I whip my face up at his quiet words.
Quiet but determined, and a repetition of what I said to him on the night it snowed and I told him my secret.
I try to wipe my tears from my eyes so I can see him clearly. But I only get to glance at him for a second or two and notice thathis face has whittled down to razor-like sharpness and his body is arranged in a battle stance, feet wide, chest broad, before my tears take over.
And I hear his voice again.
“Because I want.”
What?
I don’t know what that means and I don’t get to ask him because as soon as he’s said those three words, announced them almost, he turns around and leaves.
After that, all bets are off.
I can’t stop crying as I hear his last words over and over.
Because I want…
Hours later,I wake up in partial darkness.
My eyes are gritty and heavy and this time I know why. It’s because I couldn’t stop crying after he left. I cried the entire day until they gave me a mild sedative and put me to sleep.
But I’m awake now.
When my eyes fall on the rows and rows of shoeboxes, I even scramble up in my bed. I don’t feel dizzy or foggy at my sudden movements as I reach out and grab a box. I open the lid and there they are.
My little orange, sun-like envelopes.
My letters.
They’re here.
I’m holding them in my hands and I don’t understand…
Then my eyes fall on something else.
A lone envelope, sitting on top of one of the boxes.
It’s gray.
And it has a letter inside it.
A reply to the very first letter I wrote for him, eight years ago.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Darling Arrow,
It’s weird writing you a letter because we sort of live in the same house.
But I guess this is the safer option. I don’t get why but it is.
Anyway, I wanted to answer your question from this morning. You know, when you asked me if I was cold?
I’m not.
I mean, I am right now because your house is really cold, dude. But I wasn’t, back in the kitchen. Because as soon as you came in, you took the cold away, which again I don’t get.
