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"Truth Be Told: August 13th, 2007."
August 13th, 2007.
Dearest Violet,
You're going to hate me by the end of this letter. I never thought those words would come out of my mouth, but it's time I tell you.
I know you still don't have your memories back . . . I can't imagine how hard it's been left unknowing of what truly happened. I thought it might be best if I was the one who told you before you heard it from someone else. So, I guess, here we go . . .
You were upset. You were so upset about something that happened that night. That night, one year ago today. You called me crying and your words were so jumbled I couldn't understand anything you were saying. I was trying to reassure you that everything would be okay, whatever it was, but you were too overwhelmed to listen. You told me you wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, away from your house. I told you to meet me out front, and I would take us to our place.
You were outside already when I got there. Your hair was a mess and your eyes were red from crying so much. We both got into my car and as soon as we pulled out of the driveway your parents were standing on the porch yelling at you, asking you to please come back inside. You demanded for me to "Drive. Just drive." as you tried your best to calm down.
I drove to the cliff; a spot we deemed ours when we were fourteen. It was at the top of a hill overlooking our town. We found it one day after a storm had hit and ruined all the trees and paths people would walk down. You sat on the edge for the longest time. Your feet were dangling over the side and you did nothing but stare out at the horizon. I sat on a fallen log, unsure of what to do or what to say, as if I'd come up with something eventually. You spoke after a while, you asked if I had any alcohol. You weren't the type who liked to drink a lot, but occasionally we came here and did whenever we felt like it. There was some we left in a hollow tree the last time we'd come. I brought it over to you, and you opened a can eagerly.
You didn't say much after that, only sitting and drinking quietly. I knew you were still upset though, each time you took a sip you cried harder and harder. You finished a pack so quickly I wasn't even sure it was ever full to begin with. Your phone rang then, but you didn't answer it. You were out of tears and I was sure you were far from sober. "I need to go see my parents," you said. I told you we should wait a bit, until you could think a little more clearly. You immediately got mad and grabbed my keys off the log, running to my car.
Before I even knew it you were starting to drive away and I was running towards you trying to get you to stop. I was able to jump in the passenger seat through the window- God knows how at the speed you were going. I remember yelling at you to stop as we sailed down the road, but you were determined. I didn't even know why you were so mad in the first place, and I hadn't the slightest clue why you needed to see your parents so badly. I pleaded for you to pull over so we could talk about it. You were swerving left and right, definitely not stable enough to handle a vehicle.
There was one other car on the road, one coming straight at us. I realized then we were on the wrong side of the road and you didn't even attempt to get out of the way. All I remember hearing was a loud horn honking before everything faded out.
You hit the other car in a head-on collision, both of the other passengers dying on scene. You hit your head against the steering wheel, I can imagine that's how you lost your memory. Your parents were in the other car . . . they were out looking for you. I'm so sorry, Violet. God, I'm so sorry. My hands are shaking as I write this. I feel like it's all my fault. I should've tried harder to get you to pull over. I can't even imagine what it's like for you to be reading this.
I'm so sorry. That's all I can say. I can't even finish this letter . . . I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.
