Chapter Five - Letter Four

May 9, 2017.

Wilder was hungry. Hunger was the first thing he noticed when he woke up in the morning, pen in hand, and his homework printed on his right cheek. He had fallen asleep last night on his homework utop his desk after skipping dinner to work on his assignments; it didn't seem like a good idea now that he had seen his alarm had gone off almost half an hour ago and his stomach was rumbling, growling, thinking of itself as Mufasa. Late night ideas always were the worst. But he never seemed to learn.

He had no time today. He locked himself in the bathroom and came out in record time. Then he ran into the kitchen and satisfied his hunger with some stale bread and imaginary butter. Then somehow, suddenly, everything felt better - he seemed to have more time, less distance to travel, and much more optimism running through his veins. That was the beauty of food. That was why hunger felt so terrible, though the body could go without food for days; it was the hopelessness that it brought that made it so unbearable. Psychology was beautiful.

“But the optimism eating brings doesn’t make me stupid. I’ve left that disease at home.” He told himself. “Total optimist is nothing but a curse, eh?”

He still remembered that time was running out. He knew he could contemplate the wonders of eating later too. He rushed out the house with his bag half slung on his shoulder, keys in one hand, the box of letters he had managed to find at the last moment in the other along with his books in the other. Then he glanced at his watch.

“Finally, finally, finally!” He triumphed. He was back on track. And as long as there was no need to run, life was good.

Walking amidst nature always made Wilder think, which meant Northon always made him think. Wilder was that person who functioned on fiction, and then smirked at his own Alliteration. He was that one who had an emergency kit in each of his rooms in fear of a Zombie, Vampire, or Werewolf apocalypse, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. He liked the idea of escaping his current life through an apocalypse, which would eventually lead him to finding a wonderful girl who’d understand him, they’d wait out the war, get out when peace is finally restored. Then they’d live happily ever after.

Now that Wilder was on time again, he decided to read the letters he hoped he had had the time to shove into his bag before he left the house like a hurricane. Pushing his hand into his bag, he felt around for the paper box. He smiled in pride when he found it. Taking it out, he saw that the next letter was dated December 2015. He checked the letter underneath it. January 2016. February 2016. March 2016. He shrugged, deciding to read the December letter.

“Hmm, I should’ve guessed. After what she said in the last letter...” He sighed, hopefully not audibly. But by the looks Mr. Keys was giving him, he could tell it wasn’t that silent. He sighed again, and turned to the letter before any further blunders decided to grace him with their presence.

Dear Adelaide,

My New Year’s Resolutions included creating no new enemies. So, after reading your letters each day, and reading the apologies you’ve sent my way, I decided to forgive you.

He didn’t believe it.

Yep.

How could she be doing this? She was acting like a doormat for Adelaide! She’d seemed so angry in the last letter, and Wilder hadn’t really expected her to react this way. It wasn’t healthy!

So lemme tell you what happened all through these months.

Wilder had been thinking about Gemini’s daily life for a while now. He was glad he was getting an insight. He sighed, trying to swallow his anger, and read on.

Well, the day I wrote you the letter, nothing much happened, really. Dad somehow decided not to return home that day, and so I felt a little better at night, which brings me to the second order of business.

Look, you have to understand that I wrote that letter in an outburst.

Of course it was an outburst! It wouldn’t take an IQ of 180 to figure that out. No one in their right minds said anything like that. It had to be done in spur of the moment - otherwise, people didn’t have the courage to admit the truth - at times, not even to themselves.

I didn’t mean any of those things that I said.

Great. Just what Wilder wanted to hear. Or read, whatever. He shook his head.

I don’t hate you, honestly, I don’t. Actually, I spent my childhood hearing about you, and I was just kind of disappointed that you aren’t how I imagined you. I honestly thought you would make my life a little easier to bear. The way Mom described you, well, if I’m completely honest, I thought you’d end all my problems. But you didn’t.

They never do.

And that last comment in that letter hurt.

The last comment? Wilder wished he had Adelaide’s letters in one hand - it’d make so much more sense if he did. What was the last line?

I expected you to be a fountain of calm and wisdom, and when you turned out to be another human struggling with life, I guess I was triggered.

Why did Gemini have to excuse her feelings? She should’ve been celebrating the lightness admitting something brought, but here she was, saying that it was all ultimately her fault. If it hurts you, it hurts you. It doesn’t make you weak, or too sensitive, or anything. It just is the way it is. As he thought this, a cold chuckle escaped Wilder's throat. He'd never been able to stay true to this philosophy of his, and here he was, mentally giving the advice to a girl he didn't even know. He didn't know Gemini. Right?

And this brings me to the third order of business. I didn’t mean to drop that bomb about Dad and my relationship. I’d really really really appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up anymore. I don’t really like talking to people about this stuff, and honestly, I stayed up all night all these days, regretting each word I wrote in that letter.

Like he dreamt of that night. Regret. Guilt. Heartbreak. His anger subsided a little.

So, back to the first order of business. What happened during these months we didn’t speak.

Ah, yes, the part he was waiting for.

That night I was too mad to think straight that night. I hardly slept. And when I did, I dreamt.

‘Hope the dreams weren’t like mine.’ He thought out loud.

I have a dream journal. Lemme attach a page to show you what I dreamt of.

Affixed was a sheet of paper that seemed to have been torn hurriedly and messily from a really tightly bound diary.

The dream was horrible. I was sitting on Mom’s lap and she was telling me a story about Adelaide’s childhood. I really enjoyed these stories in real life, but this one was horrendous. Blood, and intestines, deep purple intestines with veins bulging, washed in rotting blood…

Wilder took a deep breath and read on.

