Dear S: Part 5

Ahhhhh shit guys, I wrote another part for Dear S! 🙂 Finally, right?

Feedback is encouraged, and be sure to read the first 4 (very short) parts before this one! I’m so bossy, huh?

Dear S Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4


PART 5

I backed into the corner of my loveseat in the living room and had to look back at it to correct my footing. Of course, in the time that I had looked back, the boy had already gone, and I was left standing there staring dumbly at the spot I last saw him.

At that time I knew I would have to wait until he came again, and ask him, once again, who they were.

S, I’m going to stop here to remind you of what you told me yesterday because this is the part of my story that I think you should recognize. The way you said it to me, the sheer…tranquility in your voice, has left an unsettling taste in my mouth, and the more I write this letter the more I realize that maybe you have been blowing me off because…well…of course you already think I’m crazy so I can’t get any worse, right, but maybe you are actually a bigger part of this than I thought.

When you said ‘there is no way they can get to you’, you said it like you knew them. Like you knew their plan. I can’t explain how I knew you knew more, but I did, instantly.

Anyway, a few days after the boy pointed at me, which was 12 days ago, I had gotten tired of waiting around for him.

For the first time in a long time, I felt angry.
I felt angry at the boy for not sticking around or explaining himself, I felt angry at my roommate for leaving me, I felt angry at ‘them’ for whatever the fuck they were doing, but mostly I felt incredibly angry at you.

You were clearly unaffected by my misery. You were distant. You were so damn happy those few weeks, so oblivious. But as we now know, you were not oblivious. You were prepared.

‘They’.

I still couldn’t get it out of my head, the way you said ‘they’ so warmly…so….lovingly. You knew them. I was sure of it.

I could hear it in your voice crackling over the phone, I could see it in the side glances you made away from me when we saw each other.

My anger led me to action, as I’m sure you very well remember. At least I fucking hope you remember.

You have your own way of recollecting the events of that day, as I’ve heard from others, but let me go ahead and let you know how it looked from my side of things:

It was 15 days ago.

As I said before, I was tired of waiting.

I called you over to come to talk and stay with me that night, to help me figure it out, call the boy back, get out of you whatever you knew about ‘them’, anything.

I just knew you knew something and I knew you loved me, deep down there was no way you could throw away 10 years of friendship over something that, well, I still don’t even fucking know what that something is.

You reluctantly agreed to come.

I was tense waiting for you. I had the door unlocked and was staring at it for at least an hour before you knocked heavily on it. That simple action, the fact that you knocked on my door, worried me even more. You had never knocked. You came right in. You were my family. But, of course, you know this.

When you walked into the apartment you had a disgustingly thrilled smirk on your face.

‘S, finally, we need to talk’.

‘Of course we do, we’re best friends, we always need to talk’, you said in a sing-song voice.

You sauntered over to the chair next to me at the breakfast bar and let out a sigh as if life were just so overwhelmingly wonderful for you.

‘I think you know what we need to talk about, and I very much think you know who the boy and ‘they’ are. Start talking. Because like you said, we’re best friends, right?’

That look on your face, you looked so taken aback.

‘We’ve gone over this, nobody is out to get you, you are imagining that boy, honey…you’re beginning to look very crazy’.

‘No you said so firmly over the phone that ‘they’ couldn’t get to me. You even caught yourself, your voice changed. You let it slip that you knew them. So introduce me.’

Again, you sighed an overwhelming sigh, this time not at the wonder of the world though, but at the evil in the world.

‘Okay, I love you, you know that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘There was something delivered to me about a month ago. The box was unmarked. No postage, I didn’t even see who dropped it off. Well, of course, I opened it, I mean, it was on my doorstep. Once I cut open the clear tape holding the top together I drew back immediately. What was inside was…dark.’

‘Why would you not have told me about this?’

‘Because…because it had to do with you’.

‘What was inside the box?’

‘There was a smaller box, a wooden one like you would find at an old cigar shop. It had your name on it. At first, I thought it was a mistake, that it was meant for you. Then I noticed the inscription underneath, it read ‘NOT FOR HER, FOR THEM’. The box had a few blood stains on the side, it definitely looked like it had been through something horrible. I hesitated, but I opened it slowly, lifting the latch like a timid kid playing with a jack in the box’.

‘Fuck those things’.

‘Yeah, I know. Well, anyway, inside the box was a note. It read ‘We will find her, and you will help’.

I just want to stop this little reverie and say I knew you were lying, S. I could tell, it sounded rehearsed, it sounded unfinished, that statement. I digress.

‘What did it mean,’you will help’?’

‘I don’t know, I still have no idea. I know that it was probably a sick joke, that the dark feeling I got when receiving it at first was simply a fear of the unknown, perhaps a little excitement. I’m sure now looking back at it the blood wasn’t even real’.

You lied so hard…

D.R Breshears

 

Advertisements

2 Comments Add yours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s