Lost in July

LI

Margo
Collin's letters are a deep weight pressing down on my shoulders. It's better to focus on that than the gaping hole in my chest.

I delivered Davis his note by standing at his locker after sneaking in through a back door. For a prestige private school, it's not very hard to break into.

The bell rang a minute ago and students in dress shirts, ties, and slacks are roaming around. Hopefully Davis appears soon. These rich kids stress me out.

I feel partially bad about bombarding him with this at school, but then I remember how much of an asshole he is, and I go back to not caring.

Sure enough, a preppy, blond with lanky limbs stops in front of me, and unimpressed look on his face.

"How the fuck did you get in here?" He squints down at me, clutching his black backpack.

I hold out the letter, staring at him blankly waiting for a reaction. He glances at it, then back at me with disinterest. "What're you, serving me with papers?"

I scoff. "God, you really are rich." I shove the letter into his chest. "From Collin."

He steps away from me, away from the letter. "Tell him he can give it to me himself, then."

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before yanking his hand off his backpack and slapping the letter into it.

"He's dead."

I don't care for his reaction. I storm off after I'm sure he's got the letter in his hand.

~
I'm sitting in a random park on the Upper West Side, people watching at I anxiously play with the unlabeled letter.

I know it's for me because he wanted me to distribute the letters, and I know he probably wants me to read it before I go give X his letter.

I rest my elbows on the wooden picnic table, resting my head in my hands. The air is frigid, but I never noticed until now.

I reluctantly pick up the letter, opening it and reading more words. I try to imagine him speaking to me, and I hope I always can, because he had the most gentle voice.

Hi again, my girl.

I never got to call you all those cheesy nicknames that couples give each other. Thought I'd try it out more.

I know you've probably seen the last letter, and I know you're probably so pissed at me right now. I know, and I'm sorry. I'd say it over and over if I could. This letter is to explain myself, but most of all, to let you decide if you want to deliver the letter to X, or rip it up. I'm happy with whatever decision you make.

I thought I was done with these letters after my mom's, but something felt wrong. Unfinished. I kept thinking about the small circle of people in my life, trying to ensure I tied every loose end. Then I remembered X and everything he's put you through. Everything he's actively putting you through. I can't go without letting you know how proud I am. I'm so proud of you for having the strength and the courage to fight against X, even when no one believed you. I'm so proud of you for never letting them silence you. I need you to know that whatever happens with X in the future is never your fault. He is not your burden, and after this case, you can separate yourself from him forever. You're eighteen now, baby. You can explore the world freely, graduate, get a degree, whatever the fuck you want. None of that appealed to me. Except maybe the thought of doing it all with you.