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Maybe he’s not totally wrong there. It’s true, I haven’t been with anyone since you.
So I can’t really blame him for thinking that, for hating me. For not believing me anytime I try to explain. He seems to be under the impression that I only want him because I can’t have you. That I’ve somehow… transferred my feelings for you, to him, because you’re no longer here.
Maybe he’s right.
He’s wrong. Every fiber of my being repels it when I try to consider it. But I don’t know how to convince him that my attraction to him is real. That I care for him not because he’s the closest thing to having you… but because he’s my best friend. He’s always been something more, something undefinable. Fuckkkk
Even if I could convince him what I feel is real and separate from you… there’s still the fact that he’s your brother to contend with. His loyalty to you far outweighs mine. How could I even ask him to do that? I mean, why would he even consider taking a chance on me? Not only do we have our friendship to consider—in ruins right now that it may be—but then there’s your parents, Waylon, the entire fucking town.
He’d be the one to take the brunt of that. They’d pity both of us, yes. But him… they’d eviscerate. Not your parents, but they definitely wouldn’t understand. They’d think the same thing he does—everyone would—that he’s just some replacement for you. Second choice.
I can’t put him in that position. Even if he could feel something for me… I can’t help but feel like it wouldn’t be enough.
Wow, okay, so this letter kind of went off the rails. I feel like I should apologize. This was supposed to be about us.
Guess it’s a good thing you’ll never read this.
I love you. I hate that this fucking happened. You should be here. There’s so much you wanted to do, and I hate that that was stolen from you. I hate that you never got a chance to fall in love with someone who wasn’t me, someone who gave their all to you. Someone who’d love you without a single doubt.
You deserved that.
And truthfully, sometimes I hate you. I don’t think I can move forward until I admit that. How…how angry I am with you sometimes. Why did you go into that maze, Iz? Why didn’t you just go back inside with your brother and call me later? Why did us talking on the phone take precedence over your safety?
I guess in a lot of ways I hate me too. If I knew what would happen… I would’ve never answered the phone. Would’ve texted you and told you to go inside. Don’t leave your brother or your parents’ side.
I’m gonna let you go now, Iz. I have to. Please understand.
Please be at peace.
Love always, for infinity,
Your Mason
P.S. Did you know about Will and Way????
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
AGE 21, DECEMBER
Sirens fill the cold, wintry night. Red and blue lights dancing over the glittering, salt-gritted street.
It’s still sleeting, but it’s let up some, at least for the moment. The forecast anticipates the worst of the ice storm to hit tomorrow morning. Whether or not we’ll be home by then…
Well, that remains to be seen.
An ambulance blurs past me, as if to remind me where I am, swinging to a stop under the overhang—the entrance to the Emergency Room. From a nearby residential street, heavy bass thumps into the night from someone’s open windows.
Sounds like a party.
I bring the cigarette up to my mouth, lips pinching around the stale-tasting paper.
Been a while since I needed one. Not since the first time I got sober.
Thick smoke billows into the frosty air, just as my eyes catch sight of some blood crusted under my nails. Missed a spot. Sickness churns in my gut. My hand trembles. Smoke plummets down my throat, filling my lungs with dry, gagging heat. Stomach clenching as I fight the urge to choke.
I can’t be certain I won’t just throw up if I cough.
They’re okay, I remind myself.
