Dear Chloe Price | by 3BulletNecklace

4. Long Drives

Dear Chloe Price,
I was walking on the street and for a while I managed not to think about anything. The researches and analysis for Warren's and the other scientist's study went quite well. They're understanding how my brain works and why I could reverse time, but I don't want to rewind anymore so they're also kind at a dead point. But I just pretend to care, because I have not the capacity to do so anymore.

I had a tea date or whatever with Kate in a diner near her house. It was weird that it wasn't The Two Whales, but it also wasn't.
There's something about today that feels right, even if I lost the will to feel anything except sadness and desperation and unfulfillable (is that even a word?) loneliness.

And yeah it hurts to be alive, but today it felt like when we were in your truck and you were driving us to the lighthouse, or to Blackwell, or to your house like that night after the swimming pool. Damn I miss those moments so much. I miss something that never happened, isn't it crazy?

I wonder who's using that crappy truck of yours now. Your mother asked David to sell it, she couldn't bear to see it, it reminded her of you too much. Joyce is hurting so much and I know how she feels.

I'd give anything to see your eyes paying attention to the road in front of you again. To hear the noise of the truck doors close and the engine start. To smell the mix of rusted metal, cigarettes smoke and gasoline.
I remember you driving during twilight. You were such a beautiful sight. I'd take a picture of you and I know it would be one of the best.

When you were driving I could see a different you. Those were rare moments of you being cautious, careful, you paid so much attention to everything. Maybe because of William. In fact you were fragile, melancholic. Well that really was just you. A side of yourself I was luky enough to know, notice and be somehow a part of. I was one of your weaknesses, wasn't I?

I imagine staring at the stars with you on Arcadia Bay cliff while sitting in the back of your truck. Maybe we could have brought covers and pillows to enjoy the night better. Maybe we would have fallen asleep under the night sky in eachother's arms. And we would have felt so free.

But I got another recurrent thought, one more desperate that makes me helpless, because I love you but you're dead.
I'd like to taste your lips in a tender kiss after a long drive to the lighthouse in your old truck.

I'll never forget about you.