In Riptides

15 | playing pretend

L I A

I stare at Nate staring at me. He's at a loss for words, his brow furrowing at my request to sleep over. Given our conversation earlier, I wouldn't expect him to be anything but confused. I'm giving him whiplash. I'm giving myself whiplash.

I hardly even remember walking here, or leaving my house, or making this spur-of-the-moment decision at all. It's like my brain didn't give me a choice but to seek him out. So what prompted this?

Everything that happened in the last half hour.

I was in my room, getting rid of any and everything that reminded me of Matt. I would burn my bed if I could, but I'd have to make do with the little things, which mainly consisted of gifts and photos. I held the stuffed dalmatian from our first date, sick from the memory. That hazy, happy feeling I had for that night was long gone, but those moments of conflict would still creep in.

The feelings of being torn about who I thought he was, how this person who I loved could be so brutal and vindictive, wondering if that's who he always was. I held that dalmation and I thought of that night, questioning if everything was an act of perfection, like I used to think he was. Was any of it even real? I knew it was a question that would forever remain unanswered.

Once I had thrown it away, I moved on to my dresser, making sure I did a full sweep of every surface and every drawer. I came across the diamond butterfly necklace he gave me in New York, but it didn't have my attention for long.

My eyes skipped to the little cardboard box from Nate, the one that held a butterfly far more valuable than diamonds. The butterfly he spent hours searching for, just for me. A twinge of pain clutched my heart as I looked at the shell.

I was harsh at the restaurant, maybe too harsh. But I wasn't going to burden him with the broken shards inside me. They were being held together with the mere frame of my body, too fragile to be touched again. Too messy, too complicated. Too hopeless.

Stringing him along, giving him that hope — it was cruel. I couldn't do that to him, so I cut those strings before he got tangled in them. It had to be done.

Then, Rob faintly called me from his room, snapping me out of thought. He called again as I opened his door, his voice stronger. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, reading a letter. A scattered pile of envelopes were on his nightstand. But that wasn't what I noticed first; it was how pale his face was.

"I was going through the cards from the hospital—"

"Only now?" I asked, glancing at the pile.

"I forgot about them." He shrugged. "They're usually all the same anyway, except..." Then he held out the one in his hand, offering it to me.

Rob —
I shouldn't be writing this letter, and I shouldn't be in Oceanview, but I hope you understand why I am. When I heard about the accident, I hadn't felt a loss like that since the night I lost you and your sister. Thankfully it wasn't a loss and you pulled through, but I had to see you for myself this time. If you're anything like me, and I know you are, seeing me in person would stir up more anger than comfort. You don't need that right now. But once you've recovered, if you're open to it, I would like the chance to meet the man you've grown into. And I'd like you to meet the man I've grown into as well. He is a far cry from the kid I used to be.
Between the boy I left behind and the young man you are now, there's a lifetime of things I've missed. I'm sorry I haven't been there for everything in between. It was never my choice, and I think you're old enough to know that now. Please show this to Lia too.
I love you both,
Dad.