Love You to Death (Sequel to MeganWong's Best Thing I Never Had)

Prologue

It was the week before he would leave. That's when I recieved the letter.

He was away right now. Doing God know's what with something having to do with his enlistment. I was at home--his home. Soon to be our former home--because we both plan on leaving.

The envelope. I held it tightly, yet carefully. I didn't want to crumble its sleek nature, nor its elegant decoration. I hurried into our apartment, worried that someone would see me.

They might tell him, I thought, He would find out. . .

And he could not find out.

As I closed the door to our apartment, I let out a sigh. I didn't know what it was--relief? Maybe...?

I made sure to lock the door before I nervously stumbled into the guest room. Our room was too private. If I opened the envelope there, he might feel it afterwards. He might feel the excitement, the desperate anticipation that is radiating off of me. No, I could not do it in our room.

I locked the door to the guest room, too. A slight coolness of relief washed over me. But I grew colder with nerves. I could feel my bones start to shake. My hands were practically rattling as I held this precious envelope in front of my face. On it read "Seoul National University". This was my destination.

My eyes traveled down from the envelope towards my elbow, where a conspicuous bruise sat. He gave me this bruise. Tears welled up in my eyes at the thought. I could feel my body hit the wall multiple times as I cried turbulantly, but silently to myself. I have to get out of here.

I finally built up the courage to open it. I had to. If I wanted to survive. If I never wanted to see him again. I opened the envelope carefully, making sure not to leave any strips of paper on the floor. He would notice.

I unfolded the paper and started to read. The introduction was long and superficial. I imagine this on many of SNU's letters. I found myself beginning to skip through the lines. My pupils zipped pass the letters, loking for key words like, "unfortunately" or "Congratulations!" I was more than prepared for the earlier but my heart was filled with hope.

I began to panic as I couldn't find any of these words. I skimmmed again, even more impatient than before. The words began to no longer look like words. Just a jumbled code of letters, taunting me because I could not decipher them. Aggitated sounds ripped from me as I searched yet again. My sweaty fingers clasped this paper so tight, it was bound to rip at any time. I started over one last time. This time, I actually read.

The words looked like words again. I could not get any context clues of which way this letter was going. I could feel my mind go off somewhere else. I began to think about who I would be leaving if I did make it. And that's when I saw the words.

"Congratulations! You have been accepted to. . ."

Gone. I am gone.

Immediately after reading this letter, I folded it up and tucked it right back in the envelope. I got up, checking to see if everything was in order in the room and at myself. I went in to our room and packed up everything that was me. Anything that might remind him of me, I took. Because he didn't need me. I made him sick. If he had even a piece of me, he would dwell on it. He would become sicker than he is now. This for him. He had to forget about me. He had to.

After that, I went on to go do a few more house-keeping tasks necessary for my leaving. As I rolled my suitcases and bags out into my car, I couldn't help but think of what others might have said.

They would've called me weak. They would've called me a coward.

But they don't know what it's like, I thought to myself somewhat angrliy as I put the key into the ignition, They don't know that it's the so-called cowards who survive. If I fight this battle, I'll lose. And I can't afford to lose.

As I drove towards the airport to purchase my ticket--the one I've been saving up for for months now--my phone rang. It was him. I let my phone sit on the astray, vibrating, waiting for me to pick up. Once it was done, I took it up in my hand and clicked on his contact.

After holding down on it, a list popped up. "Edit, Add number, Delete, . . ."

I hit "Delete".

"Delete Baekho?" My phone questioned, just how I expected everyone else to.

After a considerable amount of hesitation, I pressed "Yes".