Beastly: Lindy's Diary Read Online Free PDF

still standing there,
    still singing weirdly. Then, her mixed-up words became real ones. She sang:
    Now, his name means darknessBut once, it meant beauty.His face is hideous as a thornBut within, he is a
    rose, maybe.Go to him.Go to him. That was the last thing I remembered before I fell asleep for real. When I woke next, it was midday. No sign of Kendra, but my room was filled with roses of every color.
    The fact is, I’m stuck here, whether it’s because my father needs me to be or because I need to run away
    from my life, I’m here, alone. Adrian is stuck here too, lonely, ugly, so desperate for companionship he
    was willing to resort to blackmail to get it. But I understand now. I understand, and it would be cruel for me to ignore him.
    I understand, and I know that, tonight, I will do as Dream Kendra said.
    I will go to him.
    July 24
    All day, I sat on my bed and tried to read, but I was restless, excited, I realized, at the thought of meeting Adrian. I’d sworn to stay in my room forever, but when it came down to it, it was just too difficult. I’ve never been good at sulking. When I was a kid, if I argued with a friend or one of my sisters, I’d pledge
    never to speak to her again. I usually lasted an hour, maybe less.
    And, of course, I always forgave my dad, too.
    It was the same here. If I knew I’d be safe, I’d give the guy a chance, just to have someone to talk to.
    So when Magda came to bring me my oatmeal, I stopped her.
    “What’s he like? Why does he want me here?” She looked a little surprised, then shrugged and said,
    “He is lonely. That is all.”
    I nodded and took the oatmeal. It was as I thought, not a murderer or rapist, just a freakish, friendless boy, a lonely soul. Like me.
    “And you . . . like him?” I asked Magda.
    She said she did.
    It makes sense. After all, isn’t it always the handsome, outgoing, “normal” guys who turn out to be
    dangerous wack jobs? Every time they arrest a guy for killing tons of women, his neighbors always say
    they never suspected.
    That he was perfectly normal.
    Wouldn’t it then follow that deformed, reclusive freaks are actually safer than normal people?
    Well, it made sense in my head.
    I waited for nightfall. After everyone was asleep, I picked up the dinner dishes and brought them
    downstairs to the kitchen, just to have an excuse to be there. I made noise so he’d know I was up. I heard him in the living room, watching television. I listened at the door. It was some sporting event that must have happened hours earlier.
    Still, it comforted me that he was watching sports, not some History Channel special about virgin
    sacrifice.
    Finally, after a minute, I went in.
    Finally, after a minute, I went in.
    His back was to me. He said, “I’m here. I want you to know so you won’t freak.”
    Freak. Even I cringed at the word, but I stepped toward him.
    For one moment, everything froze. Me, standing there, the baseball game on television, Adrian, staring
    ahead but—I now knew—not really paying attention to it. The room was shadowy-dark, and I could only
    see the back of his head. It was so normal.
    Then, he turned to meet my eyes.
    At close range, in the dim light, I found I was more fascinated than repulsed by Adrian’s face. I stared at the counterclockwise whorls of fur at the edges of his nose, the eyes human, but wider set than my own.
    On its own merits, his face wasn’t ugly, wasn’t repel ant at all. On its own merits, Adrian’s face had an almost catlike beauty.
    It was just . . . he was supposed to be human.
    He saw me staring and looked down. “Please. I won’t hurt you. I know I look this way, but I’m not . . .
    please. I won’t hurt you, Lindy.”
    I started babbling, trying to cover my faux pas of staring at him with the greater faux pas of too much talk, too many stupid things I don’t want to remember. He started trying to change the subject, talking about the dinner we’d eaten, what a good cook Magda was, normal