Chapter Seventeen: It's Not A Love Letter; It's A "See You Later"

Theresa

"Remy?" I called out. I went into his bedroom and didn't see him anywhere. That was when I heard the noises. It sounded like he was throwing up.

I made my way to his bathroom and found him kneeling in front of the toilet, shoving his fingers down his throat.

"What is wrong with you?" I yelled, causing him to jump and choke on his fingers. That allowed him to throw up, and after he flushed the toilet, he wiped his face off and smiled at me.

"Thanks," he said, walking past me, back into his bedroom. I followed him out and slapped him.

"Don't you ever do that again. You're hurting yourself Remy! Don't you understand it?" I yelled.

"Of course I understand!" he screamed right back. "You don't know what it's like to be me Theresa. You never have, and you never will!"

"You have to stop," I lowered my voice, pleading with him. "You'll waste away until you're nothing, and then you'll die." I held back tears.

"Don't you think I already know that? But I can't stop! I've tried so many times, and it's too late." He himself started to cry, which ended up bringing my own tears out.

"Why not?" I asked. "It should be easy to stop making yourself sick and to start eating again," I cried, hoping that was true. I didn't know; I never had experience with it before.

"You don't understand Theresa," he whispered, slowly sitting down on the end of his bed.

"I know. So help me understand," I said, sitting down next to him.

"You'll never be able to. You won't know what it's like because you've never had an eating disorder. It's the only thing I can control anymore. Kelly took over my life with what he did," he told me.

"You're admitting it then?" I asked. "That you have an eating disorder?" He nodded weakly and I took him into my arms, holding him tight. "What did Kelly do to you?" I asked.

"I'm not ready to talk about it. A few other guys know what I went through, because it happened to them too. But I can't talk about it Theresa. I just can't. All I know now is that not eating and making myself sick never stopped the nightmares. And it never will." His body was so tiny in my arms and sobs shook his entire body.

I pulled a piece of folded up paper out of my pocket. It was the real reason I had gone looking for him.

"Here," I said, handing it to him. "I found people who want to help you."

He opened the paper and studied it for a few minutes. I watched as he blinked away tears to help him read it better, then folded it back up and put it into his own pocket.

"Will you go?" I asked quietly, praying that he would.

Remy nodded and started to cry all over again. He started heaving, like he was going to throw up again. I forced myself not to cry with him. One of us had to be strong, and it had to be me.

"Come on, I'll help you pack."

Ellie

I tried to get Thomas alone for a week and a half. I really wanted to talk to him about us. I wanted to give it a try because I knew I really liked him. Ever since we almost had sex the day he broke up with Theresa, I couldn't stop thinking about him.

I guess he was mad about my initial reaction, because he'd been avoiding me since then. It was either that, or maybe he was embarrassed that he'd been rejected. Whatever it was, I just wanted to tell him that he went about asking me the wrong way, and if he'd do it right, I'd be happy to try things out with him.

"Can I talk to you?" I asked him when I finally found him sitting outside by the pool.

"Sure, what's up?" he asked, taking his sunglasses off to look at me. As soon as I looked in his eyes, I nearly melted. I'm sure you think that I'm being corny, but if you ever looked into Thomas' eyes, you'd understand.

"Have you been avoiding me lately?"

"Why do you say that?" he asked me. He was smart, I'd give him that much. He knew not to lie to my face, and he knew not to admit it.

"No reason I guess," I said, shrugging. "I've just been looking for you. So we could talk."

"That's what we're doing right now, isn't it?" he asked, grinning. I playfully smacked him and sat down at the end of the lounge chair he was in. He swung his legs over the side and sat straight up so he was right next to me.

"It's about…what happened…when you got back from visiting Lindsey," I finally got it out.

"What about it?" he asked, somewhat coldly. The smile on his face faded a little.

"I realized that, maybe you were right. Well, you never actually said something, but you were implying when you kissed me that you thought we should be together. And I just thought that, if you went about it a different way, I would have said yes. I just felt like I was being used," I explained to him.

