Bitter Sweet

Letter to Sarah - Locked

I think Grayson deserves a big round of applause here.




Dedicated to Brielle because she's as supportive as heck. Thank you so much for being indescribably amazing wifey! xoxo




~




To Sarah,




There are four months until Avery's death anniversary.




It's never hit me as hard as this - the pain, the guilt, the everything. Fucking everything.







Me: Mom, give me back my phone.




Mom: Gray, you spend too much time on it. Get out there, go play with McKenna and all your other friends.




Me:




Me:




Mom: Gray -




Me: Don't call me that.




Mom: Call you what?




Me: Calling me Gray. I hate that nickname, can't you cut it out?




Mom: I don't understand, Avery used to always called you that -







I wouldn't let her finish. I slammed the door to my room and lock it just for the sake of locking myself up.




She doesn't understand anything. My phone was practically the only thing I own that a) doesn't require sitting down in the family room under the full attention of mom and b) allows me to almost not remember my own name, much less Avery's. I would watch hours of YouTube videos until it was time for dinner - and after that, another hardcore session of YouTube before I finally give up.




It seems like just yesterday when Happy Grayson still existed alongside with his older sister. Now, a few miles down the road, they were both nowhere to be seen; Happy Grayson was replaced with a mask, and his sister replaced by a tombstone.




No matter how many hours pass by at night, a wink of sleep usually never comes. I guess my heart is trying too hard to think about Avery and my brain is trying too hard to not.




Sometimes, when sleep hails grace, I wake up every morning to dried-up tears that stain my face and a throat that's raw from choking back sobs.




Mom knows there's something wrong. Hell, there was always something wrong with me. My therapist has his records to prove it.




Now that mom has confiscated my phone, I have nothing else other than my Rubik's cubes. Two-by-two's, three-by-three's, five-by-five's - they line my shelf, waiting to be solved again and again. If only life were any one of those cubes - it'd be much easier.







You're probably wondering why I'm writing to you, Sarah Evans, when I don't even know you a whole lot. Well, Sarah Addison is too intimidating to write to (no doubt about that). Writing to Avery feels like speaking to her ghost.




She's still here somewhere, I swear.




So I guess you were the best choice. You smile a lot, but you're so quiet too (unlike McKenna). Besides, it's not like I'm going to send this or anything.




I guess I'll just have to lock myself up like a treasure box and then throw away the key.




Sincerely,

Grayson.