"And then he hugged her so tight, all of her broken pieces fit back together."
WARNING: THERE ARE MENTIONS OF SELF HARM, ABUSE, AND SUICIDE IN THIS BOOK. IF ANY OF THESE THINGS TRIGGER BAD MEMORIES, I RECOMMEND YOU DO NOT READ THIS BOOK
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BRANDON STEPPED INTO his home, where his mom was waiting for him.
"Mom?" He asked.
"Erica's gone!" His mother exclaimed, hysterical crying. "I can't believe I have to tell my baby that his best friend is dead."
"Erica's dead?" Brandon asked, suddenly having trouble remembering how to breathe.
"She killed herself a few hours ago." She told him, wiping away her tears. "And she left you this letter."
Brandon ripped the letter out of his mother's hand and plopped on their couch, quickly reading it.
Brandon,
I will always remember our late night talks at the abandoned park on 22nd street and our early morning talks at the waffle house on 21st.
Those things remind me of me and you.
21st and 22nd street; so close yet so far apart.
It's not a secret that we were drifting apart. We still talked every day, but still. That's not enough.
The waffle house and the abandoned park; so different from each other yet special in their own way.
You were the bad boy with the good life, I was the good girl with the bad life. We completed each other.
Early morning, late night; this one's self explanatory.
You are my best friend, and you have been for years. I want you to know that I love you, and that you will find another best friend, and that's okay. I'm okay.