"I wasn't using you," he said, sighing loudly.

"I know. But it felt that way. You just can't jump on a girl ten minutes after you break up with your girlfriend. It doesn't look good," I told him.

"Look, Ellie," he said, sighing again. "I can't do this."

"What?" I asked.

"I can't do this. What I did was a mistake. I shouldn't have done it, and I'm sorry. I'm still getting over Theresa, and I just need some time alone. Okay?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was he really doing this? What is wrong with me that every guy just decides that he wants me sometimes and doesn't want me other times? Why does love have to be so confusing?

I stormed off without looking back; something I'd been doing just about every time Thomas and I had any kind of interaction.

Marco

The night that Rory left for New York City, I cried. I sat on our new park bench and cried, and I'm still not sure why it happened. I guess I had a lot on my mind that needed to be cleared out.

Rory and I haven't had a serious talk since he got back. I just couldn't do it. I don't know why, because I was sure that I was ready. I just don't want to be hurt or hurt anyone again.

I waited on that same bench this morning. I made coffee and came for the sun rise, to collect my thoughts. We were having the talk today, as we both agreed on.

By the time I left the park, it was almost nine, and Rory was sitting in the living room, waiting for me.

"How long have you been up?" I asked him, sitting on the opposite end of the couch.

"I couldn't sleep," he mumbled. He did look tired.

"Do you want to go upstairs and lie down while we talk?" I asked. I really didn't mean to imply anything, but his mood suddenly brightened.

"Sure. That would probably help," he told me, getting up to lead the way. My stomach flopped and I suddenly became nervous. I even thought about changing my mind, and dragging Rory right back downstairs. I still don't know why I'm acting this way.

We finally got to Rory's room; a walk that seemed like it took forever. He plopped down on his back and looked much more comfortable than before. I stood there, staring at him, unmoving.

"Are you going to join me?" he asked, squinting his eyes against the sunlight coming in through the windows. I didn't answer him, but instead walked over to the windows and pulled the shades down. The room got considerably darker, and Rory looked happier, if that was even possible. He moved to give me room on the bed, but as I lay down, it didn't feel right.

Then he grabbed onto my hand that was closest to him, and my head cleared up instantly. My body relaxed, and I gave his hand a light squeeze; to let him know that I was there, both physically and mentally.

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "Say whatever you have to say; I'm listening."

"Rory…" I trailed off. As soon as he asked me to talk, my thoughts became muddled. I couldn't pick out what I wanted to tell him. I rolled on my side so I was facing him, and nuzzled my head in the crook of his neck. "I don't know what to do," I finally admitted.

"I'm still in love with you. I never stopped and I never will," he answered, kissing my cheek. I looked back up at the ceiling as he kissed me. His lips tickled my face, and another good feeling filled my body. But when he took them away, the good feeling was gone.

That should have been a sign. A sign that I was ready, that I couldn't be without him. It should have been, but it wasn't. I felt like it wasn't enough for me. Like if I had any bad feelings at all, that I couldn't be so sure. Signs aren't always right.

"I can't do this Rory. We can't be together; not now." He didn't answer me. I felt his breath, warm on my cheek. I turned my head slowly. His eyes were closed. He was already asleep. "I'm sorry," I whispered as I untangled myself from him.

I got off the bed and quickly wrote him a letter, placing it on the pillow when I was done. I tiptoed out of the room, careful not to wake him.

Lindsey

I tapped my foot impatiently and drummed my fingers on the table. I was told that I had a visitor, and I didn't even know who it could be. Neither of my parents would visit me in here, and I doubted Thomas would be back after my latest confession. I wasn't really sure about Theresa. I hadn't seen her or gotten a letter from her since Thomas left that day.

Maybe he would be back, to tell him how much I screwed up his life, and that he wished he never met me. Or maybe she'd be back, to tell me that she was still with Thomas, and they were fucking each other's brains out while I rotted in my prison cell. Or maybe one of my family members actually missed me and wanted to make sure I was okay.

