My hand slipped and just as I turned to go, the door flew open again. Ana’s mom thrust a white envelope at me as she wiped tears from her face. “Here. She left you this.”
As soon as it touched my fingers, she let go and slammed the door again. I stood looking at the soft cursive font that spelled out my name, listening to the deadbolt click. The sun shined and birds chirped in the trees, mocking me. Swallowing, I gripped the letter in my hand and made my way back to my house. My parents sat in the living room in wide-eyed shock, not saying anything.
I dropped my eyes feeling too disappointed in myself to look at them, or try and explain what a horrible shit I was. Instead, I went up to my room and crawled onto my bed to open Ana’s letter.
The envelope tearing seemed to echo with a horrid finality. The slip of paper feeling like the last thing I would have from her. My heart pounded and my fingers shook as part of me chanted to open it, open it, open it, and the other part begged me to leave it, knowing whatever was written would be the final blow.
I opened it.
Just leave me be.
Four words. Four. Simple. Words. When said alone, they were harmless. Nothing. Could mean anything. But put together like that was like a guillotine cutting off the most important part of me. The reality of how bad I’d fucked up stared at me in those four words. There were no excuses or corners to hide behind. I’d fucked up, and I’d hurt her more than I ever could’ve imagined.
I hated myself more than I ever could’ve imagined.
I picked up my phone and pulled up her name. One text message. Just one and I would give her the peace she was asking for. I just needed her to know.
Me: I love you and I’m so sorry.
Part II
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kevin
Four Years Ago
“Last semester of college, man. I swear, I never thought I would get here,” I said to my friends.
“After your first year, I wasn’t sure you were going to get here either,” my friend Jason muttered into his beer.
“Speak for yourselves, assholes,” Will grumbled.
“Hey, not all of us are overachievers searching for a med degree,” I shot back.
Will just shrugged it off and took a long pull from his drink. We were only a couple of days into the new year and had decided to go bar hopping with some friends before school picked back up.
“Got to admit, drinking in a bar feels a hell of a lot better than when we got shit-faced and passed out on the lawn of whatever frat house we were at,” Jason said.
“Cheers to that,” Will said. We responded by clinking our glasses.
The bar was more of a pub with the wood interior and Journey playing in the background. We sure as hell had come a long way from the frat parties and then later the clubs and more raucous bars trying to pick up chicks. I mean, we still did that, but tonight was more about hanging out with friends.
Will and Jason had been my roommates since sophomore year. We’d met in the dorms as freshmen, clicked, and never looked back. They were the friends that watched over me when I lost my mind a little that first year. Going to UC was a constant reminder that I was there without Ana. That I was living my life without her. I had lost a part of me and it took a lot of alcohol and self-hate to get used to missing her.
Over the past three years, I’d tried to look her up on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or any of the other thousand social media platforms everyone was on. But I never found her. It was for the best. Her letter haunted me. And I wasn’t sure I would have been able to abide by her request if I’d found a link to her.
So, I’d moved on and struggled through my first year, slowly making friends and accepting what had happened. After freshman year, I switched from undecided to a marketing major that focused on sports. I never did go back to playing soccer, which frustrated my parents to no end, but they eventually accepted it. Especially after my dad completed his final term as senator. He decided to take a break and took my mom traveling around the world.
I tried to get home whenever they were there too, hoping I’d see Ana if she ever came back to visit. But even after all that time, I’d never run into her. In the first year, her mom hesitantly let me know she was okay. Sometimes it was little more than a nod across the lawn. If I was lucky, she’d actually speak to me. When she told me Ana was doing better, my heart expanded in relief and pinched in pain, knowing what she must have been going through. Knowing she was getting better was the biggest deterrent from hunting her down in Nashville. I didn’t want to cause her any more pain than I already had.