Thank You

Unanswered

I knew - back when I sent Cate the reply to her letter – that I would probably have to be patient before I could get a response. After all, an epistolary exchange is something that obviously is a lot slower than a call of a text. It came as an evidence that there would be a lot of waiting. Cate had to hide in order to write back, she didn't have the same freedom I had to write. So, I settled on waiting while worrying as little as I could – which was closer to a failure. I let a few days pass, a week, before my level of worry started to rise. But this is now almost February. It has been exactly a month since I received Cate's first letter and sent her back a response.

I had started going back to school – although this was the last place where I wanted to be – a week after that first letter and started a routine that lasted until today. I checked the letterbox every morning right after I woke up, and if by accident, I had missed a half second of what happened outside the house, I would also check it right before leaving for high school. While being at school, if the postman found himself to be present when I wasn't in class, I would ask him whether he had a letter addressed to my name or not. After a week, he had my timetable memorized and started coming by during class hours. Everyday after school, I checked the letterbox again and again until dark.

My mom simply watched me drive myself crazy over an empty letterbox for a month, her face indicating disagreement, but never speaking out. Our common choice not to mention Cate was still going on this entire time, so she would just watch me. I know for sure she wanted to tell me to stop more times than countable, but she did not. She just stood at the window.

My worry has grown stronger and stronger every day of the past thirty-one, not that it was ever gone, but after a month it truly is getting out of hand. My sleeping schedule is the same as ever, but I don't go out on midnight walks anymore. I spend my nights worrying, lying awake on my bed while reminiscing Christmas Day. The only rest I get are the micro-naps I take in class until being woken up by the closest student who doesn't hate me. In all honestly, the pity these people had for me at twelve when I lost half of my family still hasn't truly worn off, and the only benefit from that really, is being woken up by someone else than a teacher, therefore avoiding getting detention. But then even during these short naps, my thoughts follow me in cruel nightmares I find harder and harder not to scream when being awaken from each day that passes. Images of cate being destroyed, torn apart, are all I see, and I now feel like a zombie acting mechanically, more than a person. Even my mom gave me an old rest of sleeping pills that I could never take.

But the lack of sleep is nothing. I am drowning in fear and concern, with no one to save me if I go in too deep to resurface. I have no one to confide in, and it's those days that make me miss Romeo the most. If lately it feels like everything has been about Cate, Ro is still roaming around inside my mind. Every day, I can't help but think that if he was here, I could talk to him. I wouldn't have to face this all alone. He would come up with a solution that isn't being a coward and waiting for things to untangle themselves. But then, if he was here, I would not be in this situation at all. I would have never met Cate. I would have never witnessed her abuse. I would never have known she was even living in our city. I would have never fallen in love.

Those days are judgmental. My own brain brings up more guilt at the thought that maybe the death of both my brother and father actually were useful. Nothing hurts than the thought that they were meant to die so that I could meet Cate. A picture of a scale weighting the worth of Cate on one side and the one of my family on the other haunts my brain at all times. It becomes more and more impossible to live with myself in these conditions. And if dad and Romeo died in order for me to fall in love with Cate, what am I doing lying on my bed again while she might be in danger ? What kind of person am I, letting the people I love most getting hurt ?

This inner dialogue is useless. My thinking won't save anyone, and neither will I if I keep on being that passive. Cate did tell me to stay away for my own safety, but if she isn't safe, what good is that ? I cannot afford to lose her. I said it a month ago, and still stands today - maybe even more so. I have to see her. I have stop checking that letterbox to check on Cate herself.

In less than a minute, I put my combat boots on and a clean hoodie over my T-shirt. I grab my backpack and shove a few things that might be useful : my phone, an external battery, my charger, two protein bars, a lighter and my dad's old hunting knife. I silently wish not to use the last two items for Cate's sake, even though I would love to drag the knife through Andrew's body. These objects sound silly to take with me, especially after spending years alone at night with nothing but my jacket on my back, but I just want to be sure I am not entirely disarmed.

I sneak out of my room, walk down the stairs as quietly as possible and just as I reach the front door, the lights are turned on. I don't need to turn back to face my mother, I already what kind of look is painted all over her face.

"Don't pretend like this wasn't going to happen again, mom."

She doesn't answer right away, keeping to herself for a bit before letting out a small sigh.

"Just be careful and try to text me every half hour. I'll be awake when you come back. Like each time."

Without another word, I slip outside in the darkness of the night.

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we all knew i would not make this somewhat happy moment last long, unfortunately for you readers.
this is the sixth chapter i've written today, my writing must be getting VERY tired (yes, the chapters from violence to this one have been written in a single day)