Dear Jack,

I used to hate nights so much. Being awake is better than being asleep, you know? That I thought, that is what I used to think. The other day, on the radio, they were playing this song I don't know the name to or the lyrics to… I just remember this one line: "I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep" That was me, that used to be me: I wanted to be awake all the time, I didn't want to fall asleep, I wanted to stay awake, in permanent alert, free from dreams and nightmares that could haunt me down.

Every time I went to sleep dreams would haunt me and torture me. Dreams of you, Jack, I had them every single night of every single day. You, you were the only one I dreamed about. For years, you've been the only one I've dreamed about. Do you wonder what those nightmares were made of? I know them by heart, the fears those nightmares were made of.

You being taken away from me, a terrible pain the only feeling that followed suit, killing me, destroying me, shattering me to pieces, making me feel as though the world was about to end for me.

You being hurt by the Chinese. I could do nothing to save you, and it killed me. I would wake up so desperate, feeling so desperate, covered up in cold sweat, with my heart pounding so hard I would think I was gonna have a cardiac arrest, and I'm not kidding. Every time they tortured you, they were torturing me as well, physically and mentally. They didn't need to have me captured, they didn't need to use their hands and those other frightening methods I don't even wanna think of: the fact that they had you, the fact that they were hurting you, knowing that, knowing that you were suffering and that there was nothing I could do to stop it was enough to make me die a little bit more with each passing second. And in my nightmares, I had to relive it all, all the time, every night, everything would come crashing down on me over and over and over again, and even after having woken up it would take me minutes to understand it was just a nightmare.

Do you know which other things helped building up the dreams that tortured me? You desperately trying to save Tony from himself and failing, you getting killed and it being my entire fault, you crying because of the loss of Audrey, you losing your daughter over a mistake of mine and yelling at me saying that you hate me… And the list goes on and on.

All my nightmares used to be about you, that's why I feared so much going to sleep, that's why I feared so much closing my eyes and willing sleep to come and take over me: because I knew once it did, nightmares would come get me. Sounds silly, doesn't it? But that was the way I felt.

After our last conversation, falling into a quiet, dreamless sleep became even harder to me, even more difficult, because all I dreamed of, all I saw every time I closed my eyes was you, hurt and wounded, trying to run away, looking at me, looking back after you had run, as if you wanted to stay connected with me a little bit longer… I know I wanted to stay connected to you just a little bit longer, just two more minutes, but eventually I had to ask Arlo to shout it down… I couldn't stand it, the sight of you hurt, the sight of you wounded and betrayed, the sight of you suffering.

Those memories were so haunting. Your voice resounding in my ears was so haunting, and at the same time it did me good. It does me good, remembering those last words you said to me, while you looked at me in the eyes, even if you could not see me. You knew I could see you. You were looking at me, talking to me, and those words you said nursed me to insanity every night, they were the perfect prelude for the darkest nightmares, nightmares in which you're in trouble and I cannot be there to protect you, because I don't even know where you are. But at the same time the sound of your voice did… does me good. Silly, huh? But that's how it feels, the memory of your words: some times it scares me, some times it drives me crazy, some times it eases the pain, and some times it does me good.

During those first weeks after you ran away and escaped, all I dreamed of was you hurting, you suffering, you being found and killed, and me not being able to do anything to sale your life, to be your guardian angel once more. But then something changed, something… I don't know how to describe it, I'm not good with words, I'm… It's gonna sound silly but I started imagining you every time I closed my eyes, I decided it was gonna be me imagining you because I wanted to and not because my mind wanted to play sick tricks on me. I wanted to regain control over my thoughts. So I started to think of you, happy, smiling, safe, living a better life, having a chance to get the life you deserved, the life you've always deserved… And it worked. Nightmares stopped.

Thinking of your eyes looking into mine when you thanked me made my nightmares stop. It keeps them at bay. It makes them go away. And now all I dream about is you. All I look forward to now is falling asleep so I can hear your voice and see those beautiful eyes of yours looking into mine again, once more, replaying that last moment between us and that something I can't describe that still lingers like the perfume of yours that will never be smelt on my pillow, on my sheets or on my own skin.

God, I'm not making any sense. But I don't care. I don't care I'm a mess. I don't care my thoughts are all so tangled and so clouded. I don't care these words don't make sense at all. They make sense to me, and that is all that matters. This, everything, whatever this is, has always made sense to me. Even when I was lost and scared and confused and fighting against feelings I didn't understand quite well, it all made sense to me, at some point. And when it didn't, then I fought until it did. It's always made sense to me, this, so I'm okay. Besides, when I write to you, being a mess and not making sense to anyone else doesn't matter, for I am the only one who will read those words, I am the only one who will know of the existence of these letters. The rest of the world and you will never know about them. Just me. This is just me, and my feelings, and you in my thoughts, but you will never read this. This will be a well kept secret, unknown to the rest of the world, just like my dreams, just like my pain, just like my love for you. And the rest of the world includes you. These letters, when I write them, I can be myself, and express myself, and everything is okay and nothing bad will happen if I'm a mess. These letters, writing them, it makes me feel safe. Dreaming of you makes me feel safe. So I better go now, close my eyes and dream of you, my love.

She had to stop writing. It was late. She was tired, oh, so very tired. She was exhausted. She was done crying, too: it was enough for that day. She had cried enough for that day, although that lately, ever since she had started writing those letters, she had stopped crying as much as she used to during the first days after their haunting goodbye. She had started gaining control over her emotions again when she was alone, when she was left alone to face her feelings and her misery and her fears.

It was the seventh letter, the seventh letter Chloe wrote to her beloved Jack, the man who would never know what she felt.

It was late. It was a Monday, so it meant she had to go the following day.

She needed to stop writing. She needed to get some sleep. She needed to dream of him. She needed to lay her head on the pillow, close her eyes and think of him, and everything would be okay. The secret to keep the nightmares away, she had discovered, finally.

She finished the seventh letter and then went to bed, where she would curl up in a ball and dream of the man that would never be her lover. She would see it in her dreams, whispering to her thank you over and over and over and over again, comforting her, keeping the nightmares awake.

The last words of that letter were there, in her handwriting, on the paper. Those words she always writes every time she finishes writing a new letter to him.

My love, be safe, please. Come back to me some day, please. I know you won't, but I can keep on dreaming. Dreaming of you will keep me alive, dreaming of you will keep me safe.

I love you. Forever.

Your Chloe.