Nodding in agreement, I head out to the porch in a fuzzy daze. The cool night air washes over me, settling my rapidly beating heart. Running my hands through my still-sweaty hair, I turn in circles for a few moments, before settling my gaze on the patch of forest at the back of Beau’s property.
“Talk to me,” Beau says from where he stands at the open sliding glass door. “You wanna run?”
“No,” I tell him firmly. I don’t want to run. At all.
“What do you want, then?”
“I want to just… not care anymore. Not give a shit.”
“I think that sort of thing takes time. You’re the psychologist though.”
Such a simple statement, but he’s right. I cover my face with my hands and laugh because that’s all I know how to do.
“Maybe I just need to tell my parents I don’t want anything to do with them.”
Beau nods reassuringly. “You could do that.”
“It’s scary.”
“I bet,” Beau says, taking a few careful steps closer to me. “You need to break free of them if you want a future here. You can heal with me, be safe with me, like I know I’m always safe with you. But I need to know you’re doing the work here, sweetheart. You don’t want me to fix everything for you, and I won’t, but it hurts my heart to see you like this over a phone call.”
“I know,” I whisper brokenly.
“So, tell me what you want and I’ll support you. We’ll make it happen. Tell me what you need.” Beau takes my face in his hands, sweetly swiping his thumbs under my eyes to get rid of the tears that I didn’t even know had fallen. “I love you.”
“Sorry about the mirror,” I say in reply to his sweet love declaration.
He chuckles softly, eyes warm and intent on me. “I’m not worried about that mirror at all. When do you want to talk to them? Both at the same time, separately?”
“I think maybe I need to write them a letter. Everything with your mother… It showed me what real parents offer to their children. I think if I spell it out, maybe in some deep, hidden part of them, they’ll understand.”
One of Beau’s eyebrows arches. “Want to do it now? No better time than the present.”
I nod, unable to say the words. Beau disappears into his bedroom, returning with a legal pad and a fountain pen. “Here. Write it all out. Everything you feel, everything you want to say to give yourself peace. Then we can mail it together. How’s that sound?”
I lean up on my toes to kiss his stubbled cheek. “I love you.”
Beau’s cheeks turn ruddy, but he doesn’t reply. He just leaves me alone in the dining room to write the letter. I sit down and stare at the legal pad for a while. I’m not even sure where to start. But it’s something I have to do to get my life where I want it to be. To give myself the freedom to love, to heal, to just fuckinglivemy own life instead of theirs. And maybe that’s all I need to say.
The pen scratches against the paper as I write my truth.
Dear Turner and Lyla,
Thank you for all the privileges you afforded me growing up. The private schools, the nice clothing, and the fancy cars. But I think I deserved more. I deserved to be loved and cherished, to be looked at as more than something you were checking off a list. I have been bearing the brunt of your crimes for the past few years, punishing myself for sins that aren’t my own.
I don’t think you truly understand or will ever understand how horrible your crimes were and remain. You stole livelihoods from people. I can’t spend my life trying to make up for your wrongdoings and it’s not fair to ask me to.
This letter is my goodbye. I will always love you, but your love isn’t healthy for me anymore. Your love causes me immense pain, because it’s transactional, not unconditional. I won’t be sending money to your prison accounts, and I won’t be visiting. Please don’t try to find me, don’t reach out to me. It’s my turn to live my life as selfishly as I want to. I’ve found love and a place to start over, that is my selfish wish that I’m going to hold on to forever.
Maybe one day we’ll find our way back to one another. Maybe then we can heal, but for now we need to part ways. Please respect my wishes.
Respectfully,
Levi
A tear escapes my eye, tracking heavily down my cheek. I rub the wetness away against my shoulder and sniffle to prevent the flood of tears that so badly want to come. I’m done crying over them. It feels like a closed loop, like maybe my life started the day I found Clay Springs. I will the tears away, just in time for Beau to quietly join me at the dining table.
“Feel better?” Beau asks, eyes searching mine.
