mourning the loss of my letters as much as I am and that can’t be true.
That can’t be true at all.
“Salem –”
“God, stop saying my name. Stop saying my fucking name, all right?”
I throw another pillow at him, my second one, and another.
But apparently they only have three pillows and I’ve run out of them and he’s still here so I just scream again.
I scream louder as tears fill my eyes and he gets blurry and everything that has happened since he came back from LA crushes me and suffocates me and almost kills me.
“Get out of my room. Just leave me alone. I don’t want you here. Just go, please. Okay? Just go. I can’t take it. I can’t. They took my letters. Do you understand that? They were my letters, my love story and they took them and you look like you care. You look like you even know what that means. You don’t know. You don’t care. You have no idea what it means to care about anything other than soccer, isn’t that what you told me? You told me that you have no use for love or emotions. You told me that you want nothing to do with it. So please just leave. You were leaving anyway, right? So for the love of God, leave now. I can’t deal with this. I can’t deal with you. Just get out of my face.”
Apparently, I’ve run out of words too and I can’t talk anymore.
I can’t.
I’m crying and sobbing into my hands and I don’t even know when I put them on my face. But they’re there now, my hands, and I bring my knees up too so I grieve the death of my love.
So I can…
“You’re wrong.”
I whip my face up at his quiet words.
Quiet but determined, and a repetition of what I said to him on the night it snowed and I told him my secret.
I try to wipe my tears from my eyes so I can see him clearly. But I only get to glance at him for a second or two and notice that his face has whittled down to razor-like sharpness and his body is arranged in a battle stance, feet wide, chest broad, before my tears take over.
And I hear his voice again.
“Because I want.”
What?
I don’t know what that means and I don’t get to ask him because as soon as he’s said those three words, announced them almost, he turns around and leaves.
After that, all bets are off.
I can’t stop crying as I hear his last words over and over.
Because I want…
***
Hours later, I wake up in partial darkness.
My eyes are gritty and heavy and this time I know why. It’s because I couldn’t stop crying after he left. I cried the entire day until they gave me a mild sedative and put me to sleep.
But I’m awake now.
When my eyes fall on the rows and rows of shoeboxes, I even scramble up in my bed. I don’t feel dizzy or foggy at my sudden movements as I reach out and grab a box. I open the lid and there they are.
My little orange, sun-like envelopes.
My letters.
They’re here.
I’m holding them in my hands and I don’t understand…
Then my eyes fall on something else.
A lone envelope, sitting on top of one of the boxes.
It’s gray.
And it has a letter inside it.
A reply to the very first letter I wrote for him, eight years ago.
Darling Arrow,
It’s weird writing you a letter because we sort of live in the same house.
But I guess this is the safer option. I don’t get why but it is.
Anyway, I wanted to answer your question from this morning. You know, when you asked me if I was cold?
I’m not.
I mean, I am right now because your house is really cold, dude. But I wasn’t, back in the kitchen. Because as soon as you came in, you took the cold away, which again I don’t get.
But anyway.
Maybe you have the sun in your pockets.
Do you?
Oh and I won’t tell. About your juice drinking. I’m not a rat. Your secret is safe with me.
All right, then.
That’s all I had to say.
Salem
PS: Oh! I have a question. Where’d you get that silver chain? It’s so shiny and pretty. I’m not into jewelry at all. I’m more into riding my bicycle and maybe even a little bit of soccer (by the way, I know you’re a huge soccer player. Like, super huge. I’d absolutely die if you ever taught me. Maybe one