I’m still lying here...
In the mess I made.
Drawing air into my lungs, I quickly turn to the next letter.
Lennon,
It’s been a month since I lost you.
I signed a deal with Vic. Me, Storm, Memphis, and Josh are officially Sharp Objects.
Guess what they want the first single to be?
I want to confess everything. Sometimes the urge is so strong I have to dip out and go to the bathroom so I can get my shit together.
I’m pretty sure Vic thinks I’m on drugs.
Hell, maybe I should be.
I want to spill everything, but today Vic told me that even though I have a phenomenal voice and the look he wants—whatever the fuck that means. It was my words—your words—that tipped the needle and made him decide to sign me.
And it’s not just my dream on the line anymore. It’s Storm’s and the other guys.
They come from nothing, just like me. We’re all rejects with parents who didn’t want us…but we’re still alive today because of music.
This is the only shot any of us will ever have, Groupie.
I won’t just fuck up my life, I’ll fuck up theirs.
I know it doesn’t excuse what I did, and I know you’ll never forgive me.
I just hope someday you’ll no longer hate me.
Because I’m supposed to be the cutter...
But you’re the one who cut me.
My throat goes tight as I read another one.
Lennon,
It’s been two months since I lost you.
Every night before bed I pick up the phone and dial your number…only to stop myself from calling you at the last second.
We finished recording your song last week, and it sounds great.
It’s nothing compared to the way you sing it, though.
Because they’re your words. Not mine.
The other night, Vic invited us to a party. He wanted us to socialize and network. There was a girl there.
In the past, she would have been everything I’d want for a night.
But I got up and walked away.
I’m pretty sure Memphis, Josh, and a few other people think I’m gay now.
But if I fucked her, then you’d no longer be the last girl I slept with and right now, at least I still have that.
I want you to call me, but I don’t think you will.
Because you think I fucked Sabrina.
But I didn’t.
What I did to you is worse.
Jagged and broken
Dull and washed out.
Yeah, sounds about right.
My vision blurs as I pick up the next one.
Lennon,
It’s been four months since I lost you.
A couple days ago, the song came out on the radio, YouTube, and, well, everywhere.
I know you heard it.
I also know from this point on there’s no going back and what’s done can never be undone.
I’m sorry, Groupie.
So fucking sorry.
Everywhere I turn...
I breathe you in and bleed you out.
My tears fall faster as I flip to the next one.
Lennon,
It’s been six months since I lost you.
Our album is out, and it’s doing really well.
But I can’t enjoy it.
The fucking irony. I have everything I’ve ever wanted…except you.
Fuck the memories I’ll never have.
Fuck the pain of your knife.
Fuck these feelings you left me with.
My tears fall so fast they smear the ink on the page.
Lennon,
It’s been a year since I lost you.
Your song’s been nominated for a Grammy.
Why aren’t you calling me?
Fucking call me. Yell at me. Scream at me.
Tell the world what I did.
Tell them I’m a fraud.
Tell them I’m a piece of shit.
Put me out of my goddamn misery before I do it myself.
Fuck you, Lennon.
I stole your words, but you stole my heart.
There’s only one letter left. And the sinking feeling in my chest tells me I already know what will be on this page.
Lennon,
It’s been one year, six months, and eleven days since I lost you.
I couldn’t take it anymore, so I got in my car and kept driving.
I drove all the way to Dartmouth so I could see you.
And I did.
With another guy.
You smiled at him, like you used to smile at me.
You kissed him, like you used to kiss me.
I told myself not to pursue you.
I told myself not to get attached to you.
I used to joke that I’d never have a broken heart because that would require me having one of those to begin with and my mom took it with her when she left.
But I think whatever remnants she didn’t take belonged to you.
But now those remnants are extinguished.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I thought you didn’t call me because you were angry or too scared to confront me or some shit.
But it’s because you moved on.
Which means I didn’t just lose you temporarily, like I’ve been telling myself.
I lost you for good.
Guess it’s time I move on, too.
This is the last letter I’ll write.
The last letter I won’t mail.
The last night I’ll let myself think about you.
My brain immediately jumps into self-preservation mode, desperately trying to convince me that it doesn’t change what he did.
That he could have written these recently and placed them here for me to find.
That I shouldn’t trust him.
But the organ inside my chest reminds me that he’s been on tour for the past eight weeks, and he had no idea I’d be joining him so there was no way he could have planted these before he left.
Hell, he didn’t even want me to come into this room.
This whole time, I convinced myself that Phoenix only thought about me when he sang or heard my song, because he didn’t have a choice.
But that’s not true. He thought about me a lot.
And he not only felt remorse…he felt pain.
My mind flits back to something Storm told me at the beginning of tour.
“He’s been in a bad place and I can’t pull him out of it. I thought it was the accident, but looking back, that was just the catalyst. His head’s been fucked for a while now, and he’s one mistake away from becoming the person he never wanted to be.”
“What are you doing?”
His tone isn’t aggravated or threatening.
It’s jagged and broken.
I turn around, attempting, but failing, to get a handle on my emotions.
Everything I feel is pouring out of me in one big tidal wave. “Why didn’t you mail any of the letters?”
If he had mailed even one, it would have changed things. Maybe not everything, but at least I wouldn’t have hated him so much.
I would have been open to possibly having a conversation with him at some point.
At least I would have known he cared.
Closing his eyes, he scrubs a hand down his face. “How do you make someone believe you’re sorry when you’re living your dream because you stole it from them?”