Never Never: Part Two
Page 5
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Yes, I love you, but now I’m in love with you. And instead of looking at you like you’re just my best friend, now you’re my best friend who I want to kiss.
And yes, I’ve loved you like a brother loves his sister. But now I love you like a guy loves a girl.
So despite that kiss, I promise nothing has changed between us. It’s just become something more. Something so much better.
Last night, when you were lying next to me on this bed, looking up at me in breathless laughter, I couldn’t help myself. So many times you’ve taken my breath away or made it feel like my heart was trapped inside my stomach. But last night was more than any fourteen-year-old boy could handle. So I took your face in my hands and I kissed you, just like I’ve been dreaming of doing for over a year now.
Lately, when I’m around you, I feel too drunk to speak to you. And I’ve never even tasted alcohol before, but I’m sure kissing you is what being drunk feels like. If that’s the case, I’m already worried for my sobriety because I can see myself becoming addicted to kissing you.
I haven’t heard from you since the moment you pulled yourself out from under me and walked straight out of my bedroom last night, so I’m beginning to worry that you don’t remember that kiss like I do. You haven’t answered your phone. You haven’t responded to my texts. So I’m writing you this letter in case you need to be reminded of how you really feel about me. Because it seems like you’re trying to forget.
Please don’t forget, Charlie.
Never allow your stubbornness to talk you into believing that our kiss was wrong.
Never forget how right it felt when my lips finally touched yours.
Never stop needing me to kiss you like that again.
Never forget the way you pulled closer—wanting it to feel like my heart was beating inside your chest.
Never stop me from kissing you in the future when one of your laughs makes me wish I could be a part of you again.
Never stop wanting me to hold you like I finally got to hold you last night.
Never forget that I was your first real kiss. Never forget that you’ll be my last.
And never stop loving me between all of them.
Never stop, Charlie.
Never forget.
~Silas
I don’t know how long I stare at the letter. Long enough to grow confused as to how it makes me feel. How even though I don’t know this girl at all, I somehow believe every word of this letter. And maybe even feel it a little. My pulse begins to quicken, because I’ve done all I know how to do in the past hour to find her, and the need to know she’s okay is imminent.
I’m worried about her.
I need to find her.
I grab another letter for more clues when my phone rings. I pick it up and answer it without looking at the caller ID. There’s no point in screening the calls, since I don’t know any of the people who would even be calling me.
“Hello?”
“You do realize tonight is one of the most important games of your football career, right? Why in the hell are you not at school?”
The voice is heavy and angry.
Must be my father.
I pull the phone away from my ear and look down at it. I have no idea what to say. I need to read more of these letters before I would know how Silas would normally respond to his father. I need to find out more about these people who seem to know everything about me.
“Hello?” I repeat.
“Silas, I don’t know what’s gotten—”
“I can’t hear you,” I say louder. “Hello?”
Before he can speak again, I end the call and drop the phone onto the bed. I grab all of the letters and journals that will fit into the backpack. I rush to leave because I shouldn’t be here. Someone might show up who I’m not prepared to interact with yet.
Someone like my father.
Chapter 3: Charlie
Where am I?
That’s the first question. Then, Who am I?
I shake my head from side to side, like this simple act could jar my brain back into working order. People normally wake up and know who they are…right? My heart aches, it’s pounding so fast. I’m scared to sit up, afraid of what I’ll see when I do.
I’m confused…overwhelmed, so I start to cry. Is it weird to not know who you are, but to understand that you’re not a crier? I am so mad at myself for crying that I swipe hard at my tears and sit up, banging my head pretty hard on the metal bars of a bed in the process. I flinch, rubbing my head.
I’m alone. That’s good.
I don’t know how I’d explain to someone that I have no clue who or where I am. I’m on a bed. In a room. It’s hard to tell what kind of room, because it’s so dark. No windows. A bulb flickers on the ceiling in a struggling Morse code. It’s not strong enough to really illuminate the small room, but I can tell that the floor is made of shiny white tile, and the walls are painted white, bare except for a small television bolted to the wall.
There is a door. I stand up to go to it, but there is a heavy feeling in my stomach as I place my feet one in front of the other. It’s going to be locked, it’s going to be locked…
It’s locked.
I feel panic, but I calm myself, tell myself to breathe. I’m shaking as I press my back against the door and look down at my body. I’m wearing a hospital gown, socks. I run my hands over my legs to check how hairy they are—not very. Which means I shaved recently? I have black hair. I pull a piece of it in front of my face to examine it. I don’t even know my name. This is crazy. Or maybe I’m crazy. Yes. Oh my god. I’m in a mental hospital. That’s the only thing that makes sense. I turn around and pound on the door.
“Hello?”
I press my ear against the door and listen for a noise. I can hear the soft humming of something. A generator? An air conditioner? It’s some kind of machinery. I get chills.
I run for the bed and fold myself in the corner so I can see the door. I pull my knees up to my chest, breathing hard. I’m scared, but there’s nothing I can do but wait.
Chapter 4: Silas
The strap of my backpack digs into my shoulder as I push myself through the swarm of students in the hallway. I pretend I know what I’m doing—where I’m going—but I know nothing. As far as I’m concerned, this is the first time I’ve ever stepped foot in this school. The first time I’m seeing these people’s faces. They smile at me, bob their heads in greeting. I reciprocate the best I can.
