I never had access to anything like paper at the farm.
I want to work on talking out loud, but I don’t think I’mpatient enough to wait until I can learn again. I have things I want to tell her.
I flip to a new page and start writing.
Mirabelle
Her name is so pretty. But my writing makes it ugly. Just like my voice. Just like me.
I make things ugly. I’m ugly.
I tear the page out of the notebook, starting on a clean page. I rest the notepad on the floor, crouching over it.
I try again.
Mirabelle
Better. I spend an agonizingly long time on each letter, but it looks nicer than the first time.
The pen trembles in my hand. It hovers above the paper.
What do I even say?
I want to say so much to her.
Thank you for talking to me.
Each word takes so fucking long to write. It honestly would be faster if I tried speaking it. But this is better. I think. I hope.
You make me feel like I’m not a monster.
I don’t know if I can put into words this feeling in my chest. It’s like someone’s sitting on it. Like someone’s hand is squeezing around my heart.
She’s mine.
But I don’t know if I should say that.
I don’t want her to be afraid of me.
What if she doesn’t want to be mine?
I swallow hard past the lump in my throat.
I’m yours.
Be mine. Please.
“You okay there?” Ash asks, crouching down in front of me. “You’re breathing funny.”
Am I?
I blink at him, covering the notepad with my hand.
I shrug, sitting back on my haunches.
“What were you writing?”
I clutch the notepad to my chest and nod to the bathroom door. Towards where Mirabelle is.
