Page 31 of The Promises We Broke
Had I imagined that intensity? Had I built up something that was never as significant as I'd believed?
"Processing old boyfriends?" Aunt Helen asked from the doorway, settling onto my bed with the careful movements of someone whose joints weren't quite what they used to be.
"Processing old mistakes," I said, though the words felt hollow even as I spoke them.
She picked up one of the photos, studying it with the perception of someone who'd known all of us as children. "Doesn't look like a mistake to me. Looks like two kids who were crazy about each other."
"Kids who were too young to understand what love actually meant."
"Were you?" she asked gently. "Because I remember watching you two together. I remember the way that boy looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars just for him."
I wanted to argue, to maintain the distance I'd built around those memories. But the evidence was right there in front of me. Photos of lazy afternoons spent reading together under the old oak tree. Movie tickets from dates where he'd saved for weeksto afford both our admissions. A pressed corsage from the one formal dance we'd attended, where he'd worn his grandfather's old suit and told me I was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. And yet we'd always tried to say we were only friends, even when the feelings were so much more. We'd been so young and so stupid and I'd thought we had all the time in the world. Now all those photographs felt like missed opportunities and naive mistakes.
And underneath it all, the letter. The one I'd read so many times the creases were wearing thin, the ink slightly faded from years of being unfolded and refolded with shaking hands.
My beautiful girl. My best friend. My soul mate.
The words were as devastating now as they'd been eleven years ago. Raw, honest, written by someone who was clearly in agony over what he was about to do.
"Read it to me," Aunt Helen said gently.
"What?"
"His letter. The one you've been carrying around like a talisman for eleven years. Read it out loud."
My hands trembled as I unfolded the familiar pages, the paper soft from years of handling. I'd never spoken these words aloud, never shared them with anyone. They'd been private, sacred, the only piece of Gage I'd had left.
"My beautiful Billie," I began, my voice barely above a whisper. "If you're reading this, then I did it. I finally left this place. I need you to know that it wasn't because of you. If I could have stayed, I would have. There was a time when I thought I would have done anything for you. Hell, you were the only thing that made me stay this long."
My voice cracked on the last sentence, and Aunt Helen reached over to squeeze my hand.
"But I fucked up, Bills. I did something so unforgivable to my brother and I can't live seeing his face every day knowing what I've done."
"Keep going," Aunt Helen said gently when I paused.
"I know I should fight. I should drop to my knees and confess everything to him. Live with his hatred like I deserve. But I can't. I can't tell you why. I can't even tell you what I've done. If she finds out, everything will be so much worse for them. She'll make sure of it."
I had to stop, the familiar pain of those words hitting me fresh. Even now, even knowing what Regina had done to him, the memory of reading this for the first time still had the power to destroy me.
"I shouldn't burden you with this, but I couldn't bear to leave without telling you something, anything. You were the best thing to ever happen to me and I couldn't let you think that it was easy for me to walk away."
"Oh, honey," Aunt Helen whispered.
"But I have to. This is the only penance I can think of. Even if he never knows I'm paying it. I can't live a life with you knowing what I've cost him. I don't deserve to have the happiness I've stolen from my brother."
The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over, and I had to pause to wipe my face before continuing.
"You were the one thing in my rotten life that made it all worthwhile. My beautiful girl. My best friend. My soul mate. I love you, Billie. I think I've always loved you, ever since that morning you walked up to me in the school yard and declared that we were going to be best friends, and then you pushed me over for not immediately agreeing with you."
Despite my tears, I smiled at the memory. I had pushed him over. Right there in front of everyone, seven years oldand completely confident that Gage Farrington was going to be important in my life.
I'd been right about that, just not in the way I'd expected.
"You were always too good for me. You still are. It's selfish of me to do this. To tell you my feelings in this cowardly way, but I guess I'm learning that I'm not a good man. I never deserved someone like you."
"That's not true," I whispered, the words directed at the letter as much as at Aunt Helen.
"Forget me. Move on and find a man who will treat you like the gift you are. Don't waste your time thinking about a loser like me. If things had been different, if I'd been better, we would have been epic, my beautiful girl."
