His Princess

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

It had been days since I had taken the trip to the hospital to pick up my dad’s medicine with Evan’s help. Everything had gone relatively well since then, but one thing still bothered me.

Should I go back to volunteering there?

The last time I had been was really to say goodbye to the few patients and residents who I visited constantly. None of them got a straight reason why I left, but they didn’t ask either which made me all the more thankful for them.

The reason I had decided to start volunteering was a year or so back when my friends and I had gone to a club and one had drank too much and fell onto broken glass, we went to the hospital to get it stitched up.

I had wondered off and saw all these people in hospital – some were so sad and lonely and some had the biggest smile on their faces despite everything.

That made me return time after time for a reason that I couldn’t quite pinpoint even now and eventually it became a daily thing and I enjoyed just being in the atmosphere of it all.

Leaving will always be one of the hardest things I had to do in my life and I felt guilty about it a lot of the time.

On this particular day though, I had to face another guilt. And that guilt is what happened after high school. Back then, I left behind all my friends and my communication with all of them faltered except Britney but that was only because we attended the same university and classes.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I lost them and it, but I often wondered if I could’ve done something different, but in the end, I never could do anything about it. In the end, I  would just concluded that it had been my fault.

The only thing that I did now to keep whatever contact I still had with them was sending out a few letters every month or so. I didn’t want to text or call them; letters just seemed the right thing to do.

So, at 6am in the morning I stood in front of the big, red and quite intimidating mailbox with a stack of letters in my hand on top of my books for university and mentally and continuously telling myself to just shove the whole stake in.

I heaved out, loudly. “Come on, you’ve done this many times before, just put them in and leave. Easy,” I taunted myself.

The last time, I was standing in front of this mailbox with the letters addressed to the exact same people; I had been standing there for long over 30 minutes. And just like this time, I had been wasting my time staring at the one, same box.

The only reason I had eventually pushed the letter in last time was because of middle aged man with his own letter who seemed extremely annoyed by anything and everything was blabbering behind me and seeming like he could murder someone any moment, so acting on instinct I just pushed the letters in and ran away.

Well, I didn’t exactly have fear to motivate me right now. Barely anyone was even on the sidewalk. Maybe I should’ve just asked for that middle-aged man’s number so for when I need more fear adrenaline.

I sighed. I was really procrastinating here.

After minutes later of pointlessness and nothingness, I eventually pushed up the courage to put the first letter into the mailbox.

Despite the fact that I had been repetitively telling myself to just all the letters in at once, I found it was more sentimental to put them in one by one. Until I finally got up to the last few letters of some of the closest friends I had back when I still had them. And I was reading off their names: