It Goes There // Josh Dun + Twenty One Pilots

BONUS CHAPTER

This is a bonus chapter because I feel like I left a lot of things out in the epilogue and I apologize for not publishing it sooner.

Dear Joshua,

Lately, I've thinking about you a lot. All of my dreams and nightmares have been focusing on you and I swear Aiden is getting sick and tired of me waking up screaming your name. However, he thinks that if I write a letter to you and pretend that you will actually read what I'm writing down, the pain will become more bearable. And maybe he's right, so I have a feeling that this letter is going to be an absolute mess because I have so many things to say.

Let's start at the beginning.

After I figured out that you died, I was angry; angry beyond belief, but I wasn't angry at Garrett. I was angry at you. I was angry at you for trying to be the hero in the story. Joshua, this isn't some fanfiction where everything ends with us running through a field of wild flowers and then having a bunch of babies. Life doesn't work like that.

I wish it did, but it doesn't.

After the shooting, my bulimia got worse. You are really confused right now, aren't you? I forget that you never noticed anything out of the ordinary with me and I didn't bother to tell you about the one disorder that I had.

I wasn't like Garrett. I wasn't depressed or bipolar. I didn't even have anxiety. Out of all the things that I could of had wrong with me, I made myself puke on a daily basis. Yes, yes, I know that isn't good, but try telling fourteen through seventeen year old me that.

It started happening around maybe late seventh grade and it just happened. I can't even remember what lead up to it. I just remember that it took a while for me to recover. And then after the shooting, I relapsed.

Is relapsed the right word to use in this situation? I don't know, but I'm going to stick with it. Anyway, Aiden was the one that convinced me to stop again. He kept telling me that I couldn't do this to myself, especially when I had Jonathan developing inside me and sixteen year old me knew he was right. I wasn't going to put my baby at risk.

Jonathan was the only thing I had left of Garrett Thomas.

Of course, I went into his room maybe a month after the shooting. It took so much courage to do so, but I knew I had to. He wanted me to.

However, I couldn't bring myself to take anything. I couldn't even bear to move anything. It looked like he was still alive and living there. His bed sheets were messed up although he hardly even slept, there were clothes scattered everywhere, and I even found numerous drafts of the letter that was left in his car for me to read. He looked he couldn't figure out what to say, so he had to rewrite it over and over until he was satisfied.

Garrett's mother was distraught and up to this day, she is still distraught, but she tries to hide it whenever Jonathan and I are around.

Speaking of Jonathan, he just turned eighteen. I don't know whether to be proud of him or cry because my baby boy was growing up, but either way I am so glad that he only inherited Garrett's looks and not his personality. I wouldn't be able to handle it if my son took his life away from me too.

Garrett's mother was the one that decided that she wanted Jonathan to have her son's room whenever he went there to spend the night. I could remember one night, I think Jonathan just turned fifteen, when I had dropped him off around nine at night to spend time with his grandmother. He had a basketball game that night and he was deathly tired, so he went straight into Garrett's room to lie down.