Chapter Four - Letter Three

May 8th, 2017

"Visididen."

"Visididen." It wasn't working.

"Visididen." Wilder tried harder. He grit his teeth, Tumblr discovered willing the spell to work. "Visididen."

He wanted to disappear. That's what the spell was supposed to do, right? That was why he had spent three hours on the internet and severely disrupted his REM hours, and that was why he was rocking his six foot two body on his bed like a child's mother would rock it. Here he was, a twenty year old who was trying to recreate his mother's protective midnight cradling after she had spat at him and declared he was not her son. Pathetic.

The last night had been horrible. He had dreamt the nightmare most prevalent in both him and Wren. He didn't want to think of it. He just wanted to curl up and die.

He turned to his bedside table to glance at the clock Wren had bought him for his 17th birthday. It was damaged, and he wasn't crazy about football anymore, but it worked and reminded him of her, and so he kept it. It showed the time 3:30. He had hours before school.

He turned on the light and moved to face the window again. He had hoped for a good view from the window when he first arrived here, but was disappointed to see a brick wall. But now, after two years, thick moss and vines had grown to cover the bland wall of the unoccupied building. It looked beautiful. A part of Wilder believed the vines were somehow connected to him. When the leaves drooped, he seemed to have a bad day - the day there was a new flower on one of the vines, he seemed to smile more than normal. He looked out the window in an attempt to find out what the day held for him.

He saw green- moss and forest, milky and sap - and red - red like blood, red like roses, red like wine- and bright, eye catching yellow battling it out with a sad yellow ochre and a shining royal purple. Chaos. A beautiful tragedy. The awe that came after destruction. Great.

He tried the spell a couple more times before giving up. You couldn't trust anything on the Internet these days. He hadn't disappeared. Yet.

He reached out to the package on his bedside table. He picked out the next letter - he'd rather read a letter than try to sleep again. He wouldn't be able to sleep for days now, for the fear of the nightmare.

August, 2015

Dearest Adelaide,

Was that sarcastic?

You want to know why I'm so bitter? Why I'm so mad? Why I'm so rude to you? What's wrong with me?

Did Adelaide call her that? Insult her that way?

Here's what's wrong with me. Here's why I hate you so much. IT'S BECAUSE YOU HAD A PRIVILEGED LIFE, WHILE I SCRUB THE DISHES AND SWEEP THE FLOOR EVERYDAY WHEN I COME HOME FROM SCHOOL!

Because I cook for myself and a father I usually find lying in his own vomit in the morning.

Because he thinks it's more rewarding to channel his inner hate and spite on me.

Because he thinks drinking till he's ill will help the family.

Because he thinks his wife's death was his daughter's fault.

Because people in the school either give me pitiful looks when they see me in the hallways, or they spit at me.

Because teachers think it's okay to s**t shame me.

Because I've never been loved.

But you have.

And I thought you would love me.

But you didn't. You were distant and cold. Like Dad. Like Mother. Like everybody.

I know now for sure that I'm wasting my time with you now. You don't love me, you never did. You're just like her.

I won't trouble you again.

Love,

Gem.

Wilder dropped the letter. Nothing passed his mind again as he read it for the second time, he couldn't process it.

***

Wilder had been staring at the paper for quite a while now. He could see how strands of ink had spread across the fibres of the paper. He could see the tiny tail Gemini made at the beginning of every alphabet. He could imagine the girl shaking with anger, hurt, betrayal. He could imagine her shuddering with unshed tears. And then he could see her bucking up and entering the kitchen. He didn't know which image made him the saddest.

Then it hit his sleepy, malfunctioning self. He had to get to school. He glanced at the embarrassing football shaped clock on his bedside table. It was 5:35. He sank back into his pillow. There was still an hour before his usual waking time.

But sitting here was making Wilder contemplate life, and why his sucked. Every problem he had in his life, he could see his own despicable self at its root. Him not being able to talk to his parents, him not listening to Wren, him not giving Cassiopeia what she demanded. It seemed like he was hell bent on destroying his own life.

It was weird how quickly time passed when one was trash talking one's own self. As soon as Wilder was almost a weeping mess on the floor, his 6:30 alarm rang. And so, he manned up and moved bravely towards the bathroom, trying on the mask he had to wear for the rest of his day. Week. Life

Wilder had found something moderately clean in his wardrobe, and put it on, hoping no one in the campus would notice he had worn the same clothes on Friday last week too. He hadn't even brushed his hair, and now that guys with strategically messed up hair were looking down at him with disgust, he strongly regretted it. 'But then,' he reminded himself, 'wasn't the purpose of attending an educational institution gaining knowledge?'

'Is it the sole purpose though? Aren't social relationships a more major benefit for students? Where else do hundreds of similar ages collect to exchange ideas and knowledge on topics familiar to all?' He countered himself.

'But isn't that a part of education itself?' He tried his best to counter. He actually believed school was more for making friends than studying, so it was difficult to convince himself otherwise; he decided that the debate has reached a point beyond its fruitfulness, and shut it down, saving himself from the embarrassment of losing yet another battle. Technically, he had lost the battle against himself, which meant he had actually won, and this thought cheered him considerably.

Wilder entered his psychology class. He entered it day after day, week after week, month after month for year after year, hoping to learn something about himself and the people around him, but left the class each time with a brain bursting with random facts, examples of crazy people - sometimes crazy psychologists - and severe hopelessness. Years of studying and he still couldn't understand why his parents hated him and his twin.

The psychology lecture thus began.

***

Loaded with homework, and a heavy heart, Wilder returned home and got into his uniform for the cafe, and began walking towards his job.

That was wilder's life. School, work, nightmares, until it wasn't. Because then, Cassiopeia arrived. But what change lasts forever? Cassiopeia left. The next day, Wilder woke up from a nightmare, went to school, and walked himself to work.

But today, Wilder had something on his mind. The package he had received three days ago seemed to have created a special place in his life, mind and heart. He felt for Gemini. Her father wasn't fair to her. Her mother wasn't fair to her. Her sister wasn't fair to her. He wished more than anything he could talk to her, or atleast write to her, but since the package lacked a return address, it was impossible.

'Maybe it's my own history that is making me more sensitive to her.' He thought as he stepped over a dead leaf. Taking away any form of life they might have had, even by the remotest chance, was one of Wilder's Despicable pleasures.

Wilder Reached the cafe door and sighed, and pushed the door open to face strangers, friends, and of course, chocolate. The only thing he looked forward to, besides the food, was Kat. He could be with her everyday and still not get tired of her company, which was weird for somebody like him. Something about her was just relaxing. He didn't have to try or pretend when she was around. He could be Wilder, and she would be Katelyn, and they could be content in each other's company. She didn't judge, but somehow, she cared.

Inside the cafe was utter chaos at first sight, but if you watched, observed quietly, you could see patterns emerging. Cass had been good at finding patterns - Wilder had always been better able to understand music.

Wilder had, once, loved the peeling green paint and hippie feel of the cafe. Now, all he could see was the brown leaves on plants that should be green, the squeaking of the floor against the chairs at all times, and how much he hated the music. If there was one thing Wilder couldn't stand, it would be disco music, and treating it like backdrop for a hipster themed cafe had to be the worst idea ever. He smiled as he remembered that meme loved using sarcastically. It fit this situation so well.

As soon as Wilder entered what the workers unimaginatively called 'the back,' he was tackled into a bear hug. Kat. He smiled against her. Something good was coming out of this mess that was his life.

Author's Note

Music for the chapter - Young Dumb Broke by Khalid.

Author's Note - I'm sososososososo sorry for the long wait! I literally disappeared without a word! I so so sorry!! And I'm so sorry I still cannot promise regular updates, because I've got final exams and I didn't study at all this year. I'm so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this chapter. You can yell at me in the comments, I don't mind. And as always, thanks for reading!!