The Letter You Didn't Receive

chapter thirteen

You have one missed call from Pierce.

She ran.

You have two missed calls from Pierce.

She ignored.

You have three missed calls from Pierce.

She waited.

You have four missed calls from Pierce.

She stomped.

You have five missed calls from Pierce.

She cried.

You have six missed calls from Pierce.

She ached.

You have seven missed calls from Pierce.

She tumbled.

You have eight missed calls from Pierce.

She stopped.

You have nine missed calls from Pierce.

She sat.

You have ten missed calls from Pierce.

She laid.

You have eleven missed calls from Pierce.

She tainted.

You have twelve missed calls from Pierce.

She heaved.

You have thirteen missed calls from Pierce.

His messages didn't matter anymore. She muted him and herself too. There was nothing in this world that would make her face him.

We need time away but she didn't want to be away from him and God, it hurt her so fucking much. Her only runaway dream from a hole of utter chaos.

Throughout the week she cried and dreaded going to school to face him. However when she did, he was gone. Disappeared. And it happened too quickly which started to worry her.

No. Ignore. That was the best choice right now. Just pretend. Keep playing a lie and see what happens.

Her legs shook underneath the desk ferociously but she tried to stop herself. Mr. Golden watched her.

She gritted on her fingernails then scraped them on her desk. She tried to breathe properly. A classmate watched.

Her hood laid above her head with such ease only her mind wasn't. It scattered bloody memories of her and Pierce. Another one watched.

Then she rested her elbow on her desk and attempted to keep her tears in. Focus. Still at school. Listen. Look up. Stop it. Pull it together.

Her heart begged him to come back. Her mind responded in defense. Don't shut your eyes, you still have so much to see. Find a distraction while you're at it.

Her fingers itched to shred herself. Scratch and mark her sleeves. Grab a pen instead and draw. Promise yourself it'll get better or will it?

Mr. Golden watched a group of her classmates snickered asking "what the hell is wrong with her?" What is wrong with her?

Eyes down on the desk. Feel the twitching cold AC breathe down like death. Don't wait it out any longer.

Cry an endless river and use it to wash away their judgment. Will it work? Try it. Look up, you need it.

"Ms. Anderson?" Mr. Golden called out. Colette looked at her teacher with her eye bags pointing directly at him saying walk away. He ushered her to his desk and she walked disappointingly.