Wonderland | H.S.

Levi's Third Letter

This takes place after Presley ripped Levi's book in Chapter Fifty-Seven of One Word.

This is written on Levi's phone, right outside of the dive-bar.

Sorry.

~

November 26th, Harry's Memorial

Dearest Presley,

You ruined the book.

You ruined the fucking book.

And how do I know? Well, I stuck around after you stormed back into the bar, lingering around to see the grand reunion I had planned, because I wanted to catch it video or something. Over-the-moon to see you and Harry jump into each other's arms after you believed he was dead. I also wanted to make sure you wouldn't do anything stupid, since you tend to do stupid things.

Very stupid things.

Poor Presley. Poor, poor girl ruining my fucking book because she didn't have enough patience to wait for Harry's memorial. Fuck that, you didn't have enough patience to wait five minutes. I understand that you were oblivious to what I had in store, but that didn't give you any right to destroy my fucking book. Sure, I could've given you a hug after I sat down, but I didn't want to lie further. It was hard enough keeping the news from you for a week, and I would've cracked.

Like you...when you ripped the book.

I know what you're thinking: What's the issue with destroying the dead guy's book? It's been typed out on a computer, so he must have a spare. Wrong. I only have one. I forgot to save it. That's my bad, alright? Look, I'm perfect, but even perfection makes mistakes. But here's the overarching question: why does that matter? Why does the book matter? Aside from my hard work, that book is more important than you think.

How important can One Word truly be?

Go on, fucking answer.

Too slow. I'll answer for you. It's very, very important.

Once I burned my journal, you and Harry met again. Sweet, yeah? Sweet like vinegar. Guess what happened after the two of you idiots met for the second time? Oh, he got shot four months into your relationship. Four months. Four months. Both times, he's died after four months. Four fucking months.

It's the same story, different font.

Harry got shot again, and you were the only thing on his mind both times. It was you he was willing to risk everything for. Knowing you were safe calmed him down last week when a bullet was lodged into his fucking chest. I could see it, too. He wasn't fighting too hard. He wasn't trying to get out of there. He wasn't panicked that there was metal in him. He wasn't panicked about seeing a light or whatever. Harry's strong, alright? He can take a hit. Hell, he can take lots of 'em, yet he wasn't fighting.

He didn't fight because he saw you behind his eyes.

And if you were the last thought on his mind in this reality, he'd run away to Wonderland in a second.

He loves you. God, he loves you so much, and I don't why. But for some reason, no matter if the clocks reset and he forgets your entire existence, he will stop at nothing to find you again. That night you met in the dive bar? Four months ago? He walked out with a redhead, didn't he? If it wasn't you, it was the closest thing he could find.

The entire time, I thought he fucked her—the redhead—which would bring his body count up to...three? I think three, but guess what? Apparently, he didn't. He didn't do anything with her except talk about you. Asked her if he should go back to see if you were okay. Everything he said that night to you ate him alive, I could see it from afar.