We Broke

t h i r t y - t h r e e

She's dead.

I screamed my head off.

Even if I knew that this was going to happen.  I still did have that little piece of hope that I would get to see her again.

Hope had failed me.  FAILED.  A big fat F.

SHE'S DEAD.  DEAD.  GONE.  She's GONE.  I'll never see her again.

George came up to tell me.  Freaking George.  After a week.  At that point, I didn't know what to think at all.  I was waiting in my bedroom, pacing and trying to do some homework when I heard a knock at the door.  Stupid truth?  I thought  it was Charlotte.  But no, it was my adoptive father to tell me that Char was dead.

I pushed my adoptive dad out of my house, holding back my tears, telling him that it was a mistake.  That it should be a mistake.  He left me alone, though.  He knew that this was my anger to control.

So here I am.  Starving.  Thirsty.  Alone.  In my bedroom.  I haven't stepped out for at least 48 hours.  I don't know why I'm grieving so hard.  I'm not the same teen I was when my parents' died.  

Charlotte meant something to me.  Something special.  More than a crush, less than a lover.  And now she's dead.

And- 

Sam.

I can't even utter his stupid name.  Samuel.  Sam.  Samuel Caddell.  Nightmare. Sick man.  Killing his own friend.  Heck, he's a traitor times infinity.  Who the heck kills their friend?  A parent becomes a stranger when they order their own child to do their dirty work for them.   But that child becomes a murderer when they actually do it.  Why?  Cause it's THEIR choice.  

I can't even believe that I put him in the back of my truck when Char found him in the street.  I considered him a friend.  

I'm glad he's rotting in jail.  I also hope he stays there forever.  Forever till he dies.  

From what I hear, it was to save Julie.  Julie came up to my apartment to apologize.  But here's the thing-

I thought she would blame herself or something.  Say that if she wasn't captured, Charlotte wouldn't be dead by now.  But she blames CHARLOTTE.  She blames her for ruining her life.  

I mean, I guess it's understandable, but blaming a dead person won't do any good.  But I'm pretty sure it's making her feel some sort of comfort.  To know that her friend got what she "deserved."

-

I look around my bedroom, my eyes finally seeing the huge mess.  Frames crashed on the ground.  Bedsheets strewn.  Lamp flickering because I hit it.  It also smells weird.  Maybe it's cause I haven't bothered to shower in a few days.  

Life goes on.  

I start to tidy my room, piece by piece, and in a few, it looks tidy enough.  I tuck my bedsheets back under the b-

Wait, there's a piece of paper here.

And it's not a piece of homework or a snack wrapper or anything.  It's specifically labeled, "Peter."

And it's also in Charlotte's handwriting.

My heart starts to race.  I mean- who wouldn't?

I open the crusty envelope, blowing the dust bunnies on it.  I drag a piece of paper out.  I smile  unknowingly at some of the misspelled words, but the smile soon becomes a deep expression of seriousness.

Dear Peter,

God, we finally met up.  After eleven whole months of separation, I think I was lost without you.  Not to make this sappy or anything.  Anyway, hope you aren't' feeling burdened or anything.  I don't know why I decided to come back with you.  I mean, high school again? 

No Charlotte.  I don't feel burdened.  And although high school is pretty dramatic, I wanted you to go to college.  Or at least get the high-school diploma. 

If you're reading this, I'm probably one of both:

Dead.

Or Alive.  

If I'm in fact alive, tell me you found this note.  AND DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER.  

But if I'm dead, I'm glad you found this.  Cause I think I'm going to die in a few weeks, maybe a few years.  

Try a few days.  

Ok, here goes nothing.  If you don't know what's going on, I'm writing the stuff that I love best about you.  No, it's not to boost your ego.  Kind of like a thanks?  I guess? 

-

Your  kindness towards everyone.   Including me.

Our chemistry.  I think we work well together.  WORK as in actual work, not love or whatever.

Underbite.  You have an underbite.  Just saying.

Right now.  If I'm dead, I love that you're still here.

Pace.  You pace too much.  Another thing that I noticed.

Ambition.  You're ambitious.  I mean, who would think to make friends with me?

Rage.  I don't love your rage.  But it's something that is part of you.

Eager. You were so eager to help me out.

Name.  Your name means rock. You're one of the rocks holding me from doing stuff to myself.

Through.  You always go through with everything. 

Silly.  This is silly.  This poem isn't to make you feel good.  Actually some stuff of this isn't very true.  I know, I know, I'm a very good poet.  Very good writer.  Totally is like the best acrostic ever.  

-Charlotte

Ok.  

That was a little weird.  Something Charlotte would never write.  And it doesn't sound like her.  The poem sounds forced.  Like she was trying really hard to think of stuff to write.  And it's really really weird.  Like the words don't fit together at all.  

The underlined word.  Acrostic.

I've heard it before.  Maybe in elementary school?  I pull out my cell, my heart pounding.

Acrostic:  a poem, word puzzle, or other composition in which certain, most likely to be the first letters in each line form a word or words

Certain letters from each line.  Y.  O.  U.  R.  P.  A.  R.  E.  N.  T.  S.

Wait one minute.

Yourparents

Your parents.

My parents.

She knew something about my parents.