My heart had been sliced open, the pieces like ribbons, dangling precariously in my body. Cut to shreds from her announcement.
She’d written about how she enjoyed his company and how he was from the East Coast, which I read between the lines to mean he was from a wealthy family. Of course, he was. And goddammit if I didn’t feel a strong hatred for him. Clay could not only offer London something that I never could, but something she deserved, to be treated like a queen.
Cam wasn’t around to do it, and I would never be able to offer her that kind of life. Even once I’d served my time and out on parole, what the hell kind of life could an ex-con offer her? Not a home, a family. Nothing. She was right to heed my advice and write me off.
I was a worthless, no good piece of shit, just like my dad had always reminded me.
The funny thing about prison is that it’s supposed to give you time to come to terms with what you did and to make amends; to redeem yourself and make reparations to those you hurt when you committed your crime.
The only ones I ever regretted hurting, the ones who deserved my apologies were Cam and London.
Ripping a piece of paper out of my notebook, the memory of my dream lingering in the forefront of my mind, I began to write a letter. I addressed it to Cam. It was a letter that would never be sent or shared, but I knew if I didn’t get out what had to be said, it would eat me alive.
Dear Cam,
I know you hate me. I guess there’s a part of me that hates me a little, too.
I don’t regret kissing you or doing what I did to you. It was one of the best things that could’ve happened to me. I only regret that it cost us our friendship.
My life is so fucked up right now it doesn’t even feel like my own. Prison is everything you’ve heard about it and worse. It’s a stink-tank of the worst people you could imagine. Men who kill out of cold blood. Who abuse their wives and girlfriends. Who abduct and hurt children. Who buy and sell drugs and women.
I don’t think I belong here. My heart doesn’t bleed the same dark poison that runs through most of these men. It scares me to think that maybe someday, maybe even soon, I could end up like them. Unapologetically savage and evil. Hating the world and everyone in it.
I’m grateful, I guess, that my sentence is fairly short. It scares me to think what I might become if I have to be in this place for more than three years. Lucky for me, my cellmate, Clem, is a pretty decent guy. Doesn’t talk much. Just grumbles to himself a lot about “this mother fucker or that mother fucker” but otherwise he leaves me alone.
It’s hard, man. I’m scared. I’m so alone.
I need you.
I can’t see London anymore. It hurts too fucking much. I told her not to come back and it broke my mother fucking heart. I didn’t want to. I swear to God, if I could take it back, I would. Take back everything about the night and everything since then.
But life doesn’t work that way. I’m just glad I had the time I did on the outside to spend with you and London. I still dream about those nights together. Camping out in the mountains. You, me and London fucking and loving each other.
I want that again someday. I need to have something to hold onto and to hope for in my life. Otherwise, it’s just unbearable.
The pain of not talking to you or seeing you right now is killing me. But not as much as it would if I didn’t have the belief that someday in the future, we’ll all be together again. And all will be right in the world.
I just know it.
I love you, Cam. I always have, and I always will. You and London. Forever.
All my love,
Sage
As for London…my letter was short and to the point.
Dear London,
Good luck in New York. Be happy, that’s all I want for you.
Love,
Sage
