No matter how hard I tried to resume my nap, I couldn’t stop thinking about Adelaide. My fucking brain wouldn’t shut up about her, circling endless questions her letter had raised.
She sounded exhausting, like she’d never shut up and always had some obscure story to tell based on all the stupid shit apparently endlessly happening to her. Take her letter alone; the majority of it was her rambling.
Adelaide, I decided, had way too much to say. I avoided attachments at every turn. Kyrill and Hunter, my stepbrother, were the only people I considered myself close to. These days they were the only ones who actually knew me.
There came a certain point when you rose in the ranks of an organization like the Bratva where you had to learn to keep emotional distance.
I couldn’t go soft over a fucking letter from some random girl, no matter how intriguing she might be.
All Adelaide had to do was provide entertainment while I waited for the right moment. It was a way of keeping the counselor off my back and, in turn, pretending to the warden and the board I wastrying to better myself.
Yet, for some reason, I found myself sliding the letter into my pocket and carrying it around with me every day. In here, anything you kept could be taken from you, so I kept it on me.
It was mine, plain and simple.
The letter, of course. Not Adelaide.
Chapter 4
Sasha
March 5th
Adelaide,
Medium is optimistic. You do have a lot to say. I’m not complaining, merely observing.
We’re not friends. But I did read the letter all the way through, which is not something I do casually. So you can call it a provisional arrangement.
Sounds like Greg paid for a fantasy and forgot to live up to it. That’s not fraud, that’s poor planning on his part.
For the record, lying works best when it’s consistent.
You’re wrong about small talk, though. I’m very good at it.
I just don’t use it unless I need something. The weather is only relevant if it’s about to become a problem, and if someone mentions the weather, I assume they’re nervous or lying.
I don’t want to hear any regrets about your bakery. You didn’t fail because you were reckless. You failed because you believed effort could replace structure. Unfortunately, it can’t. I know it’s a painful lesson the first time around.
As for you not knowing how to be smaller…
Have you ever considered it’s because you were never meant to be?
You asked for a story, so here goes.
I was sixteen when I blew up half a shed and it definitely wasn’t an accident. I did plan it badly though, and half of it stayed standing, which bothered me more than it probably should have.
The shed was collateral and I adjusted my methods after. I’d like to think I’m better at it now but there aren’t really a lot of opportunities in here to hone my skills. I learned two things from it:
One — destruction is easier than people think.
Two — cleanup takes a lot longer than you expect.
Write again if you want.
— Sasha
Chapter 5