Hopelessly Devoted - Bradley Will Simpson.

Letter Nine.

Bradley;

 

Remember the time I wrote you a letter, saying how I couldn’t do better?

Every word was from the heart and oh so meaningful. You read it over and over and said that it would be with you always. You said you’d hit the homerun with me, and then you’d list the many reasons why you believed that was true.

Present day, well that’s more like a foul ball. I pathetically tried the door, which was of course locked at this time of night. This leading to plan B. Upon spotting the trellis alongside the brickwork, I gently watched my footing as I ascended further and further.

Do you remember when we were both in our ‘rebellious phase’ my love? It’s one of my favourite memories to relive, because we were truly in love. Every night you would slide down the drainpipe to meet me, because conventional methods were forbidden. Every night we would run.

One night we ended up in a late-night restaurant, though we had little money to our names. We were in a booth surrounded by people twice, maybe thrice, our age. We had no idea what we were going to do, just the idea of being in an adult situation amused us.

We sat at either end of the table with only candlelight providing a line of vision. You would take my hands in yours and list all the reasons why you believed we’d be together forever.

Is that not cruel irony, my love?

Snapping out of my much sweeter reminiscing state, I continued to climb the trellis, the odd nettle stinging my hand as I progressed. Much like a metaphor of our relationship. There were many people that tried to come between us. Say I was no good for you, there were those better suited for you. Me, I was different. I had nobody, nobody cared. Except you.

Upon reaching the tip of the trellis I climbed through a conveniently open window and headed straight over to a nearby filing cabinet. Bradley, I know you’re gone, I’m ever so slowly coming to terms with that. But what I’m not believing is why.

Flipping through document after document of those deceased, I finally retrieved your file. It wasn’t caked in dust like those surrounding it, so someone had taken an interest in you recently. The thought alone was enough to make my stomach turn, but I swallowed back the negativity and opened your file.

 

Name: Bradley Will Simpson.

Cause of death: Shot. Three times in chest upon first glance.

Post-mortem results: Tests inconclusive. Further examination needed.

In case of developments contact: Elyssia Tabard, James McVey, Tristan Evans, Connor Ball.

Relationship(s) to victim: Girlfriend and Housemates.

 

At the very bottom was a picture of you in your current state. Pale, lifeless, like an angelic doll. Sub-consciously, my fingers stroked over your non-physical lips. Of course, tears were threatening to erupt, and I slipped your file into my bag and left the room, heading for you.

They didn’t tell us you were shot three times. They didn’t contact us. A bunch of liars were who we had to entrust you with. A bunch of liars that didn’t bother to let us, the people that care about you, know the developments that arose with your case. On top of all that, upon first glance? We left you with people that don't bother to go in depth with anything to do their jobs? 

Anger was boiling through my veins, and the amount was increasing with every step I took. It was at this level of anger you used to wrap your arms around me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear, every time resulting in the anger being replaced with affection.

I was engrossed in reliving those fond memories to the extent that the journey to your current residence was cut short. My fingers grazed over the harsh brickwork as I entered the room, a chill attacking me as an arguable pre-warning.

With a sudden rush of adrenaline, presumably from our soon to be reunion I scanned through the shelves and found you. I grasped the metal handle and pulled gently.

A half hour later, I was gone. Broken down completely, pathetically slumped against the cobble and brick. My wails and hopeless sobs echoed from every wall and every crevice, the only thing in my vision being your distant form, lying motionless.

I don’t know how long I sat there. But I, again, resulted to living in the past. The time you suggested we all played truth or dare, us and the boys. You always were one for the mischievous side of life, weren’t you Bradley?

By the end of the game the boys were in a state. Completely unprepared for the dares that fell upon them. Us, well we were ready. We had nothing to lose but each other, and as long as we were together we were up for anything.

It was nights like those I saw you at your happiest. After a night with me and the boys you were utterly and completely relaxed, blissful. In the dead of night when we were laid in a nearly but not quite state of sleep, that’s when I could tell. One of your arms would be wrapped around me, protecting me from whatever dangers may be lurking in the shadows. Your other hand would trace gentle patters on my back, as my body relaxed into a delicately curled form, laid against your own.

In the morning you would wake up extra early so you could surprise me. Often I found you sat at my bedside, giving me your full attention. When you realised I was awake you would lean forward and ever so softly press your lips to mine, just refreshing your love for me early in the morning. That’s what you used to say, wasn’t it?

My sobs continued perilously, showing no signs of stopping. We were finally reunited, but in the cruellest way. Our reunions used to consist of me jumping into your arms and a kiss being shared that was so passionate, and you would spin me around.

And what’s happening now? Not that. My tears beat down onto the cobbled floor harshly, my wails filling the empty air which had been filled familiarly by countless people in similar situations in the past.

I’d guess a few hours passed as I sat there helplessly, just letting out what I had been keeping in for months on end. I only liked to cry in front of you, as you were the only one that could make me stop. Just by being you. Perfect, flawless you.

It seemed like a lifetime until I saw another moving being. He came running in after hearing one of my many sobs into the nothingness, a slightly phased security guard lingered around the doorway. I wasn’t going to bother faking a smile. Was I bothered about being seen like this? Not anymore. I knew the truth, and it was all the more realistic than the fairytale I was led to believe before.

He wrapped me into a hug and I left substituted crying into my hands for crying into his shoulder, my tears dropped in a trail onto his jumper, and my bag slipped off of my lap, your file slipping out in the process.

Upon seeing your name on the file, his gaze went over to you, and he figured it out. I knew it, and he was soon to know it. Your best friend opened your file and read through it, his gaze going from it to you, and back again.

 

Seeing you, in that state, in your forevermore state, brought a miniscule wisp of closure. But bucketloads of determination. I was going to find out what happened for myself, for the boys, for us.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Please leave a vote and comment letting me know what you thought x

Twitter - (@)parodyvamps

 

The song for this chapter is What Does It Take by Davedays. This song is one of my genuine all-time favourites, so if you're a true authoring fan give it a listen/watch in the sidebar (obviously kidding, but it is one of my favourites) x