“How the fuck am I supposed to do this?” he demanded when I handed it to him.
I shrugged and told him, “Figure it out, and you better not break the fuckin’ contents.”
“Fuck, alright!” he said and with a gusty sigh, I left him at his bike to sort himself out.
I felt like fucking Gollum with his fucking precious with that letter tucked in my inside pocket. I headed across the grass to the outside set of steps up to my space in the barn loft. Hell, I needed to sort myself out and get my living situation under control.
This was no place to bring a woman, not even one as organic and down to earth as Raven.
I dropped down onto the full-sized mattress, covered in a thick layer of sleeping bags and took the envelope out of my pocket and slid my knife off my hip, flicking it open and working it under the flap. I sliced it cleanly along the top and took care to put my knife back where it belonged before I pulled the contents out.
It was a few pieces of paper and folded in among them a dried bit of curling fern. I wondered at that and turned my eyes to the flowing script on the page.
Dear Mace,
You weren’t lying when you said you would be in touch. I must admit, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it was nice. I keep staring at your flowers. They’re beautiful and smell wonderful. You’re always welcome at my door for a cup of tea and it is quite cold, isn’t it?
I’m not sure what else to write. Everything seems so superficial and trite, to be honest. I was surprised to find I miss having you here. I enjoyed our talks and listening to you and the apartment. I don’t know, it was never really vibrant to begin with, but it seems even less so after you’ve been and gone. Colder and emptier… that also might be because my heat broke last night, and I may just be projecting or something.
Don’t worry. The landlord swears that problem will be fixed straight away. I admit I’m almost afraid to see what he comes up with, but it will likely be fixed before you get this. At least, I hope so.
Fuck. This all feels so small… so I don’t know. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to commit some of my deepest darkest secrets to paper, but I feel like you would be the last person to judge me on any of it and that’s nice. I’m afraid I’m a little low on trust. I have reasons for that, good ones, I promise, but that’s hardly fair to you, is it?
I so desperately want to talk to someone, need to, but you… I feel like I would be taking advantage. You don’t owe me anything. You really don’t. I would have done what I did for anyone. Really. I’m sorry it happened to you. You’re not at all what you seem, and it boggles the mind somewhat.
I guess I’m confused about a lot of things, but I don’t want to be rude and I’m already afraid I sound judgmental.
Your flowers are so beautiful.
I took a walk this summer and picked this fern, pressing it between the pages of the notebook I went to get this paper out of. It’s dry, and brittle and a little broken, like me. I thought maybe it would be a fair trade and a decent reminder.
I think about you too. A lot. I miss having someone to come home to – and I know that sounds more than a little intense, and crazy, but it’s true.
I guess I hadn’t realized how lonely I’d gotten.
Anyway, I hope you’re healing is going well. Please take care.
Raven
I sighed, thinking, reading, and re-reading every word to wring every bit of nuance and subtext I could out of them.
What I saw in her looping handwriting was a girl who’d once been extroverted, a people person, likely even a people pleaser until that dickhead had come along and low sided her, like I’d been low sided in her fucking bar by those frat boys.
She was no shrinking violet, or hadn’t been until something so bad, so heinous, had come along and made her afraid and dulled her shine.
That sparkle was still in there, though. Underneath. I’d glimpsed it a few times with her sharp wit and humor. She’d put me back together, and like fuck I didn’t owe her. It was just going to take some serious tender-loving care to fit her broken pieces together. Like that pottery thing Aspen had shown me. Where you mended the broken pieces with silver or gold. The piece was never the same, but there was a new wild beauty in the cracks and breaks to it.
I could see that for Raven, but this wasn’t a sprint. This wasn’t some wrapped ribs and healed bones. This was something else entirely, and I had to move carefully. I didn’t want to end up doing more harm than good. I already felt guilty as fuck going to Kim. Like I was sneaking around behind Raven’s back. I mean, I was, and it was a shitty fucking thing to do, but was it shittier than opening up wounds barely healed in her soul? Pouring in the salt of memory and watching her mind burn?
I’d been around for guys melting the fuck down over less and it wasn’t pretty. She was something else, an iron core that one.
I sat up and turned on the lantern on the overturned crate next to me, pulling the spiral notebook and pen I’d bought to scratch things down and giving it some new life.
Dear Raven,
Stop. Just breathe, woman. Before you read the rest of this, go take yourself a hot shower and let the water beat on your back for a while.
