dear violet ➳ andy biersack (currently editing)

31

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chapter
twenty nine
andy

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I reached out across the matress, seeking Violet.

But instead of hair or clothes or skin, my fingers connected with something thin and crinkling.

A piece of paper torn out of a notebook, creased and blotched with blue ink.

A letter from Violet.

At first I felt a cold flash of fear, but as I propped myself up on my elbows to read her messy writing, I was unable to stop the grin that broke across my face.

This letter was nothing like all her previous. Here she wrote with lightning, reflecting on her pain and telling me the things that we'd both secretly known deep down all along.

It all boiled down to the last paragraph.

You don't need to worry anymore, now that I've recognised the hope that's there. I'm not gonna spring a trap on you. I've got too much to live for.

Your Violet

"You're damn right you do!" I shouted at the empty room in a burst of ecstasy, laughing through the sudden onslaught of tears.

Damn right.

She finally understood. She understood that to me, she was worth more than over a million stars, to me, she was worth the entire world and everything cooped up inside it. To me, her worth was immeasurable.

I loved her for who she was.

She was a good person, with a gorgeous mind and a warm heart.

I loved Violet because she was Violet.

And now she would try to as well.

• • •

I strutted down the pavement in my jack skellington boots, missing the cracks in the tar.

The sun warmed the back of my neck, kissed my shoulders. Yellow taxis whizzed by, the world trotting on around me with a renewed sense of purpose.

The trees were blooming in feverish green, the sky a clear bubblegum blue.

Excitement bubbled in my veins.

What had Violet prepared? Why the caffé? Would she be waiting for me with her snow white hair gleaming in the sun and good news perched on her lips?

I dragged a hand through my wild hair, pulling it away from my face.

As I rounded the corner, the cute little caffé presented itself. Framed by old oak trees with a bright pink neon sign reading the words 'daytime coffee and performances, nightime discos.'

Performances?

Had Violet planned for us to watch something together? A specific singer perhaps?

I walked in, feeling a surge of surprise at what I saw.

The caffé wasn't a normal caffé.

It appeared to be half resteraunt, half punk party avenue.