the aftermath of us ✓

letter seven

tuesday 24 (feb)

dear trevor,

i started english literature today. i forgot that we decided to take the course together so seeing you in the classroom was sort of a shock. but only briefly. the feeling was replaced with a slight burning in the middle of my chest.

the class was interesting but i was too distracted by the sound of your breathing at the table next to me to even be remotely present in the conversation.

you breathe too loudly, you know that?

granny's been checking up on me a little less lately. maybe that's because i pretend to be doing homework a lot instead of blasting sad songs and crying. she's been asking about you and amelia and more recently, reed.

yes, i told her about you two. why wouldn't i tell her? she's the only person i can confide in currently. she's also lived about seventy nine years on this dreadful planet and experienced more heartbreak than i can count on my fingers. so she's the most qualified person in my life to talk to about the subject.

after english lit ended, reed invited me to the mall with he and his friends.

i said no.

you were walking out of the class with a huge grin on your face that appeared when you saw amelia and all you left behind was smoke only i could see. i couldn't breathe and needed to leave so i said no to reed and walked off to the bathroom. i wish i could wonder where the smoke was from. but i know.

amelia lit that bonfire in your heart. i feel guilty for wanting to extinguish it.

if i have to say anymore about this crackling fire that threatens to burn me every time you go by, i'll just say that i hope you burn the marshmallows i know you're roasting over it.

i hate how comfortable you two are already. i hate how she makes you laugh so much. i hate you for leaving me like this.

i hate myself for caring when you clearly don't.

because, quite frankly, i would've liked to go to the mall with someone else for once. i've been going alone for too long.

love,

leslie