The Kwisling [The Isbjørn book 2]

Forty-one

John-

I'm sorry that I have to do this. But I just need time. Time to get my head back on straight.

I'll give you a moment to laugh about that last part.

I wish I had a few more minutes to process all of this, but I know you can be a light sleeper so I'm just throwing all my thoughts down on paper here.

So. . . I guess my life didn't really begin until you walked out of the Hansley's house. And that was just a taste of the shit you'd pull me into. I'd never held a gun before you handed me one in Easthaven. (You didn't ask so I didn't say anything)

But you changed me and probably for the better.

I almost didn't recognise you when we were reunited on the train. You were so wretchedly thin, John, and pale. I pretended past the beard and your dull and lifeless hair. Your lips were dry and cracked, it was hardest for me to pretend I didn't notice your lips. Its odd to think now, but I was not sure it was you until you pointed a gun at me.

I'm not going to say I love you, but I wouldn't have tracked you down, broken you out of a prison, and crossed an ocean if you weren't someone I cared about; then and even more now.

I want to be man enough to tell you to your face, to kiss you, to tell you over and over what you've come to mean to me, but I can't.

Not yet. . .

So there it is: I care about you. This might seem like a strange thing for me to say given the fact I'm leaving. But I've decided that it's possible to care about someone for entirely selfless reasons, for all of their flaws and weaknesses. It's sad perhaps, but not tragic, not in the way I think of tragedy anyway.

You know what? Fuck it.

I'm in love with you.

See you soon.

-Luce