Untitled Document

The Broken Bridge of Reconciliation

All footage has been edited to decrease file size and increase comprehension of relevant events, not to obscure the truth in any way. Analysts have added transcriptions for those otherwise unable to view it.

All previously deleted messages have been recovered and italicised for reader comprehension

Chat log 5

Nithead: You know
Nithead: Sometimes I wonder whether you've deleted my contact in your phone
Nithead: Does your phone report this as spam?
Nithead: Or are you so busy forgetting me that you're too scared to talk any more?

Account thing that I meant to do with She Who Shall Not Be Named

So,
I have this friend. I guess I should say had. Her name was Katherine, and I'd known her since year seven. We'd attended the same online class, and we were the internet equivalent of sitting next to each other: we checked each other's work in English. At the time I was mostly alone, my main company being books and music. I wasn't exactly lonely, but I had this image in my head of someone who completed and complimented me. It sounds like I just wanted a groupie or something, but it was much more than that. I needed a person that I could talk to as well, have an intelligent conversation with and just enjoy being with. Basically, I was desperate for a soulmate. Looking back, I wonder whether I genuinely liked Cat, or whether I projected all of my desires onto her. I'd never heard her speak, but I fell in love with the way she wrote. At the time, I loved her stories and only her stories. I didn't know that I would love her too. There was an inkling. A dash of potential. I should have ignored it. She had a way of writing that made you feel like you knew her, each syllable an invitation into her mind and arms. I wanted to know her so badly. Every time English Class rolled around, I would write my stories like a letter to her: the heroine wanted to know the witch who cursed her with a love potion. The hero yearned for the friendship of his frosty squire. The queen's eyes strayed from her laws to the clerk who marked them down. The rule for no communication in class between forms was beginning to feel the most unreasonable restriction in the history of classes. Call me a fool, but I began to feel like she was talking back. Confirmation finally arrived in the form of an acrostic poem we had to write for class:

Pretty ocean blue
Hopeful child toy
Over love relationship
New old
Eggs milk scrambled
Never ever forever
Under the sea
More greedy selfish
Bees flower meadow
Eros God Aphrodite
Render sketch paint
?

Definitely not her best work, but it did the job; all she had to do was keep every line consistent in its keywords, since the teacher just used a scanning bot to check that we did work, then left us alone. It was a daring move and one that I would never have dreamed of attempting. I was all the more determined to meet this girl who had figured out how to beat scanners and wrote like the person I wanted to be. She got her answer, a full month of texting, and a park to meet in. I was so nervous, like it was a date. I can still remember the first time I saw her. She was wearing a puffy coat, her hands shoved in her pockets, hunched in apprehension. She kept checking her phone, and I couldn't help but grin when I called her, searching her face for any sign of surprise when she looked up at me. A phone rang behind me. Caught off balance, I tried and failed to restrain my dog, flailed backwards, and landed on my bum in front of Cat, who was a completely different girl. I was a fool. Somehow, despite the terrible first impression, she was interested in being friends. I suspect that the primary reason was my dog, in retrospect. We met weekly, then bi-weekly, then daily. Things just kind of snowballed, with every second not spent in her company feeling like a wasted one. After three years of failing English Literature together, she had pretty much moved into my house. She was a part of me as much as my books and room and my dog and all the little things that defined me as me. I had fallen totally, irrevocably, and irretrievably in love with her, and she was just... perfect. Not angel-perfect, or bot-perfect, or anything like that, but she was the real-life version of the person I'd wanted for so long. I loved how she was enduringly patient. I loved how she spoke in a special voice to my dog. Who cared if everyone else did it? Hers was the best. I loved how she would sit on the swings, talking to my siblings like they were hers. I loved how she would be excited about the smallest things you achieved, every small step one giant leap for mankind. I loved how she would hug like you were the only thing keeping her from toppling over into nothingness. Fuck. I'm sorry. I can't do this. My Wristbit can't transcribe people when they're crying.

