Love Letters to You [On Hold]

nineteen.

Entry #19
November 15th, 2034

I'm a bad person.

I'm a horrible person.

I'm the worst person to ever live.

Why did I have to listen to you? Why did I have to get involved? Why did I have to fall in love with you?

Nothing about you makes sense anymore.

At first, I thought your green eyes were entrancing. I thought your messy hair was beautiful. I thought your perfect smile was just that, perfect.

Now, your eyes look evil. Your hair looks horrible. Your smile looks menacing.

Surely, you didn't do anything to change your appearance. But now I see you in a different light, and all the things I thought were beautiful before, don't seem so beautiful now.

You somehow convinced me to skip evaluation at school today. I knew the principal would be calling home to find out why I skipped and my parents would be just as confused as he was. They would investigate until they found the root of the problem, and once they did, they would kill us both.

See, I knew this.

So why did I still agree to go with you?

"We'll be back before sundown," you told me once we were seated in your parents' car. You said they would be too busy arguing that they wouldn't notice it was gone. "You nervous?"

"No," I said as I brushed my hand over my fleshy arm where the bullet wound still remained. "I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of dying."

You laughed really loud as if I had told some kind of joke, but I was serious. "We'll be fine, Cal. I've gotten us this far, haven't I?"

I snapped my eyes to yours. "Seriously? You shot me!"

You scoffed. "Which was an accident."

"Which still hurt!" I yelled back.

You turned to look at me with those glistening green eyes of yours and you smiled. "I still love you, Cal. Even if you're a bit stubborn."

I didn't know what to say after that, because I didn't know if that was an insult or a compliment.

Before you could get the car started, your mom came running down the driveway with her hands flailing in the air. She looked like you, but not really, because she looked furious. No matter what happened between us, you never got mad and I thought that was really really weird.

You groaned. "What the hell does she want?"

"Nate Henry! Where the hell do you think you're going? And who the hell is this? Please don't tell me you're a homo. I swear to God, I'll-"

Then she went silent, and she didn't look mad anymore. She fell to the ground and I couldn't understand why, until I looked at you and saw you were holding the solider's gun in your hands and it was aimed at her.

I gasped. "Nate!"

You switched your gaze to me. Your eyes looked dark and menacing, and a blank expression was cast over your face. You looked at me for some time before you smiled that brilliant smile again. "Cal!" You mocked me while laughing.

"That's your..." I looked back at your mom's lifeless body on the pavement. "You killed your mom!"

You started up the car. "Say it any louder and the whole neighborhood will hear you. Yes, I killed my mom. It's the perfect excuse to miss evaluation. We can go back to your house so you can kill your dad. I know how much you hate him."

You weren't you. You looked like you. You smelled like you. But nothing that came out of your mouth sounded like you.

"I don't hate my dad!" I shouted. "He's my dad!"

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

I still couldn't believe what had just happened. You killed your Mom, and you were acting like nothing happened.

We spent the whole day driving around town and you attempted to make conversation, but I was too caught up in my thoughts to respond. Something was wrong with you. Because this Nate was nothing like the Nate I fell in love with.

When I got home that night, your mom had already made the news. The reporters even asked you questions and you said that you found out your mom was gay, so you killed her. You admitted to killing her! And no one did anything about it, because you did the "heroic" action.

That's when I started thinking about what my mom told me. She said you were from "up north" and that northerners were anything but good, so I had to see for myself.

I researched you. It took quite a while because no matter how many times I searched up "Nate Henry", there was nothing. But I was convinced there was something on you. If not, then I was just being paranoid and I could easily forget about today's events.

That was until I found an article about a mass killing spree that occurred in the north, just two weeks before you moved here. Everything was there : your picture, your age, your gender, your name...

Except your name wasn't Nate.

It was Brandon Carrey, and you were five years older than what you said you were. The article described everything you did to 27 innocent people, in full detail. It was so graphic that I had to skip through most of it.

At the end of the article, it stated that you had gone missing after the murders and no one knows where you went.

But I know.

You moved next door.