Page 10 of Loving London

London

I’ve read enough. I don’t bother to open the rest.

Reading London’s emails, I feel like I’m standing outside a window, looking into a life that isn’t mine. A faint familiarity is there, a hint of a lost love. But nothing else. Even when she writes of Cooper’s funeral, I can’t force myself to feel as deeply as I know I should. It’s wrong—all of it. I don’t want to hurt, but I should be able to feel something. Some connection.

Perhaps the high doses of medications that I’m on have made me numb. It can’t be healthy, but the alternative doesn’t feel right either. The screaming, crying, and heart-wrenching night terrors that I experienced in Germany almost did me in. I’m grateful to be on medications that stop those agonizing emotions from breaking through.

I think back to what Dixon said about the darkness being too much for some men to withstand.

Will that be me?It definitely could be. What then?

No, maybe my reaction to these emails isn’tnormal, but I’ll take it. I’m not physically or mentally ready to be in a relationship—certainly not now and possibly never again.

A part deep within me resonates with some guilt for what I find myself typing out, but it’s so small that it’s lost before I’m able to truly grasp it.

To: London Wright

From: Loïc Berkeley

Subject: Enough

It’s over.

I send the email without thinking twice. London deserves more, but those two words are all I have to give.

I’m surprised she’s still waiting. I had expected a Dear John letter, accompanied by,I’m so sorry. It’s me, not you. Yet what I found was the opposite.

It doesn’t matter though. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that London would take one look at my beaten and battered body and walk the other way. She deserves so much more than I could possibly give her.

I quickly read through the rest of the emails, scanning most of them to catch the important details. Maggie says that she’s moved out of our house, paid it off, and left it in my name. I suppose it’s good that I’ll still have somewhere to live when I get back to Michigan.

Sarah’s emails babble on about one guy after another, concern for me, condolences about Cooper, and other random crap.

“One person.”

That’s what Dixon said. I need to find one person.

London’s out, for obvious reasons. Maggie’s out because she has her own grief to deal with. She doesn’t need me piling my shit on her.

So, that leaves Sarah. Sarah will have to be my one person. I don’t have many options at this point. I won’t mention to Dixon that my person lives about a nineteen-hour car ride away.

I write down Sarah’s phone number, which she left in one of her emails. I’m about to sign out when another email comes through.

To: Loïc Berkeley

From: London Wright

Subject: I love you.

Loïc,

I don’t understand what your email means.

We need to talk. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I want to help.

I know that we can get through anything—even this, as long as we’re together.

I will never give up on you or us. Please, talk to me. Call me, anytime.

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