH PEOPLE. DRUGS ALL THE TIME. YOU'LL BE SIXTEEN SOON. YOUR LIFE IS s.h.i.t AND YOU'RE NOT EVEN SIXTEEN YET. LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND SEE FOR YOURSELF. YOU ARE NOTHING.

What... do you want?

I WANT YOU.

Why? What for!

ENTERTAINMENT. I ENJOY WATCHING YOU FIGHT THE TRUTH.

What f.u.c.king truth!

YOUR LIFE IS WORTHLESS TO EVERYONE, INCLUDING YOURSELF. I DO YOU A GREAT FAVOR. I TEACH YOU. YOU OWE ME YOUR LOYALTY. YOU OWE ME EVERYTHING.

I owe you nothing.

I'M THE BEST THING IN YOUR LIFE.

Goodbye!

I'LL BE HERE.

f.u.c.k you.

SOON. YOU WILL.

Stop.

SEE YOU IN THE DARK... LAURA PALMER.

f.u.c.k you! f.u.c.k you! f.u.c.k you! f.u.c.k You! Stay the f.u.c.k away from me this time. You're in my head. No one else sees you or hears you so you must be in my head. I'm not letting you back into this room. Never. You are only an idea. You are a fear. You are only my little girl, fear of the woods, creation!

See! Can't come back now, can you!

You have no power if I don't give it to you... This time I'll keep you away. This is my life! It's mine! You have no place here... Ha!

I have work to do. Sleep to get. You are dead. You aren't even a memory.

Laura P.S. WATCH THE WINDOW, LAURA PALMER.

December 15, 1987 Dear Diary, I am sorry I have not written in so long, but I've been working so hard! There is so much you don't know!

First of all, I decided to make a deal with the Hornes. I realized, when I was up there last, that Johnny seemed lifeless, unattended to. Sad. So I proposed to them that I would tutor Johnny, three times a week, spend at least an hour, hour and a half with him, reading, talking, etc for a small amount of cash weekly. They loved the idea, and have agreed to pay me cash, $50 a week, $200 a month.

The money helps me a lot with the c.o.ke, but it's mostly nice to be around Johnny because he loves me no matter what I do when I'm not around him. He doesn't hurt me or tease me or want to sleep with me or tie me up or cut me or any of the millions of things I feel like people do to me all the time... Always touching me and taking something, always wanting more, and more and more.

All Johnny wants is for me to read to him. Sleeping Beauty is his favorite. He likes to rest his head in my lap and look up at me as I read to him. We take a moment every so often to look at the pictures, and I will sometimes have to explain the pictures, as well as some parts of the story, in a way that Johnny will better understand them. He often gets this very confused, lost look on his face, as if he is afraid he doesn't understand anything. I always stop when I see him feeling that way and go over it with him.

Many afternoons we go out onto the front lawn and play with his bow and arrow. He has these rubber buffalo that he shoots down from across the yard. He smiles so beautifully when he hits them. It's his high. It is the strangest scene. Johnny out on the lawn, the gra.s.s a blinding green under his moccasins, his arrow tight in the bow as he pulls back, smiling. He releases it after several minutes of concentration. The arrow seems to move at a slower than possible pace, Johnny lowers his arms, rises onto his tiptoes, and waits... Direct hit. He's in the air, jumping, jumping. Then turns to me and smiles this smile of such excitement.

"Indian!" he exclaims.

I congratulate him on a fine shot, and encourage several more. He is always pleased to do so. I have to do a lot of lines around Johnny, or rather, in the bathroom... as often as needed.

It is horrible when I lose patience with him. It happened once and I felt miserable until I was certain he had either forgotten the incident or had forgiven me.

I will not go into the details, because my behavior was too horrible. To put it simply, I did a convincing as h.e.l.l imitation of BOB. It was cruel. The ugliest I had ever felt. I made sure to apologize and explain as best I could as soon as it happened. I wanted him to know I realized it and stopped.

I went and sc.r.a.ped up enough out of the bullet and a couple vials at the bottom of my purse, to get high. I could think. It's only hard when I don't have it. That's why Bobby and I are seeing each other so innocently and so frequently. But you don't know about all that, do you? Well, hang on.

I have to open up the bedpost here... and do a couple lines before Mom comes up to tell me I've got dishes, garbage, etc to take care of. s.h.i.t, I can't believe how different my life is when I simply walk out the front door of this house.

I'll be back as soon as I can.

Laura December 16, 1987 Dear Diary, I'm sorry that it is a whole day later, but Mom and I had a talk in the kitchen while I did the dishes, and it lasted almost four hours. Dad came home and joined us for about forty-five minutes before heading up to bed early.

