Red Shoe Diaries Page #5

My brother?|- He called. He was worried about you.

I said you hadn't been feeling well|and you were at home resting.

You didn't tell him where I live,|did you?

He asked for your telephone number.

He's your brother, for Christsake's,|I gave it to him.

Hey.|- Okay.

Come on, please. Have a good time.|- I'm fine.

It's your birthday.|We love you.

How does anyone know what|anyone else is feeling?

How can I turn to?|Who can I talk to?

I hate shrinks.

If I told my friends that my problem|was not one man, but two,

they'd kick me in the head.

Maybe I should run an ad in the paper:

"Woman out of control seeks clues|to own dark pain and passion.

from other women's experiences.|Willing to pay top dollar

Send diaries to|Red shoes, P.O. BOX...

Whatever".

Come back. Here it comes.|- Did it break? - Not yet.

He's a tough little bastard.

A candy?|- Beautiful, isn't it?

No, no. Unwrap that first.

What's that?|- Atmosphere?

What's that?|- You'll see.

Come on over here. Come on.|- Where are we going?

Just come with me. Sit.

What's this?|- I want to do this right

Okay?|- Okay, go ahead.

It is...

A velvet box.

Marry me, Alex.

Is that a yes or a no?

I think I had too much to|drink this afternoon.

You wanna talk about it?

Jake, I know you think you|know everything about me,

but there's so much you don't know.

Like what?|- Like...

When I was a kid I was so screwed up|I listened to myself breathe at night

because I thought if I didn't I|wouldn't wake up in the morning.

I used to bang my head against|the wall untill it hurt.

It was like I just|couldn't stop myself.

I just|couldn't stop myself.

All kids feel like that|from time to time.

No. I'm talking dark.

So dark it scared the sh*t|out of my parents.

Who? Not your mother.

She took me to all types of|doctors 'cause she...

She thought it was my thyroid,|but it wasn't my thyroid, Jake.

And it just got worse and|she got really scared.

She got so scared because,

it's the only thing|she couldn't control.

I can remember writing this elaborate|will when I was eleven.

And then when I didn't die, I wrote|another one when I was fifteen.

I was so f***ed up.|- Those days are over, baby.

F*** it! I can't even drive a car.

I'm the only person in Los Angeles|who can't drive a car.

Any idiot can drive a car, baby.

It takes a genius to get her|friends to drive her everywhere.

Stop. I don't want to.

That's the thing about life.

If you look at thing hard enough,

long enough, in the harsh|light of the day,

you'll eventually see the flaws.

That's why everything I make|I design with lots of shadows.

The shadows make things beautiful.

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