car was moving slow, until it passed us. It paused and we saw a guy press his forehead to his window, trying to see us. I relaxed. The guy didn’t look scary or thug-like. I was sure that was Jason’s roommate. I waved and once I did, his face visibly relaxed. He blew out a breath and lifted a shaky hand back. He pulled forward, then turned around so he could park behind us.
I looked at Claire. “You ready?”
She shook her head, but her hand went to her seatbelt. “We have no choice. Let’s go and get these letters.”
We both nodded. We both reached for our doors…
...neither of us moved an inch.
Taylor,
If I know you—and I think I do by now ; )—you probably already know what I’m going to say in this letter. But I have to say it anyway because I have to put in words how much I love you and how much I’ve cared about our friendship.
I’m leaving. Surprise! (bad joke) (sorry)
That’s what this letter is about. I never meant to have my “other” life affect you, but it has. It was bound to happen eventually. Gambling—that whole world—is my addiction. I can’t get enough of it. I think about it the moment I wake up. I miss it when I’m being good, and I am literally counting down the hours, minutes, seconds until I can get back to it.
I thought it would be better if I was the one taking the bets, but it wasn’t. I still gambled, and it got all sorts of fucked up. I can’t tell you anything because if something ever happened to me, I don’t want you to be involved any more than you already are. Just trust me when I say that this life is a toxin, but one I can’t live without. It’s sweet fucking poison <-ha! That’s as poetic as I’m going to get here.
(After reading this over, it sounds like I was laughing as I wrote it. I wasn’t. I was bawling, but damn—I do have to laugh at how sucktastic this whole situation is.)
Anyway, if you’re reading this, you went to my apartment and saw everything. All my stuff is gone. And no, I wasn’t the one to get my shit out of there. I had some friends do it for me. They were told to box everything up and see if they could sell whatever they could to pay Rankin back. I owe him a lot of money, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll want to know who you are and who the others are. I know him. He won’t let it rest. A part of me thinks that even if I do disappear, it won’t matter. He’ll still try to figure out who punched him and who knocked him unconscious. And if he does, I’m so very sorry.
The good thing, though, is that I know those guys can take care of themselves. (I’m not putting their names in here, in case something happens to this letter. I don’t want any more damning evidence, but just in case, burn this when you’re done reading. I know it’s addressed to you.)
So, going back to my dramatic goodbye here (So dramatic! Can you feel the thick sarcasm?), for real, I love you. You were my family when my real family kicked me out.
I know I told you things with Claire fizzled last year, but it really happened long before that. I don’t really know what happened, but I never fought for it. As long as I had you, I was okay. I really was. You were my rock for so many years. It meant the world to me that I was able to be your rock this last year. You’ll never know how much I loved being able to support you, even though it was because of a seriously shitty situation.
Please don’t worry about me. I took enough to get by for a while. I’m not telling where I’m going, but some of my friends have friends who can help me out. I’ll be fine. I really will. I may even seek treatment for my problem. I’m told it doesn’t stick well, but I’ll try. Maybe we can figure out some secret spy way to send coded messages. Probably not, though, because I’m sure I’d forget the code and all would be lost.
Okay. My ride is here. I have to sign off. Oh, hey, you should know that Claire is going to be a mess when she’s