November 9
Page 69
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
No excuse will ever justify those lies. So there isn’t even a point in hearing them.
In fact, there isn’t even a point in allowing myself to think about it any more than I already have. I should just go to bed. Maybe by some miracle, I’ll sleep through most of tomorrow.
I reach over and turn off the lamp next to my couch. As I’m making my way toward the bedroom, there’s a knock on my front door.
Amber.
She’s done well not to bring up today’s date until yesterday. She pretended she wanted to have a sleepover out of the blue a few hours ago, but I declined. I know she just doesn’t want me to be alone tonight, but it’s a lot easier to mope when there’s no one to judge you.
I unlock my apartment door and open it.
No one is here.
Chills run up my arms. Amber wouldn’t do something like this. She wouldn’t find humor in pranking a girl who lives alone this late at night.
I immediately step back inside the apartment to slam the door shut, but right before I go to close it, I glance down at the ground and see a cardboard box. It isn’t wrapped, but there’s an envelope on it with my name sprawled across the top.
I glance around, but there’s no one near my door. There is a car pulling away, though, and I wish it wasn’t so dark so I could see if I recognized the vehicle.
I glance back down at the package and then quickly scoop it up and rush inside, locking the door behind me.
It looks like one of the cardboard gift boxes that department stores use to package shirts, but the contents are much heavier than a shirt. I set it on the kitchen counter and peel the envelope off the top of it.
It isn’t sealed. The flap is just tucked into the back of the envelope, so I pull the piece of paper out and unfold it.
Fallon,
I’ve spent most of my life preparing to write something as important as this letter. But for the first time, I don’t feel like the English language has developed enough letters in the alphabet to adequately express the words I want to say to you.
When you left last year, you left with my soul in your hands and my heart in your teeth, and I knew I would never get either of them back. You can keep them, I don’t really need them anymore.
I’m not writing this letter in hopes that you will forgive me. You deserve better. You always have. Nothing I can say would ever make my feet worthy enough to walk on the same ground you walk upon. Nothing I can do would ever make my heart worthy enough to share a love with yours.
I’m not asking you to seek me out. I’m just asking that you read the words on the pages in this box in hopes that it can allow you, and maybe even me, to walk away from this with as little damage as possible.
You may not believe me, but all I want is for you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I’ll do anything to make that happen for you, even if it means helping you to forget me.
The words you’re about to read have never been read by anyone but you, nor will they ever be read by anyone but you. This is the only copy. You can do whatever you want with it when you’re finished. And I know you owe me nothing, but I’m not asking you to read this manuscript for me. I want you to read it for yourself. Because when you love someone, you owe it to them to help them be the best version of themselves that they can be. And as much as it crushes me to admit this, the best version of you doesn’t include me.
Ben
I lay the pages carefully on the table next to the box.
I bring a hand to my cheek, checking for tears, because I can’t believe there aren’t any. I thought surely if I’d heard from him again, I would be an emotional wreck.
But I’m not. My hands aren’t shaking. My heart isn’t aching.
I bring my fingers to my throat to see if I even have a pulse. Because surely I haven’t spent so much of this past year building up an emotional wall so high, that even words like the ones he just wrote can’t penetrate it.
But I’m scared that’s exactly what’s happened. Not only will Ben never break these walls back down, but I’m afraid he’s forced me to build them so thick and high that I’ll be hiding behind them forever.
He’s right about one thing, though. I owe him nothing.
I walk to my bedroom and crawl into bed, leaving every single page unread on the kitchen counter.
• • •
It’s 11:15.
I’m squinting, so that means there’s sun. Which means it’s 11:15 a.m.
I bring my hand to my face and I cover my eyes. I wait a few seconds and then I pick up my cell phone.
It’s November 9th.
Shit.
I mean, it’s no surprise I didn’t sleep for twenty-four hours straight, so I don’t know why I’m upset. Especially considering the eleven hours of sleep I did get. I’m not sure I’ve slept this much since I was a teenager. And I especially haven’t slept this much on today’s anniversary. I normally don’t sleep at all.
I stand in the middle of my bedroom and debate how to proceed with today. Behind door number one lies my bathroom, my toothbrush, and my shower.
Behind door number two lies a couch, a television, and a refrigerator.
I choose door number two.
When I open it, I suddenly wish I had chosen door number one.
My mother is sitting on my couch.
Shit. I forgot she was bringing me breakfast. Now she’ll think I do nothing but sleep every day, all day.
“Hey,” I say to her as I walk out of my bedroom. She glances up, and I’m immediately confused by her expression.