Security cam footage 1: kitchen

The film begins with a girl moving around a big kitchen. It's rare to see one nowadays - most of the units are kept in a cupboard in the dining room. It's relatively low-tech: the floor clearly does not contain sweepers, sprayers, or wipers. How do I know this? She's mopping it. I'm telling you, when it's useless to even keep cleaning stuff in the house most days, there's literally nothing to keep you in there. Still, the old house probably works best the way it is. The girl's pretty low-tech too: she has old school headphones on. I don't mean magnetic ones. You can see behind her ears (they're pretty big) and there aren't any patches. The headphones must be at least twenty years old, but she seems pretty happy with them. She's moving to a beat and mouthing the words, but stops when an unusually attractive British-African girl comes up behind her. The newcomer seems prepared to hug the girl, but remembers something, and rolls back.
"Want to go to the park? I've never been to one with wheelchair accessible equipment before." The first girl smiles with what seems a rueful expression and replies with something along the lines of the road being too loud for her. The audio is patchy because the washing machine has started, drawing attention to the man standing in the utility room doorway, watching them. Wheels squeak on the floor as the new girl spins. Terror flashes through the eyes of the wheelchair-bound girl, and the other raises the mop instinctively. There's a moment of crackling tension, then the man walks off with no explanation. I don't have one either.

Chat log 6

Nithead: Cat
Nithead: You promised me something in that park
Nithead: You promised me that you'd talk to me, no matter what happened
Nithead: It seems so laughable now
Nithead: Thank you
Nithead: Thank you for showing me that you were a liar
Nithead: I guess now I can move on
Nithead: I don't need people like you
Nithead: I don't need you

Recording 5

I don't know how much more I can handle. I miss Nita so much. It's been almost two months since I left for Bermuda and I now realise. I shouldn't have run in that park. I shouldn't have shut her out afterwards. I need to fix this.

I am so lonely without her.

I was wrong - I thought I could make friends, but I can't. All I have now are the friendships I managed to destroy the day I left. I can't do this. Not without Nita.

-Cat, are you okay? It sounds like you're crying.-

I am not crying! Sorry, that's my mum. She doesn't know what she is talking about. It's just hay fever.

-What? Did you say hay fever? It's February, Katherine. You can't get hay fever in the winter!-

Sorry, I meant I have something in my eye. Forget this, I need to talk to Nita. All I need to say is 'hi'. That's it. And 'I'm sorry'. That's all I need to do. Oh, this is stupid. But I am not okay.

I need Nita.

Chat log 7

Kitkat: hi
Kitkat: I'm sorry
Nithead: Hello, madame ghoster
Nithead: nice to see you deem me worthy of attention
Nithead: what do you want?
Kitkat: don't do this to me Nita
Nithead: are you going to fucking sprint away?
Kitkat: I said I was sorry. What more do you want?
Nithead: are you fucking kidding me?
Nithead: are you actually shitting me
Nithead: you come back
Nithead: after two fucking months
Nithead: and think sorry is enough?
Kitkat: what do you want me to do then?
Kitkat: I'm dying over here Nita
Kitkat: literally
Nithead: I don't know
Nithead: I just
Nithead: I didn't care whether you loved me
Nithead: I wanted you to be my friend
Nithead: And now
Nithead: After I've finally accepted that you're gone
Nithead: when you're lonely
Nithead: you think you can just waltz back in?
Kitkat: can't you see I'm trying to fix what I've done?
Kitkat: are you that blind?
Kitkat: all I want to do is move on from what happened before
Kitkat: but you're being just as bad as I was
Kitkat: we can't fix this if you don't want to
Nithead: ...Ok
Nithead: Let's start talking

( Hi! Donnie here. We're so sorry for the late update, but I was experiencing some technical issues as of late. Hope you enjoy. Happy Wattpadding!)