The Periods of Being

Chapter XXXIV

Chapter XXXIV

The crackers sit untouched by her bedside table along with the tea. The steam has disappeared a while ago from the top of the cup. Her stomach flips and yearns for something to fill it, but she sits far from the bedside table, at the vanity, with her eyes scanning through the letters that she hopes will hold an answer.

    The letters lay flat— open and stripped from their envelope homes— in order by the dates written on the top margins of the paper, on the other side far from the Dear Olive's. The words are written in perfect script. Freya's handwriting was always more perfect than her own. Her handwriting is swirled letters that don't make sense and hardly legible. Freya has always been perfect. Her handwriting is just another form of her glowing soul.

    Olive doesn't bother to read over the letters that she read years ago. She knows what those letters say. They are nothing. They are pages of bantering of Freya trying to get Olive to answer her and speak to her. The first letter came a week after the night with Andrew. She was thanking her for letting Andrew stay. Olive didn't bother to send a letter saying that it was no big deal or of course, anything for my family. Those were lies and she didn't want to lie to Freya. Not in words.

    So, she kept quiet.

    Then more letters arrived.

    She opened the second one, but then never opened the other ones. The second letter contained just updates about her life and nothing more. It was a way for her to try to get Olive to answer— thinking that she would answer with her own life updates. Nothing was happening to her life then. She was stuck in sorrow just like she is now— more than then, though. She wonders what would've happened if she answered those first few letters. Would've her relationship with Freya be stronger? Would the fight that broke out between them ever happen? This isn't the first time she has asked herself what would've happened if she had answered them, but it feels important to ask herself it again.

    She gulps at the sight of the letters, now open and now ready to read.

    She knows, she whispers in her mind. She knows about what happened, and maybe I could've seen that she did with these letters...

    She wants to believe that she is a fool for thinking that years-old letters might hold a slight indication that Freya knew all along. The only memory she's overlooked since this night is the moments that they shared that night when Freya comforted Olive the first night she was there. The way that Freya huffed hot air out of her lungs when Olive told her that Andrew loved her. It was as if she was reminding Freya that he does.

    She is overthinking it. She knows she is. She is aware that she is. Her mind is spiraling and her heart is wondering— wondering if this is worth it. Could she still be a sister to Freya? Not just because of blood but because of the friendship that comes with being a sister. The trust that comes with being a sister. Like not sleeping with your sister's husband while yours is on the battlefield.

    She catches her breath as the sobs cling to her throat like acid, stinging her throat. She sniffles and snatches the tears back into her eyes. If she cries now, she won't ever be able to read these letters in front of her. She needs to. She needs to understand that reading these letters will bring her understanding, but also bring her closer to her sister with her past words. She is lost. Freya's words will guide her in her mind and help her.

    Help me with what? She asks herself, but she stops herself from finding an answer. She doesn't know the answer and maybe these letters will bring her to the conclusion of it.

     She picks up an unread letter.

    And reads it.

     Her eyes tempt to skim the words, but when she finds herself reading too fast, she goes back and reads the page again. The letter holds another life update, but the feeling is different. Her heart knows that something is off before Olive's mind knows.