Dearest Kit

Chapter Thirty Four

My Wonderfully Confusing Kit,

I don’t really know what to say or how to start this letter. Out of all the choices, of all the words in the English language, I am finding it near impossible to select the right ones. It’s as if my brain has short circuited and is finding it hard to function as it was before, when I first wrote to you.

I am angry at you, in a way, because how would we survive the separation? In what way would we be able to be apart from one another, I can’t even conceive the pain involved; that was stupid of me to write, I guess the pain would feel like it does right now, just more certain. I don’t give a flying fuck what the media think, what your fans think, what our families think, because we know the truth. I have never met someone like you Kit and I wouldn’t dare use you for your money, for your achievements.

The ring is beautiful, like something from a fairytale I read as a small child; people used to say that I looked a little like Sleeping Beauty, but I’ve never considered myself as much of a princess. I should have given it back to you, the ring, because it feels wrong, knowing that we may not see each other for a while. On the other hand, I’ve been wearing it all day and all night, because it feels wonderful on my finger. I’m not sure whether it’s the gem itself, which I admire, or the gesture, or the thing it represents; it’s all three I suppose.

I was in London the other day, with Jimmy, and I walked past your apartment building which was strange. I felt an urge to go into the lobby and take the lift up to your flat, but I didn’t think you’d be there, even if I did. I was on the bus and I saw Rafael Anderson, the boy I told you about after you slept with Isabel. I couldn’t believe it was him, I hadn’t thought I’d ever see him again, but there he was, on the same bus as me. We spoke for a while, I don’t really know what he is anymore. Maybe he’s a part of my imagination; a tortured artist, a poet; I still think he’s something more, someone much more special than that, a little otherworldly even. If I believed in God, I would call him an angel.

How have you been, regarding all that happened the other night? I feel bad for trying to start small talk with you, but what else are we meant to do? I feel as though we’re stuck in limbo and it’s going to be awkward for a little while as we try to work out what to do with one another. College has been hard, hard to concentrate, hard to carry on with the university stuff without you. Everything’s hard without you, Kit, if I’m being brutally honest. It hurts to just type your name.

Yours Adoringly,

Lana

P.S. Me and Sacha have reconciled; Jimmy and Seb and Freddie and I are looking for an apartment in London, oh, and Freddie’s joined the band. I’m revising for my exams, but Jim’s not as good a tester as you, nothing can compare to those nights in my bedroom as you read from my flash cards. What am I going to do without you? I’m crying now, which is stupid, I know.

* * *

The Formidable Lana O’Rourke,

I’m glad you started it, it wouldn’t have mattered how, just that you did. I should have written you first, but for some reason I was waiting for you; I was worried about you, I wanted to see how you would react before doing anything else.

I completely understand how you’re feeling, the anger. If it was reversed I’m sure I would be much less composed than you, distraught, frantic, a complete wreck most probably. I don’t want to be away from you, understand that more than anything else, but I feel like it’s essential. It’s the only way you can reach your full potential, to fulfill your dreams. The pain is excruciating, I knew it would be, but maybe it will dull in time, to a low and throbbing ache. I like the way you make every word sound beautiful, even the word ‘fuck’. I’m going to try to use that phrase today, don’t give a flying fuck. I know you, Lana, I know you would never do anything to exploit me.