Then I saw her. It was Theresa. A lump formed in my throat; her mouth formed a tight line, showing no emotion. I still didn't know if this visit was going to be good or bad.

Either way, when I saw her, it was like seeing her for the first time. I noticed all of the places her body curved, and how truly beautiful she was. She had no makeup on—the first time I ever saw her without it—and she looked better than ever. Her eyes were bright and her lips were so full.

As she sat down across from me, I forced myself to talk, rather than stare.

"I'm glad you came," I told her.

"Did you think I wouldn't be back?" she asked. When I nodded, she smiled briefly. "I don't think I could stay away any longer than I already have."

I was able to swallow the lump in my throat and smile back at her. I reached a hand out and stroked her hair and then her cheek. Her skin felt soft to my touch, and she brought her own hand around mine.

"I've missed you," I said, pulling her hand to me and kissing the tips of her fingers.

"I came her to tell you that I'm going to wait for you Lindsey. And that…I love you." She whispered the last part, as if it was only meant for me to hear.

"I love you too." I wanted to jump on the table and yell it to everyone there; that I loved this beautiful girl sitting in front of me, and she loved me back. And that action in itself would not land me back in this place.

But I doubted that it would make anyone too happy. They'd probably drag me down, stick me in the psych ward for the night, and stuff me with pills.

"I'll never leave you," she said, leaning over the table to kiss me. I really got into it and let my tongue travel out of my mouth and into hers. I moved my hand to cup the side of her face then tangled my fingers in her hair.

We kept going until a guard cleared his throat. I slowly pulled back and looked up, grinning at the guy. He was glaring at me with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Time's up," he said, "helping" me up out of the chair.

"I'll see you soon," Theresa said, grasping onto my hand one last time. Our fingers slipped away, but I kept my head turned so I could watch her leave.

I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible; I now knew who I had waiting for me when I finally got out of here.

Remy

I got to my room at this place that Theresa picked out and dropped my stuff. Even though I wasn't suicidal, they'd taken away anything sharp found in my bags, including my razor, my pocket knife, and even my keys.

Everything was clean and the rooms were full of bright colors to make people happy. Though I could tell that some people were even more depressed.

The wing of the building I was in was specifically for people with eating disorders. For that reason, we didn't have any bathrooms in our rooms. We had to go down the hall to use the community bathrooms, and those were patrolled by guards and sometimes nurses.

I didn't have anything to do, and since my room was a single, there was no one to talk to between meetings. I had to meet with a therapist three days a week, and go to group therapy the other four. There were "game nights" scheduled for Fridays, and on some nights, we were allowed to go to other wings to talk with all different people with different problems.

I was given a journal and a notebook. The journal was for writing my thoughts about anything I wanted, but I was supposed to focus on my problem and any solutions for it. The notebook was for writing letters to family and friends.

With nothing better to do, I sat down at the desk and started writing letters. I wrote one to each person back home, including one to Lindsey in jail. I explained to each person—in a slightly different way, depending on who the letter was to—what my situation was, and that I wanted to get better.

Theresa's letter was the longest. I thanked her for helping me out, even though I knew it wasn't going to be easy. But I also knew that what she did was probably the best thing anyone's done for me in my entire life. She gave me faith in myself and kept me going. She kept me from wasting away to nothing and disappearing forever.

I'll never forget what she's done for me. And maybe I'll even meet someone here. Someone who understands what I'm going through, and feels the same way I do. We can get better together, and fall in love. Maybe.

I grinned at the thought, and actually laughed out loud for the first time in a long time, and I finally realized that someday I could be happy again.

Thomas

"Can I talk to you?" I heard someone ask from the doorway. My talk with Ellie that morning left me feeling a pain in my chest. But she had been right; it was too soon. I was rebounding after Theresa and I didn't want to do that to Ellie. She meant everything to me, and I didn't want our relationship, if it ever happened, to mean nothing. It didn't have to be about lust—that wasn't what I wanted for Ellie or myself.

