A/N: Dedication goes to Zoellalalala for her absolutely lovely comment last chapter.
Um, that's all I've really got to say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Letters
(It takes him a long time before he’s ready to go through her things. And they all knew it would be hard on him, but not this hard, not: completely crippling numbness, denial, seizure shakes. Emily offers to stay with him and he doesn’t know why. In the end, Em never really even knew her. But then again, he doesn’t really care, can’t bring himself to care because what’s the point?
He declines; it’s hard enough when he’s on his own.
Even before he opens the first drawer, he stands still and dead eyed.
It takes an hour and
When he finds them, he can’t quite believe it and his hands shake because this is: booksmoviesmusic; this is: doesn’t-happen-in-real; this is: hoping,drowning,gasping,sobbing; this is- And he can’t breathe for a
And then he’s tearing open the first coffee-stained envelope because he recognizes her writing, knows her touch -she’s touched this-
The first is not for him, but he doesn’t care. It’s from her. And that’s all that he can think about.
That’s all that matters. Her,her,her,her)
* * *
(Drawn on notebook paper and stuffed into a yellow, squared, greeting-card style envelope, obviously the most easily accessible.)
Mrs. Bransen,
I’m sorry.
(The next is written in blue ink, instead of the previous black, obviously from a later date.)
That’s an awful thing to leave you; I see that now. But I’d only just been with you a month; I wasn’t even speaking yet. Remember? At least I’d realized to leave you something. But now… Now things are different. I met Claire and I’m finally- For the first time in almost seven years, I think I might be okay. My birthday is next week. I’m turning eighteen and- That’s a big deal. Not just because I’m finally out, but because I, I kept a promise and made it and, well.
I just wanted you to know I’m okay. With the whole dying thing. So you should be too.
If dadd- (This is scribbled out, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the marks and he can just make out the words.) If my father was right, then I’ll be happy. And. I just wanted you to know.
Roza
(He looks, but there’s nothing else. He wishes later that he had savored, but now he’s just starving for more. He throws the paper to the side and rips open the next.)
(Written in red pen on a sheet of printer paper with smudges of charcoal, as if the edge of someones hand had been coated in the stuff when they’d transcribed the letter.)
Claire and James, (The “and James” has been penciled in.)
I should have started writing this earlier, but I only started writing any letters at the very end of June. And, as you know, a lot has happened since then. Then again, it’s been almost two months since then, so that’s not much of an excuse anymore I guess.
I met William and, (His hands tighten, crinkling the paper even further) I know you know that, but I don’t know what to do again. I’m stuck and I keep thinking that I should have told you I was sick so that I’d have someone to talk to now.
I can’t tell him.
He should have known from the beginning, but I was selfish, Claire; I didn’t want him to leave and now he’s- I’ve tried ignoring it, but I think he’s attached to me. I think it’s too late to push him away. If I even had any idea how- I’ve already done everything I might normally do.-- Honestly? I don’t want to.
I’m sorry; I’m rambling.
What I wanted to say- I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. William might be here now, but you were here first. Thank you.
Roza
(Inked with blue marker on a sheet of yellow legal pad paper.)
Matthew,
I’ve already written two letters. I thought that Claire and Mrs. Bransen would be it, but I guess not.
I don’t know how you wriggled your way into this mess too, really, I don’t. I’ve been trying my hardest to stay away from everyone.
I can hear your answer in my head, like an annoying little conscious: “What about Will?” (And he’s finding it hard to move because: What about Will?) In my defense, Matthew, I- Okay, you know what, you’re right; I’ve been doing chalk crap to distance him. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. There’s really no excuse. I’m just an extremely selfish person.
But don’t I get some right to be selfish? What with the dying bit anyway?
…
I’m sorry; that was a low blow. I just, nevermind. Why am I even talking about this? I’m supposed to be writing a letter to you, not a list of my issues.
Okay, so, here’s the deal: You were my first ever male friend. I mean, there’s Will, but he’s more of, I don’t know what, but friend isn’t right. Especially after knowing you. (He sits back because- and, well, that hurt.) You pretended like I was normal, even after you found out.
(Penciled in margins, with an arrow circling the last sentence:) Well, now that makes sense. Just by the way, Sarah does not hate you. I swear. If she hated you, she wouldn’t care so much.
I told the other ones thank you and, I want to say that too, but more so, and this may sound trite, but:
Take care of Sarah.
Roza
* * *
(Scribbled on the back of a napkin in smeared pencil)
Sarah,
You never were for those cliche little things like goodbye letters; I can just hear you laughing at me, telling me not to be emotional, that it wasn’t that big a deal.
You always were such a notorious liar.
But I’ll get to the point and be short and sweet.
One, I love you, you might not like hearing it, but I do and it needs to be said.
Two, stop pushing Niall away; you might have had reason to before, but not now. Niall is a grown -censored- man who is very capable of handling your -censored- Goodness gracious, Sarah, give yourself a chance at happiness. Think of it as my “dying wish” if you will.
And last, I know you don’t know him very well and there are a million other people I could ask, literally, but you are my sister.
Make sure Harry moves on.
Roza
A/N: Don't forget to COMMENT!! Please. I'm literally begging you silent readers to pipe up. The longer the better obviously, but even the smallest "<3" counts and makes my day!