I guess Benjamin has him working pretty hard on some new plan. Dad just rolls his eyes when Mom and I ask how it's going.

Sometimes I think that my mom and I could be the best of friends. Every once in a while I will look into her eyes and think, I wonder if Mom has ever felt anything that I'm feeling...? I sense that some of my experiences are ones that she would understand, but she comes from a family and a generation that doesn't really like to talk about things that make them uncomfortable.

Maybe BOB makes her feel uncomfortable. Maybe Dad knows BOB, too, but Mom won't let us talk about him because it makes everyone... so upset... ? I don't know.

I guess we had a good talk anyway, because I know she was very happy when she went up to bed. I stayed downstairs for a while, then walked outside and studied the wall BOB always climbs to get to my window. It's amazing he hasn't killed himself, or at least fallen.

The nights I've snuck out, I've always had help getting down. I wonder if I could make it so that he would fall... ? He'd find a way up no matter what, and I still want Bobby Briggs to deliver my blow through that window... have a quickie while my parents are asleep or out.

That's what I wanted to get back to. Bobby Briggs. We are seeing each other like guys and girls do when they're in high school. It's weird. I see Donna more now, and she's with Mike. I guess she's happy, but the two of them remind me of a chewing gum commercial or something. "Happiness and ambition, athletics and academics, rah, rah, rah."

Last week I went through an entire bullet of c.o.ke just trying to deal with having a burger with them after the movies. Bobby and I didn't eat. Bobby had eaten a ton of junk in the theater, and I was too high to even look at food. Donna stuffed her face, and I knew she'd pay for that in zits and in the seams of her clothes when she got up the next day. I'll bet she gained five pounds. Mike is a pig. He just kept shoving fries and hamburgers into his mouth, like swallowing wasn't necessary or something. I swear!

I don't like the way he looks at Donna either. I worry about her, because he seems like such an a.s.shole... thinking he's something of a superhero with his letter jacket on all the time. s.h.i.t. I don't care. Donna's smart. I just can't believe Dr. Hayward hasn't said something.

So, the reason I'm seeing Bobby this way, going to the movies, dinner, studying at his house, going out to the gazebo and necking, taking his father's car to the Pearl Lakes, etc is because he finally agreed to start selling cocaine for Leo. For me. I had been waiting for him to say he would, but he wanted me to promise I'd act like his girl again. So I do. When I want to, or when I'm out of blow. I really like Bobby, but he could never understand what happens to me sometimes.

The whole reason I go out for the orgies at Leo's, the reason I let him tie me up and hit me sometimes... the whole reason, besides a strange enjoyment, is because I feel like I belong in dark places like that. I belong with sleazy men who are actually crying babies. I tease them and pretty soon they're calling me "Mommy" and burying their heads in my lap crying about their pain... and then I have to tell them what to do. They like it that way. I belong with them. I must, or I wouldn't be so good at it.

I'll tell them what to do to me. Order them to do it. And when they do, when it's feeling nice and I can tell that they are really trying, I start telling them what I'm feeling. How wonderful they are. How they are "good, good boys. Such good boys." I tell them that Mommy is happy. They love it. A child and a man all at once.

All of them, these friends of Leo's and Jacques's (who I must tell you about!), are very nice to me. If I ever needed help, I believe that they would be there for me. I don't know. I've been wrong before.

So Bobby sells the c.o.ke around town, and Leo sells his usual stuff to people across the border, over in Canada. I always get at least an eight-ball free, and then each time I see Leo, he fills my bullet or a vial if I can find one. Bobby makes really good money and everybody's happy. That's the whole point of life, right? The only thing that p.i.s.ses me off is that the other day, when I went with Bobby to get the drug money from my safety deposit box (I wasn't going to hide thousands of dollars in my bedpost!), he said that Mike was going to start helping him sell.

I threw a fit and told him that if he did-and Mike ever told Donna-I would never, ever speak to him again. Donna would tell her father. I know it. I wouldn't be able to handle that. Dr. Hayward being disappointed in me... that would kill me for sure.

Bobby said he wasn't sure about it yet. But I made him promise anyway, and he did.

After that, we went out to the tree where the empty football is buried, near Leo's house. The money and drugs are exchanged through the buried football. Leo always makes fun of Bobby for his choice of hiding places. "The football hero," he calls him. Bobby is a football hero, though. At least the school thinks he is.

Jacques said that he used to play football, until he found out that you didn't have to ram yourself into a herd of huge guys all day to make good money. Jacques lives deep in the woods in a cabin with his bird, Waldo. Waldo talks and has learned my name perfectly. Jacques, Jacques Renault, works across the border at a casino somewhere. He's a big, fat guy, but he can really turn me on sometimes. He's the little-baby/big-man type, too, except that he knows a lot more about a woman's body than even Leo.

I went out to Jacques by myself one night, and we got super high and played all sorts of amazing s.e.x games with each other. It got to the point that all he had to say was "Show me, little girl... show me," and I was reeling!

Waldo repeated almost everything we said all night and into the early morning. The whole way home I kept hearing Waldo say, "Show me... Show me... Little girl... Little girl." That was the morning I realized that the orgies with Leo took place in front of Jacques s cabin. There was the chair... I sat in it for a minute, and knew.

I'll write again soon. I have plans for the night.

L.

December 21, 1987 Dear Diary, Christmas is almost here. I'm starting to look for another job, something with a real paycheck every two weeks... real money. Mom is beginning to worry about how little I'm eating lately. I love it. I swear I've never liked my body before. I still have nice b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and curved hips, but no fat there like before. None of the guys I've been with have said anything but great stuff about my body.

I need a job in order to have more money, and also to be able to tell Mom that I ate while I was at work. I can't force another dinner down my throat like I've been doing.

Leo and Jacques gave me a few issues of Fleshworld magazine the other night. I opened the pages and did some of the poses for them, did some dancing, a few things for myself... and let them watch me until all three of us came together.

I know it sounds dirty, but I am only doing what I am suddenly used to doing... Creating a show for other people to look at, while inside my head, I go into a dream. A whole audience, at least a hundred people. (I do that because the more people there are, the more it seems like it is okay, and not a hidden or bad thing.) All of the people, men and women, watch me. They watch how I move, how little sounds come out of my mouth when I begin to feel warm inside... I dream of a man or woman, sometimes both... and how I see them in the front row, the quietest of all. Let's say it is a man for description's sake.

So I come down to the level of the audience, and I'm wearing something black and see-through, and I take him by the hand and make him come onto the stage with me. He doesn't want to, but I promise him I won't embarra.s.s or hurt him. He believes me and we go up into the lights.

I tell everyone in whispers that this man is beautiful to me, and I tell them why. I describe him so that he becomes confident and aroused all at once. The audience loves him now, just like I do. I usually change the dream each time, but it always ends up with me and my chosen partner making love in front of everyone. I get a high sometimes when I think that BOB will see me in this dream and realize he should finally set me free.

So I have these magazines, and people send their fantasies in sometimes and they get printed. I told Leo and Jacques the night they gave them to me, and we played around, about some of the fantasies I have sometimes. Both of them said that I should send one of them in, maybe more than one... and see if I can get one printed. They said that if I do, they will create the printed fantasy just the way I write it. Just the way I want it.

I think I will. I like the idea of a special night, planned ahead of time, all for Laura Palmer.

Maybe I'll write the fantasy in here, too, so that you will know exactly what will be planned if it gets printed. I'll think about it.

Some of the pictures in the magazines are so... dirty. Almost too dirty for me, but I see why some people get turned on by them. They are mostly pictures about people being someplace, or with someone who is totally a fantasy person. There is no tomorrow or yesterday. No hours or minutes or rules or parents or mornings or anything to worry about. I like that part, but some of the photos are of women being captured and taken away by these men. I don't really like those too much, because for some reason... I don't know what, they remind me too much of BOB's visits. The women are too young or innocent or something.

I like being taken by someone, but I like being teased and given little dreams and ideas. I don't like fears or lies or yelling, and that is what some of these pictures are like. Darkness in s.e.x is okay, as long as it is strange, mysterious darkness, and not the darkness of h.e.l.l or nightmares or dying.

That stuff isn't for me. I like the good stuff. Almost really bad, but just teasing with the bad, not taking its hand and pulling it inside.

I have to go shopping for Christmas presents tomorrow. G.o.d, I have no idea what to get anyone. I suppose it's bad for me to wish for c.o.ke for Christmas.... A ton of white, fluffy snow all over me.

More later, Laura December 23, 1987 Dear Diary, Remember the night that Leo and Bobby and I went out to Low Town to buy c.o.ke? Remember? I stole the kilo and everything went crazy and we had to make a run for it because everyone started firing their guns? I just had a dream about it.

I never even really thought about the fact that Bobby probably killed that guy when he shot him. Bobby actually shot him, and I watched and didn't care! I think I just told myself that I was dreaming or something, but I know that's a lie, completely.