Many of you have asked me about Shannon. I am grateful for the concern, although I do not think she would be. The woman seems determined to ruin her own life.
I really do not know how to answer the questions of how she is doing. Deep in her heart she is hurt by what Mark said, and deeper still she regrets her own behavior that led to the argument. But rather than accept this and try to make amends, she has covered it all in layers of anger, scorn, and carelessness.
Her last exam was yesterday, and so she decided that she deserved to celebrate. She came home and changed into her nicest clothes, and by that I mean the clothes that made her feel most courageous and beautiful. Then she called a few of her friends and went out dancing.
They visited two bars and three clubs before deciding to stay at one. I did not like any of these places—dark, deafening pits filled with too many people, and while some danced for the simple joy of it, most were driven there by lust or avarice or a desire to cover their despair. I would have left, but I did not feel safe to leave Shannon alone. She was drawing much attention from men, and she was far too inclined to encourage this attention. I had to use all the tricks I have learned to keep her from going immediately home with any of them.
As the evening wore on, it became clear to me that I would not be able to keep her away from everyone—indeed, it seemed to be her intention to find someone to spend the night with, just to get back at Mark. Normally I would try to talk a charge out of such a reckless decision, but I know better than to try and persuade this stubborn woman away from a choice she has made. So I did what I could to control the damage, examining the men who came up to her closely in the hopes of leading her to one who at least would not break her heart—or her arm.
We both saw him at the same time through the flashing lights of the room. His name is Thomas, and he is a few years older than Shannon. A glance at his aura was enough to show that he would not suit her as a romantic partner—he is not interested in commitment, and as prideful and stubborn as they come. Indeed they are too alike to match well together.
But he is beautiful, with eyes that draw one in and a slow, easy smile, and Shannon admired him on sight. So when he beckoned, she went to him, and I let her.
I wish she were more open to my influence, so that I could do more for her than make do. I wish she were not so determined to hurt herself in order to hurt others. I wish that I could see more good in her than I do. But wishing is a waste of energy, for everything is as it must be, and so I will go on, and try to do better in the future.