And yes, I’ve loved you like a brother loves his sister. But now I love you like a guy loves a girl.
So despite that kiss, I promise nothing has changed between us. It’s just become something more. Something so much better.
Last night, when you were lying next to me on this bed, looking up at me in breathless laughter, I couldn’t help myself. So many times you’ve taken my breath away or made it feel like my heart was trapped inside my stomach. But last night was more than any fourteen-year-old boy could handle. So I took your face in my hands and I kissed you, just like I’ve been dreaming of doing for over a year now.
Lately, when I’m around you, I feel too drunk to speak to you. And I’ve never even tasted alcohol before, but I’m sure kissing you is what being drunk feels like. If that’s the case, I’m already worried for my sobriety because I can see myself becoming addicted to kissing you.
I haven’t heard from you since the moment you pulled yourself out from under me and walked straight out of my bedroom last night, so I’m beginning to worry that you don’t remember that kiss like I do. You haven’t answered your phone. You haven’t responded to my texts. So I’m writing you this letter in case you need to be reminded of how you really feel about me. Because it seems like you’re trying to forget.
Please don’t forget, Charlie.
Never allow your stubbornness to talk you into believing that our kiss was wrong.
Never forget how right it felt when my lips finally touched yours.
Never stop needing me to kiss you like that again.
Never forget the way you pulled closer—wanting it to feel like my heart was beating inside your chest.
Never stop me from kissing you in the future when one of your laughs makes me wish I could be a part of you again.
Never stop wanting me to hold you like I finally got to hold you last night.
Never forget that I was your first real kiss. Never forget that you’ll be my last.
And never stop loving me between all of them.
Never stop, Charlie.
Never forget.
~Silas
I don’t know how long I stare at the letter. Long enough to grow confused as to how it makes me feel. How even though I don’t know this girl at all, I somehow believe every word of this letter. And maybe even feel it a little. My pulse begins to quicken, because I’ve done all I know how to do in the past hour to find her, and the need to know she’s okay is imminent.
I’m worried about her.
I need to find her.
I grab another letter for more clues when my phone rings. I pick it up and answer it without looking at the caller ID. There’s no point in screening the calls, since I don’t know any of the people who would even be calling me.
“Hello?”
“You do realize tonight is one of the most important games of your football career, right? Why in the hell are you not at school?”
The voice is heavy and angry.
Must be my father.
I pull the phone away from my ear and look down at it. I have no idea what to say. I need to read more of these letters before I would know how Silas would normally respond to his father. I need to find out more about these people who seem to know everything about me.
“Hello?” I repeat.
“Silas, I don’t know what’s gotten—”
“I can’t hear you,” I say louder. “Hello?”
Before he can speak again, I end the call and drop the phone onto the bed. I grab all of the letters and journals that will fit into the backpack. I rush to leave because I shouldn’t be here. Someone might show up who I’m not prepared to interact with yet.
Someone like my father.
Chapter 3: Charlie
Where am I?
That’s the first question. Then, Who am I?
I shake my head from side to side, like this simple act could jar my brain back into working order. People normally wake up and know who they are…right? My heart aches, it’s pounding so fast. I’m scared to sit up, afraid of what I’ll see when I do.
I’m confused…overwhelmed, so I start to cry. Is it weird to not know who you are, but to understand that you’re not a crier? I am so mad at myself for crying that I swipe hard at my tears and sit up, banging my head pretty hard on the metal bars of a bed in the process. I flinch, rubbing my head.
I’m alone. That’s good.
I don’t know how I’d explain to someone that I have no clue who or where I am. I’m on a bed. In a room. It’s hard to tell what kind of room, because it’s so dark. No windows. A bulb flickers on the ceiling in a struggling Morse code. It’s not strong enough to really illuminate the small room, but I can tell that the floor is made of shiny white tile, and the walls are painted white, bare except for a small television bolted to the wall.
There is a door. I stand up to go to it, but there is a heavy feeling in my stomach as I place my feet one in front of the other. It’s going to be locked, it’s going to be locked…
It’s locked.
I feel panic, but I calm myself, tell myself to breathe. I’m shaking as I press my back against the door and look down at my body. I’m wearing a hospital gown, socks. I run my hands over my legs to check how hairy they are—not very. Which means I shaved recently? I have black hair. I pull a piece of it in front of my face to examine it. I don’t even know my name. This is crazy. Or maybe I’m crazy. Yes. Oh my god. I’m in a mental hospital. That’s the only thing that makes sense. I turn around and pound on the door.
“Hello?”
I press my ear against the door and listen for a noise. I can hear the soft humming of something. A generator? An air conditioner? It’s some kind of machinery. I get chills.
I run for the bed and fold myself in the corner so I can see the door. I pull my knees up to my chest, breathing hard. I’m scared, but there’s nothing I can do but wait.
Chapter 4: Silas
The strap of my backpack digs into my shoulder as I push myself through the swarm of students in the hallway. I pretend I know what I’m doing—where I’m going—but I know nothing. As far as I’m concerned, this is the first time I’ve ever stepped foot in this school. The first time I’m seeing these people’s faces. They smile at me, bob their heads in greeting. I reciprocate the best I can.
