Kiss Me My Darling, Darling I Need You.

Chapter 8: Set Fire to the Rain.

|Matt|

|Boston, Massachusetts|

I sat on the cold concrete before the show in Boston. October hit the East Coast hard, the wind blew bitterly. I had my hoodie zipped up all the way to my chin, I still shivered. The guys were talking amongst each other, enjoying a cigarette and some food that Charlie grilled up. I excluded myself from the group, not because I didn't like them, I just felt awkward right now. I believe I was going crazy. I swear I saw Bow in a coffee shop earlier today. My breath was taken away and my heart stopped, but as quickly as she was there, she was gone. I think reading her book has made me go mad. I want to punch whoever left it on my bunk, they said I'd find the answers I was looking for, and I didn't. Nothing made sense. The book was about a witch who was cursed by a wizard when she refused to give him what he wanted. Her husband went from a soft, loving warrior to someone who abused her until a kind traveller stumbled upon her stone heart, he brought life back to it. But this attracted her husband whom she still loved very much. The traveller and her husband bided a war against each other. But before they could kill one and other, she fled her home and everything she cared for, for the safety of her unborn child. Her child grew into a loving young man who looked like his father. That child then went looking for his father at the end of the book, he just found his dad then the story ended.

I didn't understand it. What questions could this have possibly answered for me? Nothing made any sense. But that book was only the cherry on top of my confusion sundae. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that the guys were acting odd around me these last couple days. Ever since Rae returned back to California after visiting us for a quick night, the guys have been acting . . . odd around me. I'm not sure why. I haven't gotten black out drunk so I know I haven't said or done anything that crosses any lines. I haven't felt this socially awkward since Bow left the first time and I was just a puddle of pathetic mess. God, the first time she left was so much easier than the second time. Sure, I said and did a lot of things I know I shouldn't have in order to try and get her back, but that pain doesn't come close to the one I felt when I received that letter.

Dearest Matt,

Fuck, those words rang like church bells in my head for months. Dearest Matt, was like the punchline to a racist joke in a room full of black people. You know it's going to hurt when it's all over and done with, it's going to hurt to read and listen to your own voice say those words. Somehow when you say things out loud it makes everything so much more official, it makes everything so much more painful. Like watching a scary movie that takes place in a house. You can empathize in the slightest, so it's going to make everything so much worse. How many more times do I need to murder myself before I become a basket case? Or am I already a basket case? Have I gone utterly insane with loneliness and guilt? Have I lost my mind and my heart? Sometimes when I go to sleep I'm afraid I'll wake up by the door, waiting for her to come walking through it to kiss and hold me, to fix me. Man, I'm in far too deep with her. Sometimes I convince myself that I'm only a man obsessed. I probably am. If I found Bow, she'll probably file a restraining order against me. Then again, I'd do the same thing. I would do the same thing if I were her. I have done that on a fan once. Only because they actually found out where I lived and attempted to stalk me. It was awkward having a thirteen year old girl hitting on me. And that's why I stay far away from reading any fan fictions of any kind.

I tugged the envelope out of my inside pocket and pulled the letter out as if it were a book I enjoyed reading. It was my drug, I needed to kill myself just once more. It's always just once more. One more time I'll read the letter. One more time I'll let myself die inside. One more time I'll ask the same questions over again. One more time, just one more time and I'll stop. But I never stop. I'm addicted to reading this God forsaken letter. I'm addicted to my own self destruction.