I could see it. I could smell it. It was slowly surrounding me, choking me, killing me.

He could almost see it. He could almost smell it. And he could almost sense something surrounding and choking him, though he was sure it wasn’t the same thing Gemini was dreaming of. He stopped for a moment and shut his eyes, trying to expel the darkness that was slowly taking over his vision.

He took refuge in a bench. His breathing was heavy - he couldn’t think straight. He finally figured what was consuming him - memories.

"How could you? She's a disgrace to our family! I thought you were better than that!"

"Is it my fault? Did I ask for it?"

“I'm leaving! Forever! YOU ARE NO PARENTS OF MINE!"

He put his head in his hands, trying his best to block out the noise and the memories and the despair and the guilt and the heartbreak and EVERYTHING HE HAD TRIED SO HARD TO FORGET.

And then Mom turned into a huge bloodsucking monster I don’t even know the name of. She tore my head off - and the world turned black. Then I woke up (still dreaming) in a wine bottle and Dad drank me and I ended up in the trash can, suffocating for the rest of my life and then I died and I didn’t get the cremation I want and I rotted forever.

And Wilder sat on the bench, rotten memories swallowing him and consuming his soul, while he tried so hard to forget, so hard to bury them before they could destroy him too. He lowered the letter into his bag.

‘I’d started reading the letter because I was on time,’ He thought, ‘and it made me late. How ironic.’

He lay his head on the backrest of the benck and sighed. His day could not have been going worse.

‘Breath in through the nose, out through the mouth.’

And for precisely a moment, there was only his breaths in the world, shallow to his lungs and heavy to his ears as they went in through the nose and out through the mouth. The next moment was heavy, hopeless, crashing despair. Then arrived the panic. He had to get to class. He had to get to class.

And the next moment, he jumped up from his bench like it was made of thorns and ran. He ran with all his might, straining his muscles and his mind and bones, to class and away from the nightmares. Away from the letters.

"Hey Wren. How're you doing?"

Wren's voice rang out, sweet and clear as cascade water, on the other side,"Yo dummy. I'm good. How 'cha doooin'?" She still had that annoying habit of stretching her 'do's.

"I've been better."

"Me too."

"I wish I could see you."

"I wish that too." There was a moment of silence so that they could pay homage to all the wishes that would never come true. Then she said, "Buuut, enough of these depressing wishes of yours. Tell me, how's school? And Katelyn?"

And so he told her everything."School's pathetic. You know it. Chad already hates me. He seems to hate me even more when I score better than him. I was late today too. And because I can't pay for proper transport, I had to run to school. Can you believe it? Literally run!" Wren was the ideal person to rant to. She'd never interrupt and always say the right thing. But you had to listen to her ramble too.

"Has Chad gotten any better?"

"What do you think, Wren? He hates everyone who doesn't worship him." As he said it, he could clearly imagine Wren walking over to her laptop and Googling 'How to get rid of bullies.' He laughed quietly.

"D'you want me to Google how to get rid of bullies?" He did not know whether to laugh because Wren really hadn't changed at all, or to be offended by the offer. He decided to state his reason for declining, "You know he'll continue troubling me until I succumb to licking his boots like everyone else. I go to school to study and get a good job. Not to make friends with an obnoxious, onion scented fish f****r."

"Woah, Sunshine, calm down. You sound like such a girl at times - except for the swearing of course. I do believe you can handle it on your own. Now let's talk about something else."

Wilder spent the evening chatting away with his sister, and nothing in the world mattered to either.

Just before he went to bed, he sat on his bed, determined to finish the letter he had started reading in the morning, and not break down. He'd have a mental wall in place - a wall that no-one, not Gemini, not even himself could breach.

I hated the dream. And this isn't the first time I've had it. I had it the night Mom died. And then on her one month anniversary. And on her birthday. And on Dad's birthday. And on random days when I'm sad, or angry, or happy, or numb. It doesn't really matter.

Her story was numbingly like Wilder's. That was the first jab to his 'unbreachable' mental wall.

Then the next eventful day was, umm, maybe the next week? I don't remember. Well, I was in school, and Ms. Kayla decided to make me the victim of another one of her jokes. Ms. Kayla is that teacher who's young, under-qualified and really hot and uses this hotness to buy her way into the school. All the guys love her, all the girls want to be her, that teacher. Did I mention she’s super mean and believes s**t-shaming is an acceptable way to address the girls she dislikes? Now I did.

His eyes widened. S**t shaming? That was the second jab.

So she gave the idea Brooklyn and some others had a while ago green light. Now this happens almost everyday. Somehow, it's not as bad as you might think, or someone else might make it out to be - at least they've stopped saying I murdered my mom. This is like a much needed break.

Why was he feeling so angry at this teacher and this Brooklyn girl? He didn't even know this girl. Then why the third jab?

The next big thing was the maths test that I failed. I hate maths. Why can’t they just teach us literature and creative writing at school? The way you get lost in someone else’s troubles, live another life, die a hundred times. It’s so much better than living like this. Like, like grass. We live, we die, no one ever notices. I want to matter. I want to make a difference.

That was it. His mental wall wobbled uncontrollably until it finally broke.

That’s all for this letter. I wanna hear from you now.

Love,

Gem.

Gemini's pain seemed to be his pain and he couldn't do anything about it. But why? Why did it matter if her sister was mean to her? Or her father? Or anyone else, for that matter. Didn't he have enough problems of his own? Why deal with a girl he'd never even seen the face of?

He went back to the stack of letters to put this one at the bottom. As he picked the stack up, a photograph of a regal faced girl fell out of it. So much for never having seen Gemini's face.

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