Letters to Elle

13 | Burning

                        THIRTEEN

                        BURNING

                                    ♡ ♡ ♡

“Stay home, Waverly.” My mother’s soothing voice lulls me into a sense of safety, and I gladly welcome it. Her voice wraps me up into a bundle of warmth and hugs me. “You’ve been through so much lately. You need a break.”

            “I couldn’t agree more,” I say.

            Satisfied, Mom smiles at me. “Okay, hon, if you need anything, just call your father or me. With the whole . . . Marnie thing that happened last night, I would understand if you just needed someone to talk to. I’ll try my best to answer my phone if you call, but you know how they are about having phones out on the floor.”

            The thing about working in a department store is that phones aren’t allowed on the floor. Except managers usually let their associates carry their cell phones if they’re on silent and they don’t answer it when they’re talking to a customer. It’s always comforting to know that if I break my leg and call my mom that she’ll answer no matter what. (Note the sarcasm.)

            “I know,” I say. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

            Her face softens even more, if that’s even possible and she turns to leave my room. “I love you too, sweetheart. Don’t overdo it today. And if the police come to the door or call . . . just know that you don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to. Nobody’s forcing you.”

            “I know, Mom. I love you.”

            “Bye, Waverly.”

The door shuts behind her back, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I can’t think properly when I’m with my mom. A feeling of gut wrenching remorse passes through my stomach, hacking its way through my intestines. I know so much about Elle’s disappearance, and I’m not telling anyone. Something about that just seems terribly wrong, and it makes me feel like a shitty person for not letting anybody know about what I know. Would I be helping or hurting Elle by telling the police?

            I don’t know, and that’s what scares me.

            Once I hear the garage door shut, I know that Mom has left the house, and she’s no longer able to know what I’m doing—unless I tell her of course, which will never happen. Hurriedly, I scramble out of my bed, my legs nearly getting tangled in the sheets. The box is already in my hand, and I’m fully prepared to do what I’m about to do.

            As I make my way toward my door, I can feel the sun’s warm rays reaching the back of my bare neck. For some reason, chills run down my spine, causing me to shiver.

            Come on, Waverly, I think to myself, gripping the box tighter. Nothing’s going to get you. You’re in the safety of your own home. Get it together.

            Easier said than done.

            On the way out of my room, I grab the cell phone that belongs to Elle and and grip that in my hands.

            I tell myself that I’m mentally prepared for doing this, but then I think about and realize how unprepared I really am. Am I really ready to burn all of Elle’s belongings? Am I ready to burn the last pieces of her that I have to crisps? What if those letters were the last letters that I was getting?