Letters to Robin

CHAPTER TEN: REAGAN

15th January

(Today's prompt: Today I feel....)

Dear Robin,

I woke up screaming and drenched in sweat with my pajamas clinging uncomfortably to my skin from the worst nightmare I've had in a bit. On today's episode of my subconscious hates me I dreamt that It was my turn to drive Damon. You were sitting right there next to me wearing one of my tops I definitely said you couldn't wear and screaming all the wrong lyrics to the Matt Maeson song I had playing. I turned my head to ask you a question, and you weren't there anymore. Panic grew like a boulder in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest like a war drum. Fear crept into every fiber of my being and I called out for you, but after a while, I couldn't remember what your name was. And suddenly, it wasn't that important that I find you. I cranked up the music and continued to drive aimlessly, ignoring the dreadful feeling in my stomach telling me that I was forgetting something.

I feel angry, Robin. I'm so angry with you. I am so angry that I have to write you these letters I can never send. I don't usually allow myself to feel anger when I think of you because you didn't choose to leave. You were taken by a force beyond our control, but it's 2:15 in the morning, and I'm PMSing so I'm going to blame my Ire on that.  I hope I didn't wake Paris up with the screaming. I've locked out in the roommate compartment with him, but I can't help but think that he's drawn the short straw with me, and yes, I'm angry about that too. I'm so stinking mad at you for dying, Robin. And believe me, I know just how ludicrous that sounds, but I'm being honest with how I feel today, so there you go. I'm mad at you for dying when you promised that it'd be us against the world forever.

When Detective Johanna told us that you were gone, I screamed, and screamed, until my throat felt like it would bleed. And maybe in the back of my mind, I halfway hoped that if I screamed loud enough, you'd hear me on your way to wherever the hell people go when they die, and you'd turn around. Fuck you for not turning back around, Roe. I'm so unbelievably pissed at you for not coming back for me, and I'm so mad that I'm going to spend a lifetime missing you.

But mostly, I'm angry at myself for keeping your secret for so long, maybe if I told sooner you'd still be here. I'm angry that I'll have to forever mourn the what if and the what will never be.

Love, Reagan.

          I'M FINISHING AN ASSIGNMENT on the sofa when Paris walks in dressed in a white shirt that has little Olaf's printed all over. “Wipe that grin off your face,” he says, loosening his tie which also has little Olafs on it, and dropping into the space next to me. I bite my lips; I didn't realize I was smiling. I seem to be doing that a lot more since he moved in.

“What gives?”

“I promised a kid I'd wear it if she stops fighting her mother and takes her medication,”