Then I picked it up again. I’d never been good at doing what I wassupposedto be doing — why change now?
With careful fingers, I pulled the sheet of paper out, took a deep breath, and finally unfolded it. Anxiety twisted my insides, which was completely illogical, but I simply couldn’t help it.
My eyes flew over the bold, neat letters which looked nothing like I’d expected yet were somehow perfect for the words sinking in.
I scoffed, feeling heat rise subtly to my cheeks.
You certainly have a lot to say.
Was that really the opening line? Asshole.
I scrunched my nose. Was he really wrong, though? Hadn’t I told him myself I talked enough for the both of us?
I couldn’t really be offended by him mentioning something I’d pointed out myself.
Still, it was a bit mean. Maybe it was purely a matter of the medium. Using emojis, GIFs and memes to express emotions and nuances in written conversations had become so ingrained in everyday life, I’d forgotten how easily plain text could be misinterpreted.
Maybe he was the kind of person who was brutally honest, never beating around the bush. I could appreciate this trait in someone. I’d take someone telling me I sucked straight to my face over someone talking shit behind my back any day.
With a huff, I started to read his letter again.
February 12th
Adelaide,
You certainly have a lot to say.
I don’t usually do this. I agreed to the program because it keeps the counselor quiet. I was not expecting … that.
You’re kind of bad at introductions but color me intrigued by your vengefulness. Tell me more about Greg.
I don’t need sympathy. I don’t want advice. Definitely don’t need to be told I’m not a monster. If you’re going to write to me, write like you did this time. Like you don’t know what you’re supposed to say and do it anyway.
“Manageable” is a good word.
You can ask your questions but don’t expect me to answer them truthfully.
Sasha
P.S. Don’t slip in coffee. That’s a fucking stupid way to get hurt.
He was profoundly unimpressed with me. It was evident in his lines, emphasizing the letters were merely an act imposed on us by the authorities. Nothing more, nothing less.
Obviously this meant nothing, which wasgood. Fine. Great. Perfect.
Rereading the letter once more, my gaze snagged on one sentence.
You’re kind of bad at introductions but color me intrigued by your vengefulness.
He thought I sucked at introductions, yet I had managed to intrigue him. Of course I had, I was fucking interesting. Probably the most interesting thing to ever happen to him.
Well, that’s no great achievement, he’s fucking locked up, bitch, the voice in my head piped up again.
I snorted and hopped up on the counter, reading the letter for a third time, and then a fourth and a fifth, focussing on different parts each time.
Tell me more about Greg.
Sharing my story about Greg would likely fill at least one page, maybe two. Would he even read a letter that long?