In fact, there isn’t even a point in allowing myself to think about it any more than I already have. I should just go to bed. Maybe by some miracle, I’ll sleep through most of tomorrow.
I reach over and turn off the lamp next to my couch. As I’m making my way toward the bedroom, there’s a knock on my front door.
Amber.
She’s done well not to bring up today’s date until yesterday. She pretended she wanted to have a sleepover out of the blue a few hours ago, but I declined. I know she just doesn’t want me to be alone tonight, but it’s a lot easier to mope when there’s no one to judge you.
I unlock my apartment door and open it.
No one is here.
Chills run up my arms. Amber wouldn’t do something like this. She wouldn’t find humor in pranking a girl who lives alone this late at night.
I immediately step back inside the apartment to slam the door shut, but right before I go to close it, I glance down at the ground and see a cardboard box. It isn’t wrapped, but there’s an envelope on it with my name sprawled across the top.
I glance around, but there’s no one near my door. There is a car pulling away, though, and I wish it wasn’t so dark so I could see if I recognized the vehicle.
I glance back down at the package and then quickly scoop it up and rush inside, locking the door behind me.
It looks like one of the cardboard gift boxes that department stores use to package shirts, but the contents are much heavier than a shirt. I set it on the kitchen counter and peel the envelope off the top of it.
It isn’t sealed. The flap is just tucked into the back of the envelope, so I pull the piece of paper out and unfold it.
Fallon,
I’ve spent most of my life preparing to write something as important as this letter. But for the first time, I don’t feel like the English language has developed enough letters in the alphabet to adequately express the words I want to say to you.
When you left last year, you left with my soul in your hands and my heart in your teeth, and I knew I would never get either of them back. You can keep them, I don’t really need them anymore.
I’m not writing this letter in hopes that you will forgive me. You deserve better. You always have. Nothing I can say would ever make my feet worthy enough to walk on the same ground you walk upon. Nothing I can do would ever make my heart worthy enough to share a love with yours.
I’m not asking you to seek me out. I’m just asking that you read the words on the pages in this box in hopes that it can allow you, and maybe even me, to walk away from this with as little damage as possible.
You may not believe me, but all I want is for you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I’ll do anything to make that happen for you, even if it means helping you to forget me.
The words you’re about to read have never been read by anyone but you, nor will they ever be read by anyone but you. This is the only copy. You can do whatever you want with it when you’re finished. And I know you owe me nothing, but I’m not asking you to read this manuscript for me. I want you to read it for yourself. Because when you love someone, you owe it to them to help them be the best version of themselves that they can be. And as much as it crushes me to admit this, the best version of you doesn’t include me.
Ben
I lay the pages carefully on the table next to the box.
I bring a hand to my cheek, checking for tears, because I can’t believe there aren’t any. I thought surely if I’d heard from him again, I would be an emotional wreck.
But I’m not. My hands aren’t shaking. My heart isn’t aching.
I bring my fingers to my throat to see if I even have a pulse. Because surely I haven’t spent so much of this past year building up an emotional wall so high, that even words like the ones he just wrote can’t penetrate it.
But I’m scared that’s exactly what’s happened. Not only will Ben never break these walls back down, but I’m afraid he’s forced me to build them so thick and high that I’ll be hiding behind them forever.
He’s right about one thing, though. I owe him nothing.
I walk to my bedroom and crawl into bed, leaving every single page unread on the kitchen counter.
• • •
It’s 11:15.
I’m squinting, so that means there’s sun. Which means it’s 11:15 a.m.
I bring my hand to my face and I cover my eyes. I wait a few seconds and then I pick up my cell phone.
It’s November 9th.
Shit.
I mean, it’s no surprise I didn’t sleep for twenty-four hours straight, so I don’t know why I’m upset. Especially considering the eleven hours of sleep I did get. I’m not sure I’ve slept this much since I was a teenager. And I especially haven’t slept this much on today’s anniversary. I normally don’t sleep at all.
I stand in the middle of my bedroom and debate how to proceed with today. Behind door number one lies my bathroom, my toothbrush, and my shower.
Behind door number two lies a couch, a television, and a refrigerator.
I choose door number two.
When I open it, I suddenly wish I had chosen door number one.
My mother is sitting on my couch.
Shit. I forgot she was bringing me breakfast. Now she’ll think I do nothing but sleep every day, all day.
“Hey,” I say to her as I walk out of my bedroom. She glances up, and I’m immediately confused by her expression.
