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Saturday, February 24th, 2023

I inhaled deeply, but it did little to calm my nerves. Standing there for what felt like an eternity, I finally mustered the courage to knock on the grand white door before me.

As I waited, my hands clenched tightly at my sides. Perhaps I still had time to flee, to avoid whatever lay beyond the threshold.

But then again, maybe it was already too late.

The door remains shut, and my trepidation only grows. What awaited me on the other side? Would I be met with resilience or rejection?

Before I can decide, the door swings open, and my heart jumps in my chest. But instead of the anticipated outcome, Lizzie stands before me, her hand already drawn back in a fist. Without a second thought-

She punches me straight in the face.

I stumble back, stunned and disoriented, trying to make sense of what just happened. My mind races as I struggle to regain my footing.

As I stand there, dazed and confused, Lizzie stares at me with a mixture of anger and contempt as she shakes her hand in pain. "What the hell," I manage to sputter out, still reeling from the blow. "Why'd you do that?"

Lizzie narrows her eyes, her hand still throbbing from the impact. "You know why," she says, her voice dripping with venom.

I try to speak, to defend myself, but my words catch in my throat and as she takes a step forward, I instinctively flinch, taking a step back, almost fumbling down the stairs. "You need to get the fuck off my porch."

"Don't you want to know why I'm here?"

"No, not particularly." She says, arms crossed over her chest, defensively. In all honesty I don't even want to tell her. Not about the jacket or letters. I want to keep her out of reach but I know I can't.

As I reach up to touch my lip, I feel a warm, sticky sensation. My fingers come away coated with blood, and I realize that Lizzie's punch split my lip.

The pain is throbbing, but it's nothing compared to the sickening feeling in my stomach. I can see a flicker of regret in Lizzie's eyes, but her anger seems to override any sense of remorse she might have.

She turns away from me, muttering something into her palms, before disappearing into her house. And with an aching feeling of defeat, I take a seat on the steps leading up to the porch.

And with my mind racing with thoughts and questions, Lizzie suddenly appears again, this time holding a rag of ice in her hand.

Without a word, she extends the makeshift ice pack towards me. I take it gratefully, pressing it against my mouth.

For a few moments, we sit there in silence, the only sound is the occasional crunching of the ice as it melts against my skin.

Eventually, Lizzie speaks up, her voice softening slightly. "I'm sorry I hit you," she says. "But you had it coming." She mumbles, taking the spot beside me.

I look up at her, still unsure of what to say or do. "No, I'm sorry," I manage to get out, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Save it," She says, resting her chin on her knees as she pulls them closer to her chest. "You don't deserve my forgiveness." Her words are filled with a touch of defeat.

The weight of her words settle heavily on my shoulders. And though she is not wrong, it's not just her words but the heavy sigh after and the flicker of sadness in her eyes.