Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(86)

These letters represent the gap in everything from my life before to now.

With a hard swallow, I tear into the one on top.

Emma,

I’m sorry that this has to be a letter. It’s the only thing I’m allowed to do. I wanted to call you, but there really wasn’t an opportunity. I didn’t know where to call, either. All this time, and I still never asked you for your phone number. I’m such a jerk.



The past floods my insides, overtaking me completely. The envelopes still in my hand feel hot to touch, and I drop them on the bedspread beside me, spreading them out like a deck of cards, the one letter I began to read still on top.

He’s sorry.

After what he did for me, the first thing he wrote me was sorry.

I slide one out from the middle, tugging the loosely-sealed edge open, and I pull the letter free. This one is only a single page. I notice that the letters are less thick the closer to the bottom of the spread-out stack I go.

Dear Emma,

Yeah. I’m writing again. I guess I’m a glutton for punishment. I wish I could tell you the things that I see here. I wish I could tell you the things I’ve been through. I’m so unbelievably alone. I thought I was lonely before I met you, but god what I wouldn’t give to go back to that time. Not that I want to go back to life before you. Actually, I’d like to relive getting to know you again. Those few weeks were…well they meant a lot to me. I would probably skip the part where we get in the accident though—or at least I wouldn’t go to my friend House’s party. That was stupid.

I don’t know what anyone’s told you. But I’m counting on the fact that you know me—the real me. You know I’m not some drugged-out loser, right? I was at a party I shouldn’t have gone to and tried some things that I shouldn’t have tried. Everyone looks at me differently now, though. I’m afraid they look at me and see my brother James. I’m not James, Emma. I hope you know that.



I tear quickly into more letters, each one giving me another piece of Andrew’s heart, a piece of his soul. He pours out feelings in some letters, talking about how afraid he is of Lake Crest, and in others he’s almost resolved to what his life is there, offering me nothing at all, almost as if he’s protecting me from what he’s going through. The more I read, the sadder he becomes, and the less of Andrew I see. I pull one near the end, not ready—and maybe also not willing—to read his final letter.

Dear Emma,

I miss you.

I wanted to see what those words felt like. There are more words…other things to write, to say. Maybe one day I’ll say them to you in person. Or maybe…I won’t. I hope I’m not freaking you out, it’s just that this place is so dark and heartless that I wanted to remind myself what light was like. You…you’re my light.

I talked with my brother’s girlfriend Kensi for a while tonight. She came to visit. I wasn’t very good company at first, but then she asked me questions about you. She’s offered to visit you for me, to bring you something. I thought about letting her bring you one of my hats or my sweatshirt. I don’t know…I thought girls liked that sort of thing. But I’m too afraid you won’t want it.

I’m afraid you won’t want me.

I want to see you so badly it hurts.

You don’t know this, but I tried—I tried to see you. This place has a way of keeping people on leashes though. I’m okay. Don’t worry, I can take it. I promise you this place won’t defeat me entirely. I’ll come back to you, Emma. We’ll start over, and I’ll take you on a proper date. I’ll hold your hand and buy you popcorn and kiss you in a dark movie theater. And I’ll be your date for prom. And I’ll spend my summer trying to make you laugh.

I’ll come back to you if you’ll have me. It’s all I’m living for.

Please write soon.

Completely yours,

Andrew



I can barely see through the tears that stream down my face. My breath is stuttering, and my chest hurts. On instinct, I hold my palm flat over the center, over my scar, counting as I breathe in and breathe out.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The calm that usually follows is short—the mixture of anger, regret, and heartbreak flooding me again and again.

Andrew was mine. I was his reason for everything. And when he needed me most, I wasn’t there—because I never knew. And now…now that he’s here…all I’m doing is pushing him away more. My skin turns red, and my body feels hot. My fist clenched, I bring my other arm down on the bed, slamming it hard enough to make the letters jump from the force. I slam my fist down again, then swipe the letters in all directions, sending them to the floor as I collapse onto my bed, my face deep in my sheets. I open my mouth wanting to scream, but I’m aware enough to know that I can’t. Not here, not where anyone can hear me.

I scream inside, to myself, wishing I could turn back time.

“Em?” Lindsey knocks at my door. I push myself up, rushing to the floor to gather my letters, to protect them and save them.

“Just a second. I’m fixing something…on my dress,” I breathe out in a panic, scooping the letters back into the envelope and tucking it into my backpack on my desk to hide them.

“It’s okay. I just wanted you to know Andrew’s here,” she says. My eyes grow wide, and my body freezes, my fingers about to clutch my door. I pull my hand away and hold it against me.