Point of View: Kayla
I was nothing but a ball of crying nerves. I'd spent the days following the blurry mess of club and sex in a nearly catatonic state, staring up at my ceiling, tears running down the sides of my face, and I'd realized that I needed help. There was something vitally wrong with me, with my heart, with my head, and it needed to be fixed or I was going to die or kill myself or something.
Zoe was so understanding. She wrapped her arms around me and cried with me when I confessed I needed the help. Her arms had been soothing to me, and I'd pressed my face into her chest and cried even harder, apologizing to her repeatedly, for everything. I knew I'd been a spoiled brat lately, that I'd been difficult and selfish and obnoxious, but some part of me just wanted to scream all of the time.
The feelings inside of me reminded me of a scene in a TV show that I'd never understood before. It was The OC, and the character of Marissa was suffering from depression and anxiety and rage. Her mother asked her what was wrong, to tell her how she was feeling, and instead of speaking words, Marissa had let out a loud, shrill, animalistic yell and thrown furniture into the swimming pool. That animalistic yell now begged to be released from my lungs, too.
I couldn't get far enough away from myself to feel relief. The me that had existed before Leon's attack was broken to a billion pieces and it just felt easier to be a new person than it was to try to pick those pieces up. Especially without Nick there to help.
The only thing that kept my heart beating these days was Nick. I had his trial date circled on my calendar, and everyday I counted those blocks obsessively, and clung to that number, repeating it over and over in my head.
Six days. Six days. Six days.
I was half-heartedly eating a cup of yogurt Zoe had given me, curled up on the end of the couch, watching 27 Dresses on TV, when Zoe appeared at my side, grinning like a crazy person.
I looked up at her. "What?" I asked.
She was holding the mail. "I have something here for you," she said.
"What?" I asked.
Zoe handed me an envelope.
It was a plain white envelope, the name and address was printed onto it. The top corner bore a seal and the imprinted name and address of a jail in a town two hours north.
My heart raced.
"Nick," I whispered. My fingers flew over the paper, my eyes already welling with tears of euphoria. I couldn't get the paper to open and Zoe reached down before I tore it up to slide the envelope open with her thumbnail. I pulled the sheet out. The smell of him wafted, ever so slightly, from it. It was his raw smell, not the fresh, heavy one of him when he first showered and cleaned up, but the one of him after he'd been laying around the house, the smell he'd had last time I'd gotten to wrap my arms around him.
My hands were shaking uncontrollably as my eyes scanned the page.
Kayla,
I miss you.
I feel like I haven't seen you in forever. Last time I saw you was in the hospital, and it's a blur in my mind. A wonderful blur, but still a blur. I wish I was home, I wish I was in your arms, or that you were in mine, rather. I miss the smell of your hair and the taste of your mouth and the feeling of you pulled closely to me. I miss us. I miss laughing with you and smiling with you and being near you.
When I get home, I swear to you I'm going to love you every way that I possibly can. I want to spoil you and kiss you and make love to you and be everything you need. I wanna give you every thing I have.
You're so beautiful, Kayla... I miss you so much.
Thank you for not giving up on me.
Nick.
I was sobbing before I was even halfway through the letter. Zoe bent low and hugged me, her arms wrapping around my head softly. I clutched the letter to my chest. If only I'd gotten this a few days sooner, maybe things would be different, I thought, my heart shattering.
"Nick," I cried.
Zoe kissed my head softly and rested her cheek again my head. "He loves you, baby girl," she whispered into my hair, "He's going to understand... You just have to be honest."
"I don't want to break his heart," I sobbed.
Zoe didn't reply.
I held the letter out again and stared at it, looking at the messy chicken-scratch handwriting, at the way the letters slanted and looped and danced ever so slightly, hovering over the blue lines of the page. It was Nick. It was completely, totally, one hundred percent a piece of him to which I could hold.
And that was what I needed more than anything.
"Wait." I picked up the envelope again. I looked up at Zoe.
Zoe looked down at me.
"I'll call Brian," she said, "Go get dressed."
I shot up the stairs like there was no tomorrow.