I looked up and was surprised by who it was. Nate. He was scratching his head and frowning, unsure of what my answer would be.

"Yeah, I guess. Come in," I offered. He plopped down in the chair near the door while I put away the book I was reading—yeah, I do read from time to time.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," he said, looking me right in the eye. I could tell that he meant it. The only thing Nate ever lied about was his addiction. "I didn't know that Theresa cheated on you. But that's not all I'm sorry about." He sighed, looking down at his lap.

"It's okay," I said.

"No, it's not. I should have never said anything about your dad, it wasn't right," he went on.

"And I should have never said anything about Craig. We were both wrong," I pointed out.

"Thomas, you've were my best friend for the longest time. I don't want to lose that. Not again," he added, looking up at me again.

I nodded my head and stood up, approaching him. He met me halfway and we threw our arms around each other and hugged. It only lasted for a few seconds, but we both felt much better.

"I finally got my best friend back," I said, grinning and messing up his hair.

"I thought Lindsey was your best friend?" he asked.

"Forget him. Hey, how's Tyler?"

"He's perfect," Nate said, smiling.

We talked for a long time, getting each other up to date on everything that had happened since our fight. It seemed like everything was finally falling into place, after this long, fucked up year.

But summer wasn't over yet.

Rory

I woke up with a handful of sheets. Cold sheets. I knew that Marco was gone before I even opened my eyes. But when I actually opened them, it fully hit me. This wasn't going to be as easy as I thought. When he suggested we come upstairs, I'd imagined us falling asleep together and waking up together.

My eyes flew to the note on the pillow and I smiled. In all the little sappy romantic movies that everyone has seen, there's a note on the table that says something like "went out for breakfast" or something of the like.

I sat up and grabbed it quickly, eager to read it. There wasn't just a sentence or two; it was not a note, it was a letter. And it wasn't all too romantic either.

Rory,

I'm sorry for leaving like this. I didn't expect you to fall asleep before I could tell you how I feel. And right now, I can't be here. I can't do this; it's too hard. We can't be together right now, even if you're in love with me. We just can't.

When you broke up with me in the hospital that day, I was crushed. I felt like someone was sitting on my chest and stabbing my heart out. I don't know if I ever fully got over it, but I tried to move on. I tried to be with Andrew, and with Jesse, but it didn't work out with either of them. They just led me back to you.

Whenever you hold my hand, or kiss my cheek, I feel it. I really feel it. But I can't do anything about it. I feel like I'm being torn in two different directions. Part of me wants to run straight into your arms because I know you'll keep me safe. And the other part of me wants to run away because I can keep myself safe. Safe from another broken heart.

I hope you understand now why I had to leave. I need to figure out what I really want, and what I need. I have to try to decide what's best for me, and what's best for you. Because you deserve at least that. You deserve to be happy; no matter who will make you happy.

I'm asking Andrew for money to fly back home. I have to see everyone and figure this out for myself. For now, I hope you'll trust me to make the right decision. I do love you Rory, remember that.

Marco

I folded the letter back up, stuck it in my top dresser drawer, lay down on my bed, and cried.

Jesse

"What do you want to do tonight?" I asked Andrew. We were lying in my bed after just having sex, with only a sheet covering us. He was lying behind me, with his arms around my waist, lightly brushing his fingertips over my waist. Gracie was peacefully sleeping in her crib that I put in my room.

"Well, we could stay in…" he trailed off, lowering his hand under the sheet. I grabbed his hand and stopped him, rolling myself to face him in the process. I kissed him from his neck up to his lips, then pulled away.

"Or we could go out. We never go out," I complained, knowing full well that both of us liked staying in just as well.

We got up and showered together, something I remembered fondly from my days back with Marco at school. I pushed him from my mind and focused on my new boyfriend.

When we got out of the shower and were finally dressed, we were trying to decide on where exactly to go, and who would watch Gracie for us.

I don't know what happened, but all of a sudden, the smile on Andrew's face turned into a frown and he became quiet.

"What's wrong?" I asked him. "I was pretty sure I hadn't said anything to make him upset.

"I should tell you something Jesse," he started. I got a weird feeling in my stomach; things didn't look good.

"What is it? You can tell me anything," I insisted, ready to hear it. I figured he'd tell me that he didn't want to be with me, or he was still in love with Marco, or…

"It's about Alex. About who he is, or was," he said, correcting himself.

"Yeah, and…?" I wasn't sure where he was going with this. But then it hit me before he said it.

"Do you know what his last name was?" he asked. Marco had mentioned it before and I brushed it off. I figured it was some sort of coincidence—at least, that is what I convinced myself. I thought that if Andrew hadn't brought it up, then it wasn't too important.

But he was bringing it up now. And I remembered.

"Donovan," I whispered. "It's a coincidence, right?" I asked. I didn't just ask, I pleaded. I didn't want whatever he was about to tell me to shatter my world.

"He was your brother," he said.

"What are you talking about? I don't have a brother. I have a sister," I said. "There must be some mistake." I shook my head, unable to believe him.

"Your dad cheated on your mom, and got Alex's mom pregnant. He was only six months older than you. He knew he had an older half sister and a younger half brother. But you grew up in two different cities, and his mom didn't have the heart to tell your mom. So she gave Alex his father's last name, but kept quiet. I knew who you were the moment I laid eyes on you in ninth grade" he explained.

I felt like I couldn't breathe. It wasn't true; it couldn't be. I don't have a brother, I never did. Andrew's messed up from cutting himself so much. It must be major blood loss from all those times. He made up this story. He…

There were so many explanations as to how it couldn't be true. My dad wouldn't do that; he loved my mother.

"No, you're lying," I choked out, wiping a few tears that had escaped my eyes. Instead of arguing with me, Andrew left the room. He came back a minute later with a picture frame in his hand. It was the one that he kept by his bed but never let me see.

He held it out and shoved it into my hands. I looked at him and he was crying, forcing me to look at the photo.

I looked down at it and started to cry harder. My eyes became blurry and so full of tears that I had to look away; at least so I wouldn't drown the photo. When I looked back at it, the face stayed the same.

He looked just like me. His eyes were brown, and he had no glasses on, but aside from that, we could have been twins.

"Am I a replacement?" I asked, shoving the picture back into his hands.

"What? Of course not Jesse!" It doesn't matter what you look like, or that you're brothers. I fell in love with you because of the person you are," he said. "I love you."

"You loved him first," I argued. "And I look just like him. How can I believe that you don't love me because I can be the perfect replacement? Alex died, but I didn't."

I stood up, and as if right on cue, Gracie started to cry. I lifted her up out of her crib and hugged her close to me.

"Jesse, how can you say that?" he asked, fresh tears pouring down his cheeks.

"How can I not say it?" I asked him. I slung the baby bag over my shoulder and carried Gracie from the room. Andrew followed me down the stairs and over to the front door.

"Where are you going?" he asked. He grabbed onto my free hand and tried to keep me from leaving. Our faces were so close, both streaked with tear stains. I just stared at him for a moment, searching his eyes for something. He leaned in and kissed me softly, intertwining his fingers with my own.

Our lips broke apart, and I untangled my fingers.

"I have to go," I whispered, walking away from him.

It killed me to leave, but I also knew that it would kill me to stay.

A/N: Sorry it's late. My other story was a week late, so I had to finish that first! This chapter skipped ahead about a week and a half or so. It took place on Wednesday, July 1. See, Theresa's not so bad after all, is she? I wanted her to be the one to help Remy because they have history together. That was Remy's last POV until the last chapter. Everything about rehab is made up in my own mind because I've never been there, so I don't actually know what it's like. There you have it…only three chapters left!