Wonderland | H.S.

Levi's First Letter

This letter was written after Chapter Fifty-Six and before Chapter Fifty-Seven in One Word.

Right after Harry died, Levi wrote this letter to himself.

TW: suicidal thoughts

~

November 19th, One Week Ago

Dear Me,

Harry got shot earlier.

He died. Harry died earlier, right in front of me. He wasn't moving. Harry wasn't moving earlier. He couldn't move because he was shot. By who? Don't know. Don't know anything, but I know that he's still in Wonderland with Caden. He's dead, though.

Hell, Caden's probably dead, too.

Honestly, Harry's just being dramatic, isn't he? Went down to the local Halloween shop and purchased some raunchy, fake blood to scare everyone like the comedian he is. Ha-ha. Giggles.

You're okay, dude. Leviticus Pierce Smith...you're doing fine. Caden's going to not call you in about ten minutes, so why waste your tears?

He'd kill you for crying. I mean, he'd kill you in general, but especially for shedding tears in commemoration of his righteous acts.

But it hurts, you know? All of that pain I've felt, all the pain Harry's feeling right now, all the pain I've caused them—every ounce of pain is materializing in my heart, prepared to burst at any moment. A plethora of sadness. A sadness Supernova.

God, what am I? What in fuck's name am I doing right now? Acting like a poet, I presume, which is damn embarrassing. I mean, a poet? No, an author.

An author of two novels, might I add.

Fuck, I sound like a lunatic.

Maybe I should start at the beginning and make sense of this. I'll sit at this creaking desk, write this stupid letter that I'll most likely delete by the end of this evening, and rehash a wonderful, beautiful, life-altering mistake.

Three years ago, I died.

Oh, wow. That sounds fucking horrible. I keep saying 'after I died' when I never even died in the first place. Let me alter the phrasing to sound less like a pathological liar and more like an honest narcissist defeating death.

Three years ago, I died for fifteen seconds, but to Harry and Caden, I was dead until today. Thank the Clocks Harry knows the truth about my whereabouts, knows that I didn't die. Not sure what I would've done if he croaked thinking I was dead.

Fuck, this is so embarrassing.

The Holy Boys are falling like bowling pins, tumbling down like pussies. We're taking absolute losses left and right, up and down. Who's next? Better not be Caden. Who am I kidding? It's not.

It's Harry. It'll always be Harry.

And this is how I know.

Three years ago, Harry lodged a bullet through my chest like a broken lotion bottle. Truth be told, he thought he was shooting at Elijah and was seeking some kind of redemption, but he didn't shoot Elijah. Harry shot me and boy, did that sucker pop me silly.

Shit was painful. I like painful shit. But that kind of pain? Fucking annoying. It made me look like a weak, unstable, stupid bitch.

It made me look like a Leviticus and not a Levi.