Contrition
Brittany opened the door on snow in the dark. Hasty footprints fled from the house, but at her feet lay an envelope addressed to her. She brought it inside. Dark eyes glittered from the shadows.
Brittany,
I am sorry.
I am so sorry for everything that I have done to hurt you. I don't ever want to do it again. Ever.
Every letter used a different color crayon. She must have used the 64 kind. Or maybe the 120, or the 160, the special-order kind.
I don't pretend this can make it up to you, but I want to do something. I don't pretend that I haven't steamrollered you, more than once. I pressed things on you that you didn't want, and I didn't attend to you when you tried to stop me but didn't have the words. It doesn't excuse my behavior, but I've been in a bad state. No, not Kentucky. Actually Kentucky is ok, but: I haven't been doing so great. Anyway, it's no excuse.
Brittany recognized the writing, but she flipped to the end to make sure.
I apologize. I want to make it up to you, but I don't know how to win back your trust. Quinn said I should beg, but I worry it would make you more uncomfortable. I want to go back, but to when? I can't erase the hurt, and I hurt you all along. There is no before and after. I never want to hurt you again, but what if I do? By accident?
I'm just hoping you'll give me another chance. Because I've told other people, Britt, but I don't think I've told you: you're everything that's good in this miserable, stinking world. You bring color to my world. I want you back in my world.
I'm ridiculous sometimes. Sometimes I say ridiculous things. So often I go in the wrong direction entirely, even if my intention is good. Going away from you was wrong, even if it was well-intentioned. Not paying attention to you was wrong. I should have known better. Breaking up with you was wrong. Dating Karofsky was wrong, dating Sam was wrong, ditching Fondue for Two was wrong. Not being open about you was wrong. Telling you it wasn't cheating was wrong. I know you know. And I knew you knew.
I can't promise to be perfect. I know I'm not that. I do promise to try my best and to always, always try to work things out with you. Please say you'll give me another chance.
Santana
Brittany opened the door before she knew she'd intended to. On the stoop was a box, a special-order box, of 160 different color crayons.