Page 19 of X's and O's
“Not tonight. I need to go to bed.”
“You don’t even want dinner? I bought stuff for tacos…your favorite.”
I loved tacos, but even the idea of food right now had my stomach clenching unpleasantly. “No, thanks. I’ll eat the leftovers tomorrow.”
Toby frowned at me, his concern clear all over his rounded face. He stood reluctantly. “Okay. I guess you do look a bit pale. You want me to get you a puke bucket?”
I loved that he would even offer that. “I’ll be okay.”
“I will come hold your hair back if you need it. You know I will. Just holler.”
He would too. Because he was that sort of friend. The kind who would give you shit if your shoes didn’t match your purse but who would also scrape you up off the bathroom floor when you were sick and wipe the vomit from your chin.
“Love you,” I told him.
He flounced toward the door and winked at me. “Of course you do. Everyone does.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
But when he closed the door, my smile drifted away, and the fear crept back in.
I jumped at every noise from outside. And there were a lot of them, because Saint View was rarely quiet. My heart raced at every shadow that crossed my window until I got out of bed and flicked on the overhead light.
Every muscle in my body hurt. My feet were cut up from the run home. My skin burned from the woundsPaul had given me. I was freezing, but sweat beaded on my forehead.
I couldn’t breathe. I was going to be arrested for murder. Or those psychos from the house would realize they couldn’t leave a witness alive and hunt me down.
Either way, it wasn’t good.
I rolled over and opened the top drawer of my bedside table. Inside, along with the regular array of things a single woman kept in such a place, were two stacks of envelopes.
I pulled them out and removed the elastic band keeping them together.
My name and address had been neatly typed by somebody in the prison’s administration office. That had been part of their rules. The prisoners had been allowed to know our first names, but no other identifying details, like last name or address. I’d already filled out a form, requesting they give Levi my details on his release, but until that was approved, all his mail to me was addressed by a stranger.
But the letters themselves were filled with Levi’s scratchy handwriting. They were riddled with spelling errors that had never bothered me, though he apologized for it in almost every letter.
I took out his most recent and reread it.
Dear Violet.
I have a date for my parole hearing. It’s Monday.
I don’t want to get my hopes up. Lastyear, it didn’t go well. The board have been making an egsample out of me for a long time, I know that. They’ve been sending a mesage to my old club, that if you get on the wrong side of them, you’ll pay with long sentenses that aren’t deserved.
I don’t know why I hope this year might be different. But I want it to be. So fucking bad.
I want out of these four walls. I want proper food, and clothes. I want my time to be my own, to go where I want and do as I please without someone looking over my shoulder twenty-four seven.
I want to see you.
God, I bet you’re so beautiful.
Every time I read his letter; my heart caught on that line. When he’d first started saying things like that, I’d promptly informed him he was wrong. That I was nobody’s definition of beautiful. That I’d never had a boyfriend, and that unless you counted my buzzy little friend hanging out next to the envelopes, I’d never even had a casual hookup.
Admitting to him I was still a virgin at my age had been mortifying. My face got hot even thinking about it, so I went back to his letter.
I know you are, Violet. Even if others don’t see it.
