The Fat Girl Somehow Stole My Heart

33

3 months.
2 weeks.
4 days.

It has been 3 months, 2 weeks and 4 days since Wendy went missing.

3 months, 2 weeks and 4 days since a picture of her corpse was sent.

3 months, 2 weeks and 4 days since any communication from her murderer(s) was made.

3 months, 2 weeks and 4 days of unbearable torture, suffering and agony.

I lost hope.

There is no more hope.

My reason for living was gone.

I'd never see her again. Dead or alive. It was time I accepted that.

There was no reason for me to live anymore.

The police had done their best.

For the first 2 months, they were on this case 24/7, following every single lead that came through.

There was a lot of fake leads since Wendy's father had offered $500 000 to anyone who had information.

Anyone who could lead the police to Wendy's actual body would receive $1 000 000.

People, of course, went crazy.

When no real leads came up, he wanted to increase the cash reward since he could afford to, but the police advised against it. This case has since turned into a cold case.

Wendy's parents did interviews on TV, put up her picture on huge billboards, made pamphlets, posted on the Internet, did radio interviews, literally everything that could be done.

But none of it reaped anything. Natasha never called or sent another message.

I was sure it was her. It couldn't have been anyone else.

She's the only person who I have wronged and hurt as much as I am hurting right now.

In only 3 months, I have gotten hospitalised twice for dehydration. On my second visit, I was also diagnosed with severe depression. I wasn't surprised.

My mom forced me to attend therapy and take antidepressants. The pills are not helping.

I have constant nightmares. Nightmares of Wendy calling out to me, asking me to help her. So I avoid sleeping now.

I haven't been attending school at all. The headmaster called my mom the other day and told her that I'm going to have to repeat this grade next year. I honestly didn't give a fuck.

Wendy's memorial is tomorrow. Her family has accepted that she's gone. Though the police haven't found her body.

I'm not going to attend the memorial. Actually, I can't attend the memorial because her family banned me.

Everyone in the community was invited except for me. I was specifically told not to come. Her family hate me because their daughter was killed by Natasha. Natasha, who killed their daughter because of me.

I don't blame them. I hate me too.

I decided to starve myself. This way I can die slowly while punishing myself at the same time.

I haven't eaten or drank anything for the past 4 to 5 days.

Since I "eat" in my room, my mom thinks I'm still eating. But I throw away the food into the outside rubbish plastics so that she doesn't see it.

There won't be a funeral. Her family is traditional so they cannot have a funeral without a body. So this memorial is the only thing that was going to remember Wendy and celebrate her life.

I wasn't allowed to commemorate the love of my life.

I closed my eyes as I let my tears slip out. That's all I seem to be doing these days. Cry.

I covered myself fully with my blankets and curled my body into a caterpillar-like position. My bed and I had become best friends.

All of a sudden, I heard a knock on my door. "Tyler?" My mom softly said.

I sighed before I called out, "Come in."

She came in with a warm and sympathetic smile. My mom has been very supportive in this whole ordeal though she did hint the other day that it was time for me to move on.

"There's a letter for you here." She handed me a white envelope.

The envelope had my name handwritten on it in a unique cursive writing. This was not my first time seeing this type of cursive writing.

I weakly smiled. "Thank you."

She nodded. "You'll scream if you need anything?"

I nodded.

She left my room and guilt consumed me. I felt guilty that I was throwing away food that she was working so hard for to provide for me.

Pushing the guilt to the back of my mind, I opened the letter.

Dear Tyler,

I hope you have fully felt the pain of losing a person you love. I hope you now understand all that I went through when you killed my brother.

I was originally going to kill your mother, but I realised that you would have had your precious girlfriend to comfort you. That's when the idea of killing your girlfriend instead, arose.

I knew how much you loved her. I have been stalking you for years. When she came into your life, I stalked her too. I knew everything about her. My private investigator took photos of you and her in public everyday. I could see the love you had for her, even through photos. I knew she was the new love of your life. And therefore, she was exactly who I had to kill in order to make you pay.

So I abducted her. Right after you spoke to her over the phone. I hired a man to drug her in her room and then take her to me.

I tortured her. I left her to starve for days. I would only give her water and dry bread once in a while. I hired more men to look after her while I was gone. I don't know what they did to her during those days. But I gave them permission to do whatever they wanted with her.

She refused to die despite all the torture, so I decided to kill her myself. I slit her wrists and sent you the photo of her lifeless body.

But, the truth is she didn't die. I didn't cut her wrists deep enough to burst her veins. I couldn't do it. I'm not a murderer. I don't want to be one. I wasn't going to do to you what you did to me but I was going to make you believe I did. So I purposely sent you that photo to make you believe she was dead.

By the time this letter reaches you, I will have disappeared. Below is the address of her whereabouts. Farewell, my first love. 'Till we meet again.

17 Brinkworth.
Nevadafontein.
Northern Cape, Karoo.
87665.

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