I never really had to try hard to make new friends. I always somehow fitted. No matter how different I was, I always remained the sweet girl next door. The cute girl that'll engage in school activities without letting out a sigh. Always selfless, never selfish. Eternal smile plastered on the face no matter what. Never hated, always loved. My lunchtable never was overflowed with people, but it always occupied by a handful a people who I called my closest friends. I was never an outcast, nor the schools most popular girl but I floated somewhere in between. Granted I was always closer to the latter group, but I never fully engaged myself to a certain group. I never dared to label myself, because someone once told me that labels were overrated.
That same someone used to be one of those people who steadily occupied my lunchtable. Immediately turning it into our lunchtable. Just the two of us, because no matter how many people occupied it we'd be always feel alone. Because it was only her thigh I'd feel brushing against mine. It would be only her eyes I'd search when I was talking. It'd only be her fingers that would thread through mine underneath the intimacy of our table.
Now this table, has never felt any more bigger than it is. Never felt any more deserted and the once vivacious colors never seemed paler than they are today. Gone is the innocent laughter, the secretive handholding, the eyes losing themselves in other eyes. All is left is the emptiness of reality, the bittersweet memories of what once was, the silent whispers of those who walk by and faces filled with pity for the broken girl.
Because that's what I am now. The broken girl. The sister of the schools brightest student who was murdered in coldblooded fashion. The foolish girl that thought she could change her dysfunctional girlfriend into a normal committed one. The girl who had it all, but lost everything on one faithful night of May.
The broken girl.
But they weren't whispering how her dysfunctional ex-girlfriend dropped a box filled with 34 letters, maybe more maybe less, in front of her door at 2.17 AM. How that simple action was helping her more that the professional therapy she got and is still getting. How only two letters already have given her more comfort that any relative or friend have given and could give. How the thought of her not forgetting about her while she was gone, made her feel alive again. Made her feel not so guilty to grant herself that aliveness again and made her forget the seemingly inconsolable hurt .
They weren't whispering how the only thing I could think about ever since I woke up this morning was to read the next one. To get lost in her whirlwind of words. To feel myself getting closer and closer to the place I once was in. To nearing the person I once represented and to nearing the person I once loved. Still love. No matter what.
Paris, June 13th
Dear Spencer,
I failed again. I didn't even make it to the post-office this time. I had barely placed the stamp, when my phone rang. And when I checked the screen I couldn't help but let the letter slip through my fingers. I couldn't help but close my eyes since the name that was displayed made me ache so much. Harshly reminding me what I had done and what I was about to do. And how something as these ridiculous crumpled sheets of papers would never make it right again. It reminded me of how stupid I was for thinking that it would somewhat change things and that you'd understand. It reminded me that no matter how many tears I'd shed, they'd never erase yours. No matter how painful the dull ache in my chest was, it would never be as painful as yours. And no matter how many letters I write, they'd never make up for all that I done wrong.
For a second I didn't care and grabbed my phone, clutched it to my ear (eyes still closed and tears still spilling) and hovered my thumb above that little green button. Screaming to me to push it already and give in. But the shrill ringing kept mocking me, telling me how foolish I was. How much of a coward I was for not being able to send a letter, let alone pick up the phone and explain myself to the person who's heart I shattered. To finally confront my actions. To finally confront you. So just like the letter where I poured my heart out, the phone slowly slid out of my hand dropping with a loud thud on the carpeted floor.
I couldn't pick up because I wasn't planning on explaining myself. I wasn't planning on saying I was sorry and grovel like I promised myself. All I wanted was to hear your voice again. Whether is was clear or muffled, happy or sad … I didn't care as long as it was yours. As long I could feel it seep through my soul and let it enchant my heart again, because it's been too long. It's been too long since I heard your raspy voice over the phone whispering secrets you've never shared before. It's been too long since I could hear your laugh, after a bad joke of mine instantly making it a good one and reminding myself too keep humoring you. It's been too long since I heard you smile right after I told you something heartfelt and sincere. Because you know that you're the only who gets to experience that side of me. The Ashley 'with' Spencer.
I only wanted to pick up for selfish reasons. To soothe my aches and to fill my blanks. I was willing to block out everything I did so you could make me feel better again. Just like so many other times, I was choosing myself over you. And I can't be doing that, because I want to change, right? And the only reason I want to change is because of you. Because I want us to be together again. Without the drama. Just you and me wrapped in each others arms and whispering sweet nothings in innocent ears. Holding each others hands while mindlessly walking down the streets, without a care in the world. Having you rub my cold feet with your warm ones, when we creep into bed and instantly warming mine not complaining that I'm lowering the temperature of yours. Always giving, never taking. I want that. Because my feet are so cold at night, Spencer. No matter how much I try wriggling them in the sheets, they never warm up to that perfect temperature. And I tried wearing socks but I always end up squirming myself out of them in the middle of the night, because they warm my feet too much. Whatever I do, it's either not enough or too much. But you, you were always perfect. You always knew just what to do. I need that again. God, I need it so much.
I need you so much.
I don't know if I'll ever be brave enough to send you these letters or hand them to you personally, assuming you'll accept them. I don't know if you'll ever know about them, let alone read them. Maybe I'll send them to you this summer, or maybe not. Maybe I'll give them to you on a night many years from now, when I finally feel strong enough to share this part of my life with you. Maybe I'll hide them in a place where I assume you won't find them and you'll stumble on them one day pure accidentally. Contemplating whether you would invade my privacy or not, and end up putting them neatly back waiting until I was ready to show them myself. Because you're just that kind of girl. Or maybe I'll keep them to me and read them over every single night, crying myself to sleep because I was never courageous enough to give them to you. Because I was never brave enough to win you back. But maybe I will be valiant enough to share them with you and maybe I will be courageous enough to win you back. And maybe you and I can be the Spencer and Ashley everyone envied once. Because who wouldn't want to have the connection we had and hopefully still have? Who wouldn't want to find their other half at the age of sixteen? Each one of them laughing at our naivety concerning love, but secretly desiring every part of it. We somehow lost that the last few months, but that doesn't mean it's not still out there. We just have to keep looking. No matter how long it takes, and no matter how hard it gets. Because I swear Spencer, it'll be worth it. Every single painful second of it will be worth it, because it'll end up with us together.
And that is the only reason I need to keep looking and changing and fighting and waiting.
I hope it's yours too.
Yours truly,
A.D.
As I close my chemistry book conveniently hiding my true occupation and this piece of her that somehow already is a piece of mine, I feel something familiar. I feel linked hands beneath the table and thighs brushing thighs. I hear laughter and whispered I love you's. I sense her pouring through my veins, slowly itching her way to my heart. That heart that forgot how to thump freely, only beating out of necessity and not out of choice. Only absorbing the pain, never bothering to let in some of the good things.
I feel her.
I feel the girl I fell in love with. And as I lift up my head and everyone somehow fades to a neutral color, completely getting lost in the surroundings and immediately escaping my focus, I find her eyes. Her dark brown ones, more vibrant then ever. Lighting up the darkest corner of the quad with ease. Asking me to let it be my only reason too. Begging me to believe her. And when she drops her head, the obscurity suddenly envelops her reminding me how dark that corner really is and everyone instantly appears to the forefront again. Every second that passes, is a second that thickens the useless masses. Hiding the one and only person I'm looking for. But every second is worth it, because she promised me that. Because she promised us again.