A Lover's Lament(22)

Anyway, I think Dr. Perry has a screw loose and has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. However, I am desperate to find closure and move on, because the woman I’ve become is not the woman I want to be. You would probably still recognize me if you saw me, but the carefree, happy girl you once knew … she’s gone … buried right alongside her dad in a cold, dark grave.

Despite what you’re probably thinking right about now, I’m not a completely angry, closed-off bitch. Writing you just seems to have pulled that out of me. Honestly though, I don’t care what you think, and I can’t bring myself to give a shit about anything, really.

I’m getting off track, and that’s the exact opposite of what this letter is supposed to do, so I’m going to do what’s best for me right now. I’m going to tell you what happened, but for my own sanity I’m going to pretend that Devin Ulysses Clay is a complete stranger … shouldn’t be too hard, I guess, considering I haven’t heard a word from you in years. So here goes nothing.

Six weeks ago, my dad and I were on our way to dinner when a car in the opposite lane crossed the center divide and slammed into us head-on. I woke up two days later in the hospital to find out that my father had died on impact, and the man responsible for his death was a soldier home on leave.

Sergeant Clay, my dad was my best friend—my biggest supporter—and now he’s gone. And instead of grieving his loss and remembering all of the great things about him, I’m consumed with anger and resentment toward the young man who so carelessly stole my father’s life. He was a soldier, for Christ’s sake. Aren’t soldiers supposed to be strong, upstanding men? Aren’t they supposed to be trained in the art of discipline and control? Or has the military gone to shit and now they’re producing nothing but careless, uncontrollable monsters who think it’s okay to get behind the wheel drunk?

Who does that anyway, driving drunk? It makes me angry, and I hate this anger that has somehow taken over every aspect of my life. But I can’t seem to move past it. It controls me in ways that I can’t even explain. It’s an entity, in and of itself, growing inside of me to epic proportions. It’s the last thing I think about when I go to bed at night and the first thing I think about in the morning, and on most days it occupies every minute in between.

Bailey tells me that the first step is forgiveness, but please tell me how in the hell I’m supposed to forgive a “mistake” that destroyed my entire world? How do I move on from this? How do I erase this deep-rooted hatred that has spread from a smolder to a full-blown inferno inside my soul? Honestly, I’m not sure I can erase it, or move on, and that terrifies the ever-loving shit out of me.

My dad was a good man … a kind man. He was a hard worker and the best damn father a girl could ever ask for. He was my hero, and nothing and no one can bring him back. But it sure will be satisfying knowing that Lieutenant Drexler will rot in prison for what he took away from me and my family.

Can you even relate to what I’m going through and what I’m feeling? Of course you can’t. Because what I’m feeling is a gaping hole of emptiness in the spot where my heart should be.

I haven’t told anyone about these feelings, except my therapist. Sure, my mom and sister know I’m having a hard time, but they’re oblivious to the things that cycle over and over in my head. They don’t know that there have been days I’ve thought about what it would be like to leave this earth, and I hope they never do because I don’t want to disappoint them more than I already have.

So, do I feel better after writing this letter? I’m not so sure. If anything, at least it will appease Dr. Perry, and it’s given me the opportunity to tell you that you’re a f*cking dick and I hate you for what you did. Most of all, I hate that I don’t know why you left. What changed to make you pick up and leave the way you did?

You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t care.

Have a good life, Sergeant Clay.

Sincerely,

Katie Devora



My breathing is ragged and my heart is racing at a pace that seems inhuman. My fingers grip the letter tightly as if the longer and tighter I hold it, the kinder the words will become. Her letter absolutely gutted me, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe leaving her without a word was a dick move, but she had no idea what I saw … the way she looked at Wyatt, the way she turned to him with her problems. I would never be able to compete with the likes of him. I could feel it in my bones, even before talking to her dad, that Wyatt would be her knight in shining armor. Sure, at the time I didn’t want to believe it, but I could feel it.

Katie may have loved me then—f*ck, I know she did—but I had every reason to believe that my love for her wouldn’t be enough.

Without permission, my mind drifts to the last night I saw Katie. The night I promised her we’d find a way to make it work. The night I ultimately walked away, shredding both her heart and mine in the process.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” She giggles when I cup the back of her neck and bring her mouth to mine. Reluctantly, I let go, and with a smirk, she walks away, only looking back once to give me a little wave. My eyes stay fixed on her until I know she’s safe inside the house.

Katie lives out in the country, and it’s much darker out here than in town. So dark, in fact, that a light tap against my passenger-side window causes me to instantly go into panic mode. Spinning around, I pin myself against the driver’s side door. Mr. Devora’s enormous frame comes into view, but even after I realize it’s Katie’s dad and not some masked murderer, it still takes several moments to collect myself.