Between You and I

Chapter Thirty- Five: Document Four- Mary Jane

May 23, 2012: 251 Hours After

The words 'letting go' was etched neatly into her bedroom door handle.

When I walked into her house, each footstep grew heavy as I saw memories of young Valentine and I running around the place. Moving boxes were pilled up here and there and Mr. Holmes told me that they were moving soon, so I should do whatever I need in the house before then. For once, he actually didn't smell like alcohol. And for the second time, I saw Mrs. Holmes, packing up the left over things that needed to be put away.

The sight of it all was sad. Mr. Holmes threw his alcohol away because he knew Valentine hated it, and Mrs. Holmes came back because she knew that her daughter wanted her home. It was a pathetic try at making things right because it's too late for that. It's way too late, and they know that.

I open her bedroom door and head over to the bed to sit, and I swear that it still smells like the way she did. The computer slides easily out of my backpack and it takes a few seconds to whirr to life. 'Mary Jane' is the document underneath 'Winter Prom', and I give myself a second to remember her. Mary Jane, I mean. When Valentine joined a different crowd, Charlie and Mary Jane were the only people who would talk to me out of school.

Truth be told, she actually helped me forget about my long time 'crush' on Valentine bit by bit. She was amazing and everything that a guy could wish for. When she said yes to going out on a date with me, I couldn't believe it. For a while, I thought that I was actually getting better. Sure, slowly unloving Valentine was taking time, but I thought that Mary Jane would wait until it was completely gone.

Then she broke up with me. She broke up with me because when she asked me about Valentine, I couldn't look her straight in the eye and tell her that I no longer felt anything toward my life long love because it was still there. I tried to tell her that it was going away, but she wouldn't listen.

She left me.

And I got worse for a while.

I type in 'letting go' into the password box, unlocking the document and letting words flood onto the screen as I start to read.

+++++

"When you look into the mirror, what do you see?" That question was a question that my homeroom teacher had asked the class before. As usual, no one answered except for that one smart ass who said, "My sexy self." No one else bothered to speak up because that question made them think of all the horrible labels they've grown up with.

Fat.

Slut.

Stupid.

Ignorant.

Selfish.

Ugly.

Outcast.

All these things have drilled into their heads so deep that they see them when they see themselves. Everybody has these duck taped faces where they feel like they can't escape, but they don't want anybody to know. Which is why they kept their mouths shut. Of course, I did, too, but if I did answer, I wouldn't have let those labels surface. I would have plainly told them all that I wouldn't bring myself to look in the mirror in the first place.

The words never change. People never change. It was the same routine everyday and I had faked every smile and laugh. When I used to think about it, it scared me that I could pretend that nothing was wrong when everything was all out of line. How I would beat myself up when nobody was around and act alright when they were. What I'm trying to say is that when you were with Mary Jane, I couldn't fake it anymore.

I was jealous of the girl because she was beautiful. She was kind, funny, loud, and I knew that you liking her was something that you would really do. Mary Jane was someone who made you better while I was someone who made you feel the opposite. And I knew that if you kept being with her, you would love her and forget about me.

The only person who knew me would leave me, too.

That thought scared me to points I couldn't imagine. Those nights were the nights where I almost did it. Where I almost swallowed the pills without leaving you anything because with her you would be more than fine with me not there.

But those nights were the nights I also missed you the most, and I couldn't do it.

I missed the way you'd laugh.

How you'd smile for nothing at all.

How you could hold my hand if I was scared or cold or simply because you wanted to.

You did those things for her then instead of for me.

The next thing I did was incredibly bitchy and I regretted doing it ever since. I was a blind, selfish, daughter of a madman who couldn't let you go. Of all the things, you were the one I couldn't let go.

Mary Jane was walking home alone one day. I caught up with her. It was awkward because she knew about how we were before and we barely spoke. Small talk that was hollow went though the air between us. Honestly? I had no idea what I was doing or what I was going to say.

There was a point where I thought that I was just being stupid and that I shouldn't even try to talk to her. But then she said, "You still love him, don't you?" She completely threw me off my train of thought and I felt the heat rush to my head because I hated myself for being so obvious.

"I see the way you look at him then turn away like it bothers you. Especially when I'm with him." One thing about her that made her different was that she ran on logic. She could see scattered puzzle pieces then piece them together like it was nothing. I nodded, and the two of us stopped walking as she tried to think of what to say.

"I'm sorry that you do, but we're together, now." My mind thought 'it's okay, I know that', though my mouth said, "But he doesn't love you."

"Excuse me?"

"He still loves me, too." Those words were nothing but an in- the- moment out burst and I had no idea if they were true or not. They shut her up, her cheeks flaring bright red and she glared at me, the gears in her brain churning. She slapped me, told me, "Stay away from him," then stomped off.

Next thing I knew, she broke up with you and you went downhill. Yet again, I screwed up and I had to watch you suffer for it. Maybe you really did love her after all, and you could have been happy if I hadn't said anything.

Here's another point, Dan.

I was selfish.

Horrible.

Bitchy.

A mistake.

A liar.

And a person that just can't be saved.

Yet, on the night before I left, you told me you loved me. That made me fearless in the face of letting you go because you loved me, and I loved you, and love isn't supposed to hurt like this. You've become such a huge part of me that in order to let you go...

I had to let go of myself.

Dan, I didn't need to look in the mirror to know the disgusting things I was, but you didn't care. The fact makes you all the more wonderful in ways I can't express because I ruined you over and over and over again, yet you still stayed.

Thank you for staying.

The very last thing you'll ever read from me to you is my letter. My note. It's the goodbye I've never had the chance to say. The password is in 'the Middle of Nowhere'. Our little space of freedom and nothing.

If dead souls could feel, I'd feel two things.

I know that I'd still love you.

And that I miss you like hell's fire eating my body whole.