Post-season one finale. No one really knows how he feels except the silence, broken letters and broken hearts. Short read...R/M. Don't forget to R&R.
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I was kidding myself when I was packing my bags back at the Cohen's, repeating to myself that it was going to be easy to leave. It was all a joke when I even tried to say it out loud, trying to convince myself through the broken thickness of the silence that getting up and going was going to be as easy as how I stumbled into Newport. There, I made the few friends I could rack up with my anti-sociality, I had parents, I had a safe route to a normal life, away from the drugs and the car jacking; but, most importantly, I had you.
Once I left, I knew that even if I came back, it would never be the same. It could never be the same. Even though we had our share of rough moments during the course of last year, nothing could be more deadly to that last piece of hope than this. Oh God, Marissa. There is nothing I can do to change everything that has happened and everything that I've done. I didn't deserve you even looking me in the eye after you told me Theresa was pregnant. Every time I wake up at night and every walking moment of my life here, I catch myself thinking of you and thinking how different we would be if I hadn't made that wrong move that night...what would have happened if I had had a little fucking self-control. Then it suddenly jumps to the wedding and the way you told me you understood why I was doing this. And then you told me you loved me, and that was it.
This is what my days and my nights amount to—thoughts and urges. Everything now seems to happen in urges. Sometimes, I feel like getting up and leaving without anyone or anything. Other times, I want to hold you so bad I can't breathe. Most of the time, it all comes alive in fits of insomnia and I catch myself creeping out of the bed I unwillingly share with Theresa to go outside and clear my head, maybe take a smoke or two. Yeah, I took it up again. It kind of comes as a package deal.
I just want you to know that I'm fine. At least, I'm trying to tell myself that all the time. She's well off into month number 4 now, nothing really that can be done, even if she wanted to, but have this baby. I don't know if at times, I come to hate myself, or Theresa, or the baby even. I hate the baby sometimes. I sound like a coward and a prick, but I can't help it. All I can do now is wait and know somewhere in my mind that no matter how many times I feel like I hate that baby, I'm going to love it once it's born. I promised myself it wouldn't grow up the way I did...and I guess that's what really keeps me here.
I don't expect you to wait for me. I don't expect you to not hate me. Just don't forget about me, okay? I'm still here if you need anything...ever.
Even though this will probably be another discarded note, something I'll crumble, stick in my pocket and throw out on my way to work so that Theresa won't find it, just for the record...I love you, too.