Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-4-Bold Lies

And you’re all I’ve got. So I can’t screw this up. “No, it’s fine. Really. Thank you.”

Something in her face softened. “You’re welcome, Jemma. Any time.” And she traveled back upstairs with what I’d like to have noticed as a spring in her step. I took a deep breath and joined Jacob in the kitchen.

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked him. “Something to eat?”

“Do you have cookies?” He asked, and I stuck my head out from inside the refrigerator.

“What? No,” I said.

“Then nothing. I’m fine.”

“Whatever you say.” I took out a pitcher of lemonade and poured it into a fancy glass. I sat down across from Jacob and ripped out a sheet of paper from my English notebook. “Now, onto the letters.”

Apparently Jacob had been late out of school because Mr. Matthews was informing him about our meeting prior to that day, and there was no doubt in my mind he was hating me right now for it. Hey, was hating myself at the moment too, so the feeling was mutual.

Jacob had already begun to write, so I pulled out a pen and began venting.

Dear Jacob,

                I just want you to know that I didn’t think you were all that bad. When we first made eye contact I felt something . . .and I thought it was real and I thought in that split second that you were different, but you’re not. I’m sorry I judged you wrong. I’m sorry I got hopes into my head that I could make a friend. I’m sorry I’m apologizing to you when I have nothing to apologize to you directly for.

                Right now---and I’m being honest here---I really hate you. I can’t describe it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re so good-looking and you’re so athletic and smart and the fact that you probably have everything. This bugs me, but I don’t know why. I just don’t. All my life I’ve wanted what so many here have, what so many kids have, but I was forced to watch my life slowly fall apart before my eyes, and kids like you remind me how much of a sorry, lonely loser I really am.

                I’m not sure if this feeling is shared, but I have a hunch that what you write may be a little similar to mine. Just in different words. Hopefully better words than mine. But, seriously, I want you to know I never wanted to do this project and I never wanted to go to Heart and I never wanted to have such a sucky life.

                I’m sorry. No . . .wait . . .I’m not. Why am I apologizing? I have nothing to be sorry for! Just scratch all of that.

                I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry you’re stuck with me and I’m not sorry you hate me.

                Oh, who am I kidding? God, I’m sorry. I’m like really, really sorry you’re stuck with me, because, not even I want to be with me.

                                                                                                Sincerely,

                                                                                                                Jemma

 

I read the letter once over, and not finding any mistakes at all, folded it shut and enclosed it in the envelope Mr. Matthews had so graciously given us. A few minutes later Jacob did the same.