Fading Away ✅

Chapter Thirty-two

"Hey, I'm outside your front door".

"Come in, the door is unlocked", I send back with trembling fingers.

Taking in a shuddering breath, I pick up the crumpled paper and straighten the crinkled end made by my tight hold.

Blaze peeps in
"You shouldn't leave your front door open when nobody is down. Anybody can just decide to walk in".

"Slipped my mind, will lock it next time", I reply half-heartedly, my eyes glued to the paper in my hand.

I hear no movement and I look up to see him enter and close the door. He is dressed in black jeans, a white hoodie with a black winter jacket over it, a beanie on his head, gloves on his hand, and sneakers. There is a set of frown etched on his brow.
"No sassy comment?no counter back?
What's wrong?".

I ran a hand through my hair and let out a sigh, shutting my eyes trying to keep my emotion in check.

"I'm sorry, it's nothing"
"So, I say trying to change the subject
Which movie did you decide on?".

He comes to sit by me, placing a pizza box and an ice cream cup on my bedside table.

"Do you want to talk about it?", he asks giving me an encouraging smile.

I sink my head against his shoulder breathing in his sandalwood scent. My pulse throbs in my head with a faint rhythm.

I scrunch up my face at the migraine I know I'm going to suffer through later.

"But if you don't want to, you shouldn't", he says his words rushing out
"That time at the hill, I pressured you to talk and that was wrong".

"No, you didn't", I argue.

"Just know, you don't have to talk if you don't want to but at any time you want to talk about it– I'm here", he says taking my hand and extending the cookie dough ice cream my way.

Honestly, the first thing I wanted to do this morning when I found the paper was call Blaze, I wanted him here, I needed his presence. I had picked up my phone three times, slid into his caller ID, and on each occasion was so close to pressing the call button but I didn't want to worry him with my problems, but it felt like the universe was reading my thoughts because he called an hour later saying he was coming over to hang out so I could fulfill my promise of him getting anything he wanted when he landed the pirouette.

My nose burns as tears brew in my eyes but I  take in a breath and bring it out.

"She wrote a letter to me before she died", I whisper
"And I have never had the courage to read it. It's kind of strange but I woke up this morning with this deep feeling of wanting to be close to her and I tried to shake off the feeling but I couldn't. So I started rustling through pieces of stuff we had given each other; presents from birthday, Christmas–everything".

"Then I stumbled upon the letter she wrote to me before she died", I pause wincing at the word
"And I have never had the courage to read it".

The memories resurface in my head and that feeling grips me again
The cold numbing guilt that had washed over me as I sat on the couch, the couch on which we had engaged in many pillow fights. I had sat on that couch a year ago, tears streaking down my face as I tried to process the sight I had met a few days ago. Her mum's distraught eyes and red-rimmed eyes with an overpowering smell of old beer lingering on her. She had always cared more about her alcohol than her daughter so I wasn't surprised she would turn to alcohol for comfort when her daughter died.

Her hand held out a white envelope towards me with my name brandished on it. Her mum had wanted to give everything of hers out but I had persuaded her continuously into allowing me to take the few important things that belonged to her and I stashed the letter with them.