When I get home the next day, I pack my bags under Hank’s watchful eye. Within twenty-four hours, my entire life imploded. Again. I don’t know what’s next, just that I have to move on.
I move on autopilot, stuffing clothes into my suitcase with numb fingers. Hank stays silent in the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable. Probably trying to decide whether I’m a flight risk orjust pathetic.
Halfway through packing, I reach for a box shoved into the back of my closet. My stomach dips. It’s the wooden keepsake box from Nik. I’d nearly forgotten it was there.
I glance toward the doorway. Hank’s in the hallway, his voice carrying. He’s on the phone and distracted. Good. I don’t want him to witness another of my meltdowns.
I lift the lid with shaking hands. Inside, there’s only two things: Axel’s worn leather journal, long since filled, pages curled at the corners like they’ve been crying too. And a sealed envelope, yellowed slightly at the edges.
Johnny’s letter.
I forgot I even had it. He told me to open it if I ever felt alone. If things ever got too dark. If I needed… a friend.
I wipe my palms on my jeans, breathing hard. I shouldn’t be this nervous. It’s just paper. Just ink. Just Johnny. But I’m alone, and I’m scared, and I’m so fucking tired of pretending I’m not.
I sit on the edge of the bed, tear the envelope open, and unfold the letter. The handwriting hits me first. It’s slanted and aggressive, like he carved it more than wrote it.
His nickname for me stares up at me from the top of the page.
Honey—
Just like that I’m not in my bedroom anymore. I’m seventeen again, swimming in their pool. Cool water rippling around me in the heat of late Tennessee summer. Johnny’s beside me telling me everything I need to hear. That I matter. That I deserve to take up space and be noticed. That I deserve to have a life.
My throat tightens. I blink hard. Then I keep reading.
Honey,
If you’re reading this, you’re probably having a really hard day. Maybe it’s worse than that. Maybe the world feels too heavy.Maybe your chest is tight, your hands are shaking, and you’re wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep going.
I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but I do know this: you’ve made it through hell before, and you’re still standing. You’ll get through this, too.
You arenot alone.
Not now. Not ever.
I know what it’s like to wake up already drowning. I know how the quiet can be louder than the screams. I know the kind of hurt that doesn’t leave bruises, but still makes your whole body ache. I know what it’s like to carry memories that claw at your skin and hollow out your lungs.
And I know how strong you are, even when you don’t feel it. Even when you don’t want to be.
I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You carry your pain and still manage to light up a room. You survived something no one should ever have to, and you didn’t let it break you. You fought for yourself. That kind of strength isn’t loud, but it’s unshakable.
So please remember: whatever it is you’re feeling right now? It won’t last forever.
Emotions lie. Trauma lies. They’ll tell you you’re weak, or broken, or that you’ll never be okay again.
They’re wrong. You’re already proof of that.
If the pain is loud, let these words be louder.
You are loved. So fucking loved.
By Axel. By Nik. By me.
We don’t just love the brave parts. We love the broken parts, too.
If you can, reach out. Text one of us. Let someone hold the weight with you. But if you can’t, if all you can do is read this and breathe, then know I’m proud of you for that. Truly.
You’ve already survived the worst days of your life. This one won’t beat you.
