She wasn’t aware of how clearly the kind of presence she seemed to have read from a distance.
With my jaw tight, I rose to my feet, my movements almost mechanical, and tucked the letter away with the others. I kept them separate from everything else, folded precisely, out of reach of any of these fuckers in here.
April 11th
Adelaide,
You somehow remain intact while chaos spins around you. I can’t decide if you’re fearless, reckless, or both.
I’m curious what the next story will teach me about the part of you that shows up when no one else is watching. That’s the one I’m keeping track of.
I wonder what else you take on without blinking. What lines you cross, and how far before you notice. You may think it’s harmless fun, but I find it quite interesting.
Do you always insist on being the one left standing, or only when it matters? I’m curious which version of you is the one writing these letters. Is it the one who edits herself down or the one who gets caught with industrial fryers and extension cords?
Write again if you feel like proving me wrong. Or right. I’m enjoying the ambiguity.
— Sasha
Chapter 9
Addy
April 25th
Hi Sasha,
So you want to know what happens when no one is watching?
Let’s just say I have a habit of getting into … tight situations, then figuring my way out with only a little mess left behind. The mess is usually figurative.Usually.
I edit myself down for the world, but in letters … the edits are gone. You’re seeing the unfiltered version. And maybe that’s why I keep writing. Maybe that’s why it feels … okay to tell someone things I’d never say aloud.
I have more stories, but perhaps I’ll save them for the next letter. Or perhaps I’ll just start a whole confessional like this one every time. Could be entertaining.
And yes, I insist on being the one left standing. It’s less about pride and more about sheer, ridiculous stubbornnessbecause giving up would mean admitting I can’t survive my own life.
Probably explains why I keep landing in trouble — and why I write letters like this. I can’t see you, but somehow I feel like I don’t have to be ashamed of you seeing the mess, the absurdity, the little truths tucked in between the jokes. It’s only on paper but it feels more real than anything else lately.
How backwards that I’m getting more out of this than you. It’s crazy to think I could have chosen to write to someone else, and we wouldn’t be here now.
Can’t wait for your next letter.
Yours,
— Addy
Mystomachlurchedasif I were riding a rollercoaster the moment the envelope disappeared into the slot.
Holy fucking shit.
Adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I let out an involuntary giggle and my cheeks flooded with heat. What was I thinking?
Too late for second thoughts. I was crazy, but not crazy enough to break into a letterbox to steal my letter back. Who cared?
He can’t reach me. This is still safe.
Turning away from the blue metal box, I took a deep breath to calm myself down and started walking. The ground was still damp from an earlier shower of rain, and my sneakers slapped against the pavement.