Page 91 of Catching Feelings

Much later, after I’ve had dinner, showered, pretended to read, and tossed and turned in bed, I throw back my covers and shove my feet into my slides. “Freaking letter,” I grumble on my way down the apartment stairs and out to my car. Yanking the door open, I grab the letter, slam the door, then march back to my apartment.

I’m fuming. Enraged. Okay, maybe not that extreme, but I’m annoyed at how much head space Miles takes up. Since sleep evades me, I boil some water and make myself a cup of mint tea.

The envelope stares at me while I wait for the water to heat up. When my tea is made, I carry my mug and the letter back to my bed and climb under the covers. I shouldn’t be this worked up over a silly letter. It’s probably short and sweet and has some joke or would you rather question.

Because that’s Miles. Funny. Childish. Incapable of holding a serious conversation.

Lies.That’s what I used to think. But after spending so much time with him, I discovered the many layers to Miles Buckingham. Layers he keeps hidden from everyone. But me.

I suppose you could say the same about me. Not even Riley or Kendall know my family’s dysfunction or how lonely I’ve been lately.

I take a sip of my tea then set it on my nightstand. Picking up the envelope, I turn it over and slide my finger under the flap. The letter is written on basic lined notebook paper and is long.

Taking in a deep breath, I settle into my pillows and read.

Rowan,

Thank you for not burning this letter and taking the time to read it. Granted, you may stop now and burn it before you get to the next line, and I can’t say I blame you. I was an ass. I was stupid. I was an idiot.

Correction. I AM an ass. I AM stupid. I AM an idiot. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I screwed it up. Royally. And I keep screwing it up by stalking you. Well, I’m not really stalking. I haven’t installed cameras to watch your every move or anything like that. I haven’t caved and bought a long distance lens to snap pictures. I don’t have a wall in my apartment filled with hundreds of pictures of you. But that would be pretty cool. A Rowan collage.

Sorry. That sounds creepy. Swear I’m not a creep. I’m just an oaf who is obsessed with you. Scratch that. Sounds too stalkerish, doesn’t it? I swear I respect your boundaries, hence the letter. Shit. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word hence before. See? You bring out the best in me. Sometimes I even sound less dumb when I’m with you.

Although you might have a strong argument against that by now. My English teacher in high school used to tell me I rambled too much in my essays. I don’t think I ever earned higher than a C on a paper even though I wrote more than anyone in my class. Useless words, Mrs. Gregory would tell me. Be more direct and get to the point.

Fifteen years later, and I still haven’t learned that valuable lesson. Although I feel if I got right to the point, I would lose my charm. Right? Aren’t you charmed right now?

Sorry. That’s stupid Miles speaking. I don’t blame you for not wanting to give me the time of day, and I’d avoid my ass if I could as well. And here I am blowing it by rambling a bunch of nonsense in a letter to you. Honestly, I don’t know what to say, hence the ramble. Ah! Hence again. See? You’re good for me, doc. But am I good for you? I really don’t know. I want to be, but the shit I pulled proves that you’re too good for me.

You’re pure and sweet and honest and smart and funny and gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous. So fucking everything.

I flip the paper over and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. The tears are partly from laughing and partly from the emotions tumbling out of his pen. The letter is one hundred percent authentic Miles.

He’s right. If he got straight to the point, I wouldn’t be emotionally vested in reading the rest of the letter. Needing to give my heart a few minutes to slow down, I pick up my tea and wait until it’s half gone before picking up the letter again.

Okay. I’m totally impressed you’re still reading. If it was me, I would have crumpled the letter after the first paragraph. Unless it was from you. Hell, I’d have the letter framed. Your words tattooed on my chest, even if they’re spitting venom my way. That’s how badly I need you in my life. Even if your words weren’t kind, I’d still cherish them because it would mean you were talking to me.

The silence between us is deafening. I never knew how quiet and lonely my world was until I had you in it and then lost you.

Shit, Row. I can’t give you this letter. I sound like an overly obsessed desperate psycho. I barely had you in my life before I lost you, yet you left a mark so deep, I can’t sleep without you by my side, and I’ve never before needed a warm body next to me at night.

Not that you’re a warm body.

You’re Rowan. Sweet, beautiful, wonderful Rowan, who I hurt with my deceit. You can’t fathom how I could be such a fool because you would never do something so foolish. Which I guess finally gets me to my point.

First, thank you for reading this far. It’s more than I deserve. If you’re reading this, it gives me hope that maybe we can be friends again. If only I had a clue if you’re reading the letter. You’re smart, so you probably shredded it, which is why I’m rambling. If you’re not reading this, I can keep barfing out my heart to you. Mrs. Gregory used to call this verbal diareeah but I don’t know how to spell diarreah (or is it diareah?) without looking it up and if I pick up my phone to look up the word, I’ll get distracted staring at the few pictures I have of us together.

Word vomit. That’s what this is. Charming, ain’t I?

Okay, I said I was going to get to my point. Here it is. I’m an ass (redundant, but needs repeating) and I screwed up. I betrayed you with my dishonesty and I more than pinky promise never ever ever ever to do anything like this again. To ever lie to you again (hence my over-sharing here–three times now for hence!).

I promise if you ever talk to me in person, or let me talk to you, I won’t be so long winded. I’ll be tongue-tied by your beauty. These aren’t lines. If they were, I wouldn’t have used diarreah (spelling? Why is this word so hard to spell?), barf, or vomit in this letter. It’s me being raw and putting my heart on the line, because my heart is in your hands, Rowan. I don’t say that to guilt you, but so you can know how much you mean to me.

I’d rather have your friendship than nothing. And I promise if you offer me your friendship and don’t want me to pressure you to take me back, I won’t. I can’t promise I won’t hit on you or compliment how beautiful your eyes are or how scrumptious you smell (have I ever told you you smell like carrot cake? I crave that healthy-ish cake all the time now, but refuse to eat it out of punishment to myself) because that’s in my nature. I’m a flirt. Scratch that. I WAS a flirt with anyone and everyone, and it never meant anything, but I can’t imagine flirting with anyone else ever again.

Dramatic much? Yeah, but that’s what you liked about me. I think.

There are only a few lines left on this page so I have to wrap it up. Rowan, please don’t shut me out of your life. Please let me apologize in person. But I respect you enough to never speak to you again if that’s what you want. Don’t stay away from our friends because of me. They deserve you more than I do. I would love to apologize in person, if you’d allow that.

---