Dearest Kit

Chapter Eight

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I was feeling happier. I was still a little muted, but better than I had been, the constant aching had disappeared. My birthday and Christmas had been and gone, and January had brought with it a flurry of light snow and freezing, sub zero temperatures. January had given me a new lease of life, a new start, a way of escaping all that had happened towards the end of the previous year. I wanted to forget all of it, remember only snippets of our correspondences, like all of it was just a bad dream.

However, I was logical, and I knew it had not been a bad dream, something I could brush off or merely forget. I could lie to myself, trick my brain into thinking otherwise, but it never lasted long. There were moments in the day where I was overcome with sorrow, for what we had, for what could have been.

It was a Friday afternoon, one of those days where everything seems so bright, the sun warm on your skin despite the fact it was the middle of winter. I was a little lower than usual, tired from the week of college I’d just endured. It was nice to be back home, to be able to kick off my shoes and walk about barefoot. I dropped my school bag by the front door and headed into the kitchen.

“Hi, sweetie,” my mum was sitting at the dining table, and smiled up at me as I sat down besides her, peering at the images in the fashion magazine she was reading.

“Hey,” I sighed wearily, collapsing against the smooth, varnished wood, my cheek pressing against the surface. My brain hurt from all the Maths I had been doing, the numbers I had been exposed to, like a muscle pulled after doing strenuous exercise. I looked up at her through tangles of blonde hair and smiled.

“There’s a package for you, at the end of the table,” she told me, her eyes focusing back to the glossy magazine pages, her gingery brown fringe catching in her eyelashes.

I stood from the table and went to the pile of post, stacked at the opposite end. I moved the pile of white, paper envelopes from on top of the package, and immediately sighed, beginning to bite my bottom lip perturbedly.

“Oh God, no,” I frowned, my brow creasing excessively.

“Do you have any idea who it’s from?” My mother asked casually, not completely aware of the panic rushing through my brain. I found it hard to answer her, hard to force my lips to move, form words. “Lana?” She looked up from the magazine and began to look anxious. I just licked my lips and shook my head slightly from side to side.

“I j-just,” I stuttered, “I just don’t understand,” I said hopelessly; I thought I may begin to blubber again, like an infant, but all the tears had been cried, I had nothing left.

“What is it?” She persisted, more urgently this time.

“Give me,” I took a deep breath and hurried from the room, “give me a minute.” I ran up to my bedroom, holding the parcel tight in my fist, falling onto my bed, the springs bouncing beneath my weight. I wasn’t sure whether I should rip it up, burn it, or actually read what he had to say.

The front of the envelope had been defaced, with a bunch of red, glittery heart stickers, like the ones I used to stick all over my homework diary at primary school. The only white space was where my address had been written, and my name; Lana Marie. No one used my middle name, unless the person who sent this didn’t know my full name, maybe Lana Marie was all he knew about me. I had thought it was him before, but now I was almost certain. But, I wasn’t positive, and so took the package in my hands first of all, before reading the letter attached.