Not all bad. Since his surgery, Jas has moved into our dorm. Your bed’s still free though, if you want to come back.
I know, it’s a stupid thought. I know why you can’t come back. I wish you’d pick up the phone so we could talk, but you won’t. So I have to keep writing these stupid letters, pretending you’ll read them.
I bet you don’t check your voicemail anymore either.
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/ Leave a message, after the tone. / BEEP / Please, Finch, just talk to me. I need you to tell me that you don’t hate me and I know you don’t but I still need you to tell me. I’m slipping, Finch, I’m slipping again... /
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There’s this boy - you know Rob? - yesterday, he tried to hold my hand. I let him, but I still hated him. And you. But mostly me.
I slept on the couch that night. Jas didn’t notice; too busy with nightmares.
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I’m at low tide and so far, high tide always comes. But I’m scared. Some lows you can’t come out of. The highs are getting better, but that just means I have longer to fall. I’ll come visit you soon, I promise. And I’m sorry about